I am so proud to be from Boston.
Yesterday, a big group from Groton headed to Boston for the Boston Women’s March. After turning in two essays, I hopped on the bus, stuck some earbuds in my ears, and tried not to fall asleep on the girl sitting next to me. It wasn’t hard. I was stoked.
We got to Boston Common around 9:30, and my friends wanted coffee, so we strolled around looking for a line that fit inside its store. The line for the bathroom was longer than the line for drinks. By the time we made it back to the Common, the crowd had easily doubled. I was somehow able to find my mom, but soon after, everyone lost service so meeting up with others became hopeless.
We listened to inspiring speeches from Elizabeth Warren, Ed Markey, Marty Walsh, and representatives from Planned Parenthood and the ACLU and the Boston NAACP, as well as Native American women who’ve been fighting for equality since 1492. I did a lot of screaming. Being surrounded by 175,000 feminists is an incredible feeling, so even when my feet started to ache and the mob didn’t seem to be marching, I wanted to be nowhere else.
We saw some pretty awesome signs as we pushed around, eager to get marching.
Though we were all there because we’re angry, I felt nothing but positivity radiating from the crowd. My friends and I were close enough to the front that we managed to march what I think was the whole route. I tried starting my own chants, and I even got one “WOMEN” in response to my “WHEN I SAY NASTY, YOU SAY WOMEN!” but when I went in for round two, no one responded. Laughter ensued. My friends said I was in my natural habitat.
Some signs were pure artwork.
I needed this energy in my life. It’s so easy to joke about “surviving” the next four years, and last week I was counting down the days till “the end of the world.” Things are going to get harder, especially for our non-white, non-cis, non-straight, undocumented neighbors. But as I was reminded yesterday, it’s better to light a candle than curse the dark.