Tell Me What Democracy Looks Like

"Tell me what democracy looks like!"
"This is what democracy looks like!"

At 7:45 am the line for coffee stretched out into the Shaw neighborhood Safeway. Women in pink hats filled the entryway. The breakfast pastries were gone, and pink roses and balloons were flying off the shelves. It was breezy and cool, almost raining. We walked south on 4th street, merging with other purposeful groups of men and women. Exchanging smiles and thumbs up and "hey - love your sign,"  a sense of elation began to swell.

At the botanic gardens we saw the Colorado delegation of marchers and a Congressman from upstate New York in a bright pink scarf, but not our friend Terri, who was supposed to meet us. In response to our text she replied, "Stuck on train! Huge crowds. Isn't it great?"  A group of four women who came in on Metro from Baltimore told us they had arrived at the station at 6:30 am, thinking that was more than enough time for a 10:00 start, but they didn't get on a train until 9.

The mood was spirited - everyone a long-lost cousin, an old friend. We packed in toward the Jumbotron by 9:45, but the microphones gave off only vague mumbles and the screen was soon blocked by increasing numbers of tall people. As the crush grew intense, we sidled and side-stepped our way out of the crowd. It took us an hour  to reach open space, an hour of "Excuse me's," watching out for puddles ("drain the swamp!" called one wit), and admiring clever slogans. We sang "Happy Birthday" to a grandmother turning 70, and learned from her daughter that Trump White House had already taken down all pages in Spanish, as well as the link to climate change, and to LGBTQ rights, and had put up a link to Melania's jewelry line on QVC.

The cool breeze was mostly blocked by bodies, though smells of rain and pot wafted by. The swish of jackets sliding off each other, the noise of drums and occasionally a band punctuated our consciousness. Sign corners pricked at our shoulders and mud pulled at our toes. We made it to the steps of the Art Museum and watched an impromptu parade drift by. People chanted slogans "show me what a feminist looks like," "this is what a feminist looks like!"  As we couldn't see the big picture of the day nor hear the events on stage, the people near us came into sharper focus.

A poodle mix with a pink tutu trotted close by, to the adoring "oohs" and "ahs" of the crowd. "You can pet her," said the male owner, "She's used to protests."  A young man with stars in his eyes related how John Kerry came out into the crowd. "I shook his hand," said the boy, in a daze.  Every so often a cheer would begin spontaneously and swell through the ranks of the crowd like the wave. The noise was like a jet taking off.

We saw a red-curled toddler on the shoulders of her grandfather, babies in front-carriers with their young families, a young woman in a wheelchair laughing at her friend's antics. (They were starving, and kept chanting "What do we want? Guacamole! When do we want it? Now!")  Older men and women carried signs saying, "We'll still marching for this?" or "I'm here for the kids."  An eight-year-old boy chanted about democracy and girls paraded around in neon Tees that said "Girl power."

An East Coast group made a pyramid while onlookers gathered to snap photos, and pockets of people talked about which Congresspeople were fighting back for the planet and for healthcare, shaking their heads about those who were not.  I received a text from my daughter showing sister marches around the world, then texts from my niece in Chicago and my college roommate in Boston. Everywhere people wondered - how many are here??

We drifted around the mall until nearly 1:00, daring the Don Jon potties only once. (The name "Don Jon" had to be covered up during the inaugural due to the similarity between the company's name and Donald John Trump). The plastic groundcover, port-o-potties and refreshment stands were still up from the day before, though no refreshments were served and the mythical food trucks promised by the organizers failed to materialize. We snacked on granola bars and gum as we waited and I wondered if the amazing uplift that we felt was shared by folks at a Trump rally. I doubted those rallies had the same diversity: Muslim women in pink headscarves or black women with signs reading "We got y'alls back: 94% for Hillary," or transgendered people dressed in 18th century patriot garb.

At nearly 1:30, when the jam-packed crowd was growing restless and shouting at people in trees to give us information ("Hey, tree-girl, what do you see?"), we finally started. Thrilled to be walking, we flowed peacefully for a block or two and then ran into a logjam at Independence. Little did we know that streets were full in every direction and no true march would be possible. Just like the situations in Los Angeles, Denver, and Chicago - numbers brought the march to a stand-still.

I would have been terrified had I known the crowd swelled to nearly 700,000 people, but there was no aerial view. People were still smiling, polite, helpful. Despite a lack of visible security, everyone adhered to the restrictions: no poles for posters, only clear bags or backpacks, no weapon-like materials. A band marched down the fringes of the crowd and hips swayed and feet tapped in rhythm. Miraculously, we ran into our friend Terri in the midst of the crowd, and clung to each other like survivors in a flood. After inching forward toward Pennsylvania we left the march before it turned toward the White House. Atop a small hill we turned to look back at the pink- and rainbow-dotted crowd pouring in from every direction. Calm policemen and women waved off traffic as marchers filled every side street.

There were no arrests that day, no conflicts. References to political parties were close to nil, and unity the underlying theme. I've seen Facebookers express frustration that we still post about our respective marches, and I want to explain that buoyant, powerful feeling of love and support that surrounded us. That we marched for the planet, for healthcare, for freedom to love and live, for the ability to protest or advocate for your beliefs, even if they differ from ours.  As citizens we have a role to fight for our democracy using the tools provided for us by the constitution, and it turns out there is no greater thrill than partaking in a government of the people, by the people, and for the people.