This is What Democracy Looks Like

There are women all around me. The snow is falling. It is the coldest day of the year, and we must take refuge in the lobby of City Hall, behind the irony, behind the contradiction, and beside the groups of huddled citizens, warmed by coffee and ambition.

We demand change on pink poster boards and rounded purple buttons, on printed tote bags and t-shirts, on hats that don’t keep out the cold--but knitting a banned word can set your head on fire.

I walk out with the others:

“I march to repeal the sex-ed curriculum.”

“I march to show that we are here; the people will stand up.”

We do not only stand, we march. Slowly, braving wind and snow and a history of sexism, we march. Men, women, queer people, children, huddled together like penguins. Penguins huddle when they travel; in these large groups body heat is preserved. Heads bowed, they shelter themselves from the wind.

We do not shelter ourselves from anything. I hold up my face and feel the wind. I feel on my cheeks the people who have raised their voices, begged to be heard, begged for the violence to stop, and today they chant. I feel on my forehead the people who work everyday, who provide for themselves and their families, who have twenty-five cents ripped from their dollar, and today they chant. I feel on my nose the people who have no land, who have no water, who have lost their identity or are forced to hide it, and today, as the grey sky clears, as the blizzard pushes on, as the sun retreats behind the clouds, and Old City Hall comes into view, they chant:

“This is what democracy looks like.”