Signs of Strength: Thoughts on the Women’s March

Guest post: Dr. Kimberly Jones

One of the first signs that I saw as we trekked into Washington DC for the Women’s March contained these iconic words:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Since the election, I have despaired that our country has moved so far from this welcoming spirit… until yesterday.

I gathered with hundreds of thousands of people who proved to me that America still is a place where all are welcome.  I drug my 3 daughters into that mess because I felt like I HAD to do something.  When I saw a balloon of an angry Hello Kitty that said “Grab this!” I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.  Then I noticed an elderly lady on a walker, and wondered why in the world she would be out in this crowd.  Then I saw another one, and another one.  I started to realize that they, too, felt like they just HAD to be there.

I took a picture of a very tired woman in her 70’s, who was using a cane to walk, and carrying a sign that read, “I can’t believe we’re still protesting this shit!”  (I want to be her when I grow up!) Their pain and their frustration was so palpable it was heart-breaking. But so was their resilience and determination, their strength and perseverance. I wept at the thought of what they have endured in their lifetimes and what they have overcome.

My world is a better place because of them.  That’s why I marched.  I am so grateful for generations of women who have fought injustice and made tremendous strides forward.  I marched because I refuse to let hate drive us backwards.  I marched because I want to be strong and endure, so that my daughters (and your daughters) world can be even better.

And I was not alone. I marched beside men holding signs that said, “I’m with her,” with arrows pointing all around. I read, “your silence won’t protect you;” “When they go low, we go global;” and my personal favorite:“Vaginas brought you into this world, vaginas will vote you out!” My daughters sang “This little light of mine” as they witnessed what democracy looks like. We marched with women dressed like suffragettes. With people from different races, ages, religions, socioeconomic classes, sexual identities, and political opinions. We somehow managed to get along.

In fact, that is what impressed me the most.  In the insanity that was the Metro station, the frustration of being sandwiched between thousands of people moving ever so slowly, I looked up and read, “I stand on the right side of history.” I pondered this statement. The opposition feels the same way, right?  Have I thought it through? Am I on the right side? How do I know for sure?

Then, the answer came to me so clearly.  Despite the physical misery of the day, despite walking past hundreds of porta-pots with padlocks, despite the rage, frustration, injustice, and despair we were all experiencing, I did not hear one cross word.  I did not see one act that could remotely be interpreted as violent.  The meanest thing I heard was people chanting (as we marched past Trump’s gold-trimmed hotel), “Hands too small to build a wall.”  I saw acceptance, kindness to strangers, people helping other people, and unity.  That’s how I know.  It was a people-centered movement. I wondered what it might look like if people all truly loved all of their neighbors in this way; and I caught a glimpse of what Jesus meant when he prayed “Thy kingdom come.”

Dr. Kimberly Jones is a mother of 4 daughters and one son (sorry Levi, we tried). She is a Child Neurologist at the University of Kentucky, and also a Minister’s wife.

Photo Cred.