Let's Go, Jane!

I attended my first protest this week, alongside millions of my fellow Americans. Yes, I’m 53 years old and I’ve never been to a protest before. The last time around, five years ago, my kids were still young and there was a deadly disease floating around and it just didn’t feel safe. Plus I have a bit of a crowd phobia.

Before going, I read a lot of articles about protests and safety. I figured it was better to be over prepared than underprepared. I wore nondescript clothing that covered my forearm tattoo. I turned off facial recognition on my phone and wrote my sister’s phone number on my arm with a sharpie. I practiced the language of peaceful protest, “I am not resisting” and “I do not consent to a search.” In the event of an arrest, the advice goes to remain silent and lawyer up. I wasn’t planning to get into any trouble, but I know that the NYC police are not the most liberal bunch.

In the days leading up to the national day of protest I was deeply ambivalent about going. What if some lunatic drives his Tesla into the crowd? What if there’s a stampede? Does it really make a difference if I’m there? It was a conversation with a friend that tipped me over the edge. She let her husband know she was planning to attend on Saturday, and he pointed out that if she ends up on some watch list, his green card could be revoked. He’s married to an American citizen and he has to worry about being deported. These are not normal times.

I decided to attend the New York City protest. Go big or go home, I thought. My sister lives in the city and was not planning to attend. I could park my car by her apartment, walk 15 minutes to Bryant Park, and then go to her place for a play date with my delicious 5-year-old nephew afterwards.

The plan came together, and I drove into the city through a light rain. I was neither nervous nor excited, just strangely calm. The city was business-as-usual as I walked through Times Square. The first sign of protest I noticed was not until I was about half a block away. A petite older woman with silver hair and a black raincoat was walking toward the public library looking determined, with a hand-lettered sign under her arm that said simply “RESIST.” If she can do it, so can I, I thought.

For the next hour and a half I shuffled along with a crowd of 100,000 of my fellow New Yorkers as we filled over a dozen city blocks. Chants would break out here and there, and a wave of cheering would wash over the crowd. There were people of all ages, with every race and ethnicity represented. I heard a mother say to her young son, “See how many people care?”

The thing that struck me most was that every sign I read spoke to a different cause. There was an older gray-haired man with a sign that said “Hands off my social security” and a young woman whose sign said “Trans + Immigrant – I will not be erased.” There were signs for public parks, 401Ks, science research, and free speech. Simple signs, clever signs. Signs that broke my heart, and signs that made me laugh out loud. United in our different causes, the energy was palpable.

I got the feeling I was not the only first-timer. One sign said “I hate crowds, but I hate fascism more” and another read “So bad even introverts are here.” When I realized that I could not leave even if I wanted to, because there were people as far as I could see in every direction, I decided I’d had enough and started to make my way toward the edge of the crowd. I’m proud of myself for going, and for going alone. I’m happy there was such a great turnout, both across the country and internationally. It’s going to take more than a few protests to turn things around, but at least we’ve made a great start.