Participation in women’s march restored hope: Dale Peacock

This past Saturday I experienced one of the most profound, fun, uplifting, crazy, loving events of my life – the Women’s March in St. Petersburg, Florida. It’s saying a lot because I’ve been fortunate to have had plenty of high points in my many treks around the sun.

We came to Florida months later this year in part because we wanted to experience a Christmas at home and partly because I couldn’t stand to be in the States through the end of the campaign for U.S. President. Once Trump was elected, my full intention was to go south, persuade my hubby to list our place for sale and head north again lickety-split. All my hubby asked was that I go down and spend a month there before pushing for anything rash. So we did.

Almost immediately, I was ready to bolt. After the grief came a visceral anger and disgust. I did not want to set eyes on the U.S. or an American for four years. I was disappointed in everyone … not fair or rational, but that’s how I felt.

Then I saw that people were marching not only in Washington but around the world. Some of my friends were going by bus from Toronto to Washington and a tiny but mighty group in Huntsville were marching, too. So almost precisely 24 hours after Trump was elected I was standing in downtown St. Petersburg to show solidarity with the millions of people who marched elsewhere. The rookie – and ultimately rock-star – organizers expected 300 to 500 registrants but after just a few days almost 20,000 women (and the men who love and support them) had registered. Jim and I were two of them.

It was a march more than a protest but it certainly sent a message to the new U.S. Administration and by extension to other governments by saying: ‘Women’ rights are human rights. We stand together, recognizing that defending the most marginalized among us is defending all of us.’

To those people who immediately asked why these ‘stupid’ people are marching when there are: a) problems in your own country; b) others who have so much worse elsewhere; or c) you are just whiny losers…I call it a good try at deflection but these are really good reasons why there needs to be more marching, not less.

And as one young African American man said on Sunday, “Privilege is not understanding why people still march.” And yes, you are socially and culturally privileged if you belong to a demographic that holds power in society – if you are white, straight, male, able-bodied, cisgender, Christian, and look ‘regular’.

For those of you about to foam at the mouth at the mere suggestion that you are privileged, ask yourselves this question: how often do you feel legitimately threatened (physically, financially, professionally, etc.) in society because you lack membership in one of these groups? We spotted two young white women on the way to the march with a sign that said, “Privilege is thinking something’s not a problem because it’s not YOUR problem. Use your privilege to help others.”

I wrote this about the march – and shared it on an interesting young husband, father and Christian man’s blog (www.theboeskool.com ) – while my emotion was still high: We saw signs that lifted us up, made us laugh and cry and that challenged us to be better and to do better. We saw families of every kind and configuration. There were women of colour, women wearing the hijab, LGBT folks and their kids, old folks and young folks all joyfully expressing their hope for the future and their intention to never give up. And there were SO many young women who are the face of a new and invigorated feminism. And there were Republicans and other conservatives there, too; giving a crap doesn’t exclusively belong to left-leaning liberals.

As parents of grown-up ‘kids’, the scene that brought tears to our eyes were the loving and tender young dads carrying babies and wearing t-shirts that read “I’m here for her”. Young men sported logos saying, “I support her”, and to prove it the really strong ones with lithe and limber partners had them stand on their shoulders with their arms stretched out and their hands reaching for the sky.

One older woman carried a sign that spoke to her exasperation; it read, “It’s 2017. I didn’t think I’d still have to be dealing with this shit!” Her husband stood at her side beaming with pride at his still feisty bride. His sign read, “Bad hombre supporting nasty women across America.”

The Women’s March was one of the best days I have ever had in Florida and we’ve had many truly awesome days. It changed my mind about selling and leaving because the tone of the march and the countless other marches taking place around the country and the world reminded me that it is not hopeless and that people of good will are not just going to roll over and let this administration destroy everything we collectively believe in.

The event was a remarkable display of solidarity, both in protest of a divisive president and for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families – recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of all our countries. I loved the inclusionary vision of all the marches. It wasn’t just about women’s rights but it included those fighting for civil rights, LGBTQIA rights, worker’s rights, immigrant rights, and environmental protection.

And the march reduced my Canadian smugness. I followed the coverage about the small group who marched in Huntsville. Some of the comments were hateful at worst and blissfully ignorant at best. The U.S. may have elected Donald Trump but it doesn’t have a monopoly on racist, misogynist, xenophobic, Islamophobic rhetoric.
What the women’s marches showed the world is that when women rise up, a nation rises up. And I’m starting to think – as many signs proclaimed – The Future is Female – and that’s a good thing.

Following a career in the hospitality sector and the acquisition of a law and justice degree in her 50s, Dale embarked on a writing career armed with the fanciful idea that a living could be made as a freelancer. To her own great surprise she was right. The proof lies in hundreds of published works on almost any topic but favourites include travel, humour & satire, feature writing, environment, politics and entrepreneurship. Having re-invented herself half a dozen times, Dale doesn’t rule anything out. Her time is divided equally between Muskoka and Tampa Bay with Jim, her husband of 8 years and partner of 32 years. Two grown ‘kids’ and their spouses receive double doses of love and attention when she’s at home.

Don’t miss out on Doppler! Sign up for our free, twice-weekly newsletter here.