This. Story. Mad sister-love for this woman. #WomensMarch

THE STRONG MARCH FOR THOSE WHO CAN’T.

The ones in the morgue or the abuse shelter or who would have hell to pay if they did. The ones who just have to tolerate that groping because she’s got mouths to feed and can’t afford to quit. The ones who are beaten down by a culture that relentlessly undervalues women.

It struck me during those hours of standing still, in a crowd of 250k of my fellow Chicagoans, going literally nowhere for hours, how utterly calm the marchers were. Occasionally chanting, but mostly just a quiet, positive, helpful energy. People apologizing for accidental bumps. People distracting crying babies and parting to let through those making a dash for the restroom. That crowd had EPIC patience. The kind of patience wrought from dealing with a lot of crap constantly for a lifetime.

Post-march, there are voices (male and female) crying out about how the marches were <insert negative characterization here>. These people are threatened by our peaceful show of resolute resistance… because it shows something is wrong with the world that they’d rather ignore. It threatens their ability to look away… and to think that *they* are not vulnerable. *They* are too strong to let something like the culture they swim in every day hold them back. If you’re one of the lucky ones (and I am, by almost any measure) or one of the strong ones who’ve succeeded in spite of the system (and I’m one of those too), then I’m happy for you. You show what’s *possible.*

I want that for everyone.

THE STRONG MARCH FOR THOSE WHO CAN’T.

And the people in that strong, peaceful, epically patient crowd? We’re not going to stop trying to fix what’s wrong with the world until it’s fixed.