Humor and hopefulness a balm for this Mt. Airy marcher

Posted 1/27/17

A sign of inclusion, contrary to the policies of our new president. by Constance Garcia-Barrio From the moment I heard the phrase pussy hats, I knew I would be O.K.            “They’re …

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Humor and hopefulness a balm for this Mt. Airy marcher

Posted

A sign of inclusion, contrary to the policies of our new president.

by Constance Garcia-Barrio

From the moment I heard the phrase pussy hats, I knew I would be O.K.            “They’re pink because we are,” a 20-something woman told me and pointed suggestively at her body as we walked from Suburban Station toward Logan Square on Saturday. “We’re using that word because we want to reclaim it.” She didn’t want to be dainty-fainty, Goodie Two Shoes. She wanted a bigger life for herself. Her hat, the same one that many marchers wore, heartened me.

I had ventured with fear into Center City to join the Women’s March. At 70 and just out of physical therapy for hip surgery, could I stand or walk for an hour? Would I have to sit on the ground if my leg ached? Did I have all my meds with me in case I got swept up in a mass arrest?

I had come to swell the body count. Numbers matter to politicians, so braving the vagaries of an old body felt like voting a second time. The smart, warm, determined crowd banished thoughts of decrepitude. The march proved as entertaining and sometimes shocking as it was crucial to show our unity. A young woman carried a big sign featuring the female orifice in fiery red. “I give life. Respect me!” it said.”

The mix of people lifted my spirits.  Women from the Service Workers Union marched shoulder to shoulder with women whose style and language seemed middle class or owing class. Some white marchers carried signs that said “Black Lives Matter.” Whole families took part, with toddlers riding in strollers, some of them with their faces painted with hearts or whiskers, a few of them asleep.

People with signs saying “Ask me” peppered the route to Logan and the Parkway stage. I didn’t want directions, but I did have a question for one of the many men participating. “Why are you here?” I asked a man of Chinese heritage, a student at Swarthmore College. “Because this march is about human rights,” he told me. “The issue is too important to stay away.”

The next moment, Unicorn Man crossed my path. A teacher from Lancaster County, he was dressed in pink from head to toe, wore a shimmering cape and had a horn with spirals protruding from the head of his costume. “I’m here for peace,” he said, before the crowd swept him toward the Museum of Art.

Drums throbbed on stage, and agogo bells sounded in accompaniment. The musicians urged people to dance, not that they needed encouragement. I did a few dance steps at the edge of the crowd and nearly collided with a woman on a shiny red scooter. She had a big heart pinned to her bodice, and her rainbow-striped cape streamed out behind her as she whizzed on.

I thought I had seen it all until I laid eyes on a man wrinkled enough to have escaped from a sarcophagus. “I want to see what you women are up to,” he said, then went rattling down the street on his walker. At least he paid us the compliment of curiosity and attended despite his difficulty.

If he wanted to have a visual impression of women’s sentiments (about Trump), he got an eyeful. “There’s going to be hell toupee,” one sign said. “We shall overcomb,” said another.

Other women got down to different political and anatomical specifics. Several women had signs saying, “Get your rosaries off my ovaries.” I applauded them. I’m way past my childbearing years, but all women should have a choice about whether to give birth. Another sign said, “I’m OVARY reacting.”  A clever, thinking crowd.

An hour-and-a-half into this splendid stew of race, age and class, my intuition warned me to start heading toward a bus stop. I had walked more than a mile, stood for more than an hour, longer than I had thought possible. And I had seen thousands of folks stand firm for human rights. The humor and hopefulness offered a balm for me in my senior years, a new measure of my possibilities. Maybe the unity and joy of us marchers — and of those who were with us in spirit — will sustain our nation in the uncertain times ahead.

 Constance Garcia-Barrio is a long-time Mt. Airy resident, freelance writer for the Local and other publications and retired Romantic language professor at West Chester University.

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