The day after the Women’s March on
Washington, I met up with a few friends from my home country of Venezuela for
lunch. I was telling them all about the emotional experience of walking with
half-a-million people down the streets of D.C.; how invigorating it was, how
hopeful it had made me feel after months of worry. One of the women I was
eating with had joined in on the peaceful protests that happened in New York on
Saturday, but the other had decided to stay home. It wasn’t because she was
against the march, she explained, but rather that she no longer had it in her.
“I have a complicated relationship with marching,” she said to me. “In
Venezuela, we marched and marched, and marched. I got that natural high from
seeing all those people around me; I thought nothing could stop us. But now
here we are, 15 years later, and nothing changed.”More…
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