I was torn up until two days before the event. To march or not to march? To participate in a history-making event or proceed with my regularly-scheduled Saturday?
I ultimately chose the latter.
When I first saw the Facebook rumblings about a Women’s March in opposition to the rise of Donald Trump, I was giddy. That so many women, men, and people felt outrage at November’s election results gave me hope that all was not lost and that, as a collective, we could triumph over darkness . . . or, at least, give it one helluva fight.
Then reality set in.
The concept for the Women’s March on Washington was developed on Facebook, complete with groups where all interested women and allies were supposed to be able to come together in solidarity and unity. Within the group, some women of color pointed out the necessity of having their voices represented in core leadership positions and of highlighting the issues unique to them, which go far beyond those faced by white women. Further, women of color pointed out that many white women needed to acknowledge the benefits that whiteness bears, especially in this rapidly-approaching new world order. (I was not one of these brave women who spoke up, but, rather, a passive observer as these issues were being exposed.)
Whenever anyone dared mention the ideas and issues that would help the March morph into a truly intersectional event, they were censored. They were being divisive, they were told, at a time when we all needed to come together to unify around a common goal. Never mind that this reprimand completely ignored the fact that activism is necessarily uncomfortable and schismatic. Some white women were uneasy, so their comfort was protected at the expense of the voices of women of color.
Though the national organizers of Women’s March eventually brought on three phenomenal women of color, I was never quite convinced that we were truly welcome in this forum and at this march. Indeed, in so thinking, I began to ponder whether or not there would even be a Women’s March were it not for white women feeling particularly outraged by the actions and words of the election’s victors. Had Donald Trump leveled his hatred, sexism, and misogyny solely at women of color and female members of the LGBTQ+ community, would white women have shown up en masse for us/them? Would their righteous indignation propel white women to stand with them/us?
History says that the answer to these queries is a resounding “no.”
At a 1913 parade in support of women’s suffrage, organizer Alice Paul relegated Black women, including Ida B. Wells-Barnett, to a segregated unit at the back of the procession. In her quest for suffrage, Elizabeth Cady Stanton often disregarded the concerns of Black women and made disparaging remarks about Black men. During this same era, northern white suffragists strategically targeted southern white women as potential allies in their quest for the vote, alienating many Black women due to their choice to ignore the fact that their counterparts below the Mason-Dixon were regularly terrorizing people of color. The feminist movement of the second half of the 20th century was plagued with its own racial divisions. Then, of course, there exists the fact that 53% of white women elected a racist, xenophobic, homophobic bigot. (While this doesn’t necessarily make them any of the aforementioned things, their vote makes them complicit in the rise of hatred, which is just as problematic.)
With this history in mind, I found it very difficult to support an event created in the image of its exclusionist mothers and grandmothers. Why should I support something that included the voices of my people as an afterthought? Essentially, I felt that my attending my local Women’s March would constitute simply another instance at which I showed up for a demographic that has never shown up for me and mine.
I appreciate the sentiment behind the Women’s March on Washington. I respect those who chose to participate in the event, both in D.C. and in their local communities. Indeed, the flood of pink hats, powerful signs, and stunning photos from around the world warmed my heart. However, I could not, in good conscience, support or participate in an event at which Black and Brown bodies were desired, while the valid concerns of Black and Brown people were considered ancillary to the overall aim of presenting some false united front and placating the demographic that is (as a group) partly responsible for the current state of the Executive Branch.
I just couldn’t show up. Not this time.
