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These words resonated in my mind throughout the night: “When we gather, we’re more than just together. We are One.” Not a surprise since Saturday and Sunday saw me at two different marches; one in Philly and one in Doylestown, PA. The spirit that permeated both was one of unity even amid diversity. Were we all in agreement with every issue highlighted? Probably not. I just know what I felt. A sense of hope. A sense of empowerment. It seemed I was with my tribe. I appreciated the men who were there too, even as the focus was on women. Good men who supported their sisters, mothers, grandmothers, granddaughters, lovers, partners, girlfriends, daughters, friends, and wives, as well as those yet unborn. Good men who want to stand beside women, not in front and not above them.
I am blessed to have many ‘good men’ in my life; beginning with my father, who was a staunch advocate of his daughters having an equal role in career, finances, opportunities and relationship. He modeled that in his nearly 52- year marriage to my mother with whom he shared financial and family responsibilities. My male friends, lovers, partners and my husband want/wanted a world in which we stand side by side, speaking out for what matters most.
One of the challenges throughout my life has been trusting and allowing men to be of support. Not sure where that doubt came from, given my solid relationship with my dad. I have had no trouble letting women stand up for me and with me. Perhaps it is because we speak the same language and may have walked the same path. Whether by nature or nurture, I have joked that men sometimes feel like a whole ‘nother tribe, with their own rituals and jargon that require translation. Perhaps it is because I was trained to be a caregiver who doesn’t like feeling vulnerable.
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At both marches, I felt surrounded by the support of the men who were there, not to play a secondary role, but rather a separate, and equal role. Those I knew who attended, had experienced male privilege perhaps, but some also had been through abuse and were standing up and speaking out for those who had no voice. It wasn’t a sense of ‘look at what a hero I am,’ but rather, ‘you can count on me to have your back.’
Afterward, one of my wishes for both marches I attended was that the men be more acknowledged, since for many, it flies in the face of their socialization. “Don’t show weakness. Stand your ground. Man up. Don’t cry,” were common messages they had received. On these two days, the message was loud and clear, “Women’s rights are human rights.” We all came into this world through the portal of the feminine.
I went there to connect with people via the message of love. I offer that in the form of FREE Hugs. We call ourselves Hugmobsters Armed with Love. I take it on the road locally and nationally; more often since the election with the idea of bridging the divides of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia and anything that endangers people’s rights to diversity. I was delighted that many across the gender, sexual orientation, age and socio-economic spectrum opened their arms and hearts, including a few Philadelphia police officers who stood by to keep the peace and seemed honored to serve in that manner. One even took a picture of my friends Greg and Jayne and me at the beginning of the event.
A white-haired, bearded man dressed as Cupid who was shooting a video for a site called Positivities.com and I stopped to chat with him and share a hug. What a fitting encounter, since we agree we were both there to spread the love.
Does the Universe have an astonishing sense of humor? On the train heading home from the Philly March, I turned around because a little girl in the seat behind me was singing. Curly hair, dimples and bright red glasses adorned her face. She was sitting with her mom and grand-mom. We struck up a conversation and I’m thinking that they look familiar. Turns out I had sat next to the child as she chattered up as storm then as well last year after the March as her dad stood next to us, since there wasn’t any space for him. Her mother and I laughed at the cosmic coincidence. After all, what are the chances that this same family happened to be on the train at the same time, amid ‘10’s of thousands,’ according to the estimates? Only 100% since it happened.
Day two brought me to my Bucks County, PA hometown of Doylestown. Although I live in a community called Dublin, five miles away, I consider it my stomping grounds. Another opportunity to embrace our uniqueness and unity, as somewhere between 1500 and 2000 people gathered in front of the courthouse for the Women to The Front Women’s March to hear inspiring speakers, share outrage at the current state of affairs, make our voices heard and develop ideas and strategies for making a difference. What I experience in settings such as these is a sea of camaraderie in what could otherwise feel like a swamp of despair. I was particularly impressed by the outspoken students who stood on the makeshift stage along with their adult compatriots and shared their view of world events and their place in them. Two proudly claimed their gender identity and sexual orientation.
I saw familiar faces and met new friends who were in alignment with my beliefs that there is hope in what may seem like a hopeless world. On our way out to a friend’s car, we encountered someone I knew who informed us that three young men who had just left the parking lot were spouting hateful rhetoric as they had hurled the name of the occupant of the Oval Office as a taunt. I asked what he had said in response and he had answered that he had not responded, at a loss for what to say. Not stooping to their level and shouting back, I would have approached them and asked them who taught them to hate, what they hoped to accomplish, and didn’t they have mothers, sister, and female friends they love? My heart might have been racing as I did so, but unless people who do have a voice use it, we are all silenced.
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Photo credit: the author