The Women’s March

The Women’s March in New York City had the same feeling of upbeat camaraderie as last year’s march in D.C.  My friends and I spent much of the time standing in place with like-minded resisters–admiring signs and buttons, babies and dogs–waiting for the go-ahead to march down Avenue of the Americas. Despite the good feeling and aroused mood of the crowd, this past year under a would-be despot has taken a toll on those of us who care about justice, freedom, opportunity, equality, and just plain old kindness. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of the work ahead.

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I believe it is important to march, to show up in numbers, and stand firm in our resistance to the man in office and his racist, sexist, and exclusionary policies. It is even more important to convince people to vote–and in their own interests, not because they have fallen for propaganda and lies or because, out of their own dissatisfactions, they have turn against others who are equally or even more vulnerable (e.g., minorities, immigrants, and refugees).

When I was a day laborer in publishing, I thought that not working for someone else would be bliss. I never imagined that I would be called upon (by my conscience) to battle a despotic president whose policies go against all things I hold dear, which was the case in 2017.

I often share with other dog people on the street what a door man said to me when I first got Oliver: “Dogs are so much nicer than people.” During the march, I stopped often to admire various dogs of different types: an elegant blue doberman (who stepped out of her brownstone on 71st Street to see what was going on) and two little white fluff muffins (maybe bichons-poodle mixes?) sitting next to a woman in a pussyhat. Dogs always lift my mood.

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