Montpellier March

Banner at the head of the parade

Yesterday, like more than a million people across the globe, I took part in a protest march.  It has been labeled as a protest against Donald Trump, but for me, that was not the point.  For me, the march was about safeguarding the rights and steps toward equality that women have been fighting for since they took to the streets demanding the right to vote. 

The sign told me I had found the right place

Lending a hand at preparing the signs

This woman is a contemporary

It feels like I already did this once, back in the late 1960's and early 1970's.  I am poleaxed to really comprehend that we still are not at parity in equal pay for equal work.  I am afraid of the de-funding of Planned Parenthood, which provides much needed education and pregnancy prevention services.  I am afraid that Roe v Wade will be overturned, and women will be forced once again into back alleys in desperation to end an unwanted pregnancy.  I am afraid that healthcare will be taken from those who can least afford to be without it.  And all of this "taking away" is being done by a few few privileged people who have more than they will ever, ever need.

The woman with the bullhorn was our "choir" director

A sea of signs

Little girls get a lesson in civics

For those who couldn't walk yesterday, or those who walked elsewhere and might like to compare notes, this is what I witnessed:  women, men and children of all ages, ethnic backgrounds, color walking together peacefully, thoughtfully talking about issues ranging from female genital mutilation to still un-equal pay for the same jobs to seemingly unlimited choices for future education and employment. 

Cable-knit "pussy hat"

Getting ready to leave the Parc Peyrou and head downtown

I made the acquaintance of Faiza, a young woman born in Algeria, but was raised and has been living in France since she was a toddler, who that very morning had been called "dirty" by the cab driver who brought her to the march.  (Much of that southeast part of France is LePen country)

Young Americans in Montpellier

Marching and talking

Looking downtown--notice the man in the beret?

I was astonished by how many Americans there were in the march.  Most of them were university exchange students, so had I thought about it, I shouldn't have been so surprised.  These young women walked thought the day yesterday surrounded by that "golden glow" of knowing that their educational options are not limited by their gender.  They cannot conceive of a time when Ivy League schools were male-only. That change didn't just fall like manna from heaven--it had to be fought for and won. 

I ran into a family from California.  They were marching as a way to advocate a California secession from the U.S.  I was thinking about this the other day, and I don't think the idea of forming two nations is such a bad one.  The idea that the US is "indivisible" is up for debate, in my mind.  Why not let people who are conservative have their own country and those who are progressive have their own country instead of trying to cram one another's beliefs down the "opponents'" throats? It's not as if we disagree about what color to paint the stripes on the highways.  We disagree about whether or not we have an obligation to provide for the common good--education, healthcare, reasonable taxation, environmental protection--things that determine whether or not our fellow human beings live in peace, but in some cases, live at all.

California family

Doggie sports "pussy" ears

Not surprisingly, I found myself the recipient of a white armband--a torn strip of cloth tied about my upper arm.  I didn't seek such a distinction, but have come to realize that in my life, I think because of my height, I get picked to be a "leader," a "hall monitor."  This was no different--those of us with white armbands were the "border Collies" of the event, shepherding the flow of marchers and preventing tumbles caused by tripping over the lane dividers down Avenue Foch.  So I stood on the very end, facing the oncoming marchers, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, waved them around the divider, preventing a spill by someone (usually that person would be me) who didn't look down and didn't see the obstacle until it was too late.  Everyone smiled and thanked me when they realized what I was doing.  Not ONE grumble!  

Toward the front of the parade

Red, black and white were the colors of the day.

As I was exiting the march, I took the time to go up to the police officers who'd been there to make sure we were safe and thanked them individually.  They smiled back and accepted my thanks with grace.

Human Rights

How I wish I could translate this

There was an atmosphere of thoughtful discussion in most of the conversations I either participated in or overheard.  We sang, or attempted to sing, the Women's Hymn, but honestly, there were too many people, too long a line to have that happen in unison.  There was a choreography,  "La Chatte" that some people mastered and were able to perform, but most of us did not dance.  The bullhorn needed better amplification, but it was not a day for criticisms.  It was a day, a gloriously beautiful day, to come together and speak as one.

a beautiful day for a little 'walk'