My Thoughts on the Women's March

This past weekend, I went to Washington DC for the Women's March.  It was, socially, an excellent experience -- I got to spend some time with old friends, meet new people, and possibly enter into a suicide pact -- but politically, it left me a little cold. The march specifically was, I believe, successful in a number of important ways, perhaps especially insofar as it upset Trump (which was itself worth the price of the ticket for me). There's also something satisfying about seeing so many likeminded people together, about feeling that solidarity, about showing up to make your voice heard.

It was, however, also an unsettling weekend. Donald Trump was inaugurated on Friday, and I had a very difficult time falling asleep that night. I am, I don't know how else to say it, existentially afraid. I don't know what's going to happen with my medical insurance. I don't know, if I lose my insurance, how I will pay for my prescriptions. I don't know whether I'll be able to stay in graduate school. If I have to leave graduate school, I don't know if I'll be able to get a job. I don't know if I'll ever be able to take the professional risks I've been looking forward to.

At the same time, I feel guilty. I always liked to think I was listening to people of color who made it clear that white supremacy is part of the fabric of this country, that I had internalized that message, but I was shocked when Trump won. How could I have known? Well, I had been told. I didn't pay enough attention. I got nearly 28 years of not having to experience existential fear, which I'm understanding now is inextricably tied to my racial privilege. I'm sorry I didn't see it before. I'm on board with anything people of color ask me to do. This sucks.

A lot of that was going through my head when I found myself separated from my group, surrounded by people, and beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic during the march. We were about as close to the Tidal Basin as we were going to get, so I left the crowd and walked to the Jefferson Memorial. I guess I should note that, for the most part, it was pretty obvious walking around who was in town for the inauguration (MAGA hats) and who was in town for the march (pussy hats). I wore my Captain America shirt, which is obviously, for me, imbued with political meaning, but which I also acknowledge sends a fairly ambiguous message to most people. I got some inquiring looks, but no one paid much attention to me.

I like the Jefferson Memorial a lot, because it tends to be a bit less crowded than some of the more accessible monuments, and it's a nice place to spend a few reflective minutes when you are an easily overwhelmed introvert in the middle of an enormous protest. But I was struck in a way I hadn't been before, reading Jefferson's words and watching people in those stupid red hats milling around. How do you enthusiastically support Donald Trump and then sit under these foundational statements about equality and religious freedom without experiencing stupefying cognitive dissonance?

I've now shared this photo on every form of social media I use

On the drive back to Fargo last night/early this morning I got into an argument with Samantha about this. Samantha, you'll have to forgive me if I'm misrepresenting your argument, but basically what she said was that I was being naive about America, that it's hard to fault Trump voters for enjoying a memorial to a slaveholder, that ultimately those ideals that I find so moving only serve to make an inherently racist society seem a little more palatable.

With respect, Samantha, I still think that's wrong. I'm not arguing we've achieved equality. I'm not even arguing our legal and political structures aren't inherently racist or inherently sexist -- in many cases, of course, they are. What I am arguing is that there is something powerful about the language in this country's founding documents, and that language is powerful independent of the men who wrote it. However they were interpreted 250 years ago, equality and justice ultimately underlie, I believe, the American experiment. Again, that's not to say we are equal, or that our society is just. It is to say that the proper guiding vision for the United States must be justice and equality. We are not close to fulfilling that vision. The election of Donald Trump certainly took us farther from it. But I believe in those ideals, and I also believe that, however far we are from them, however far we were from them in 1776, or 1865, or 1964, that we should continue to strive to meet them. America isn't inherently great or good, and it isn't great or good because it's big and rich and powerful, and it isn't great or good because it's endowed by God with greatness or goodness. America is great and good only when we seek to affirm the idea that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness -- both by enshrining it in law, and by demanding it in civil society. It feels like we get farther away from it all the time, but I have to believe that this is what we're fighting for, and that it's worth fighting for.