![]() “Well,” he said “you’d put one foot in front of the other.”īack on the train, in seats this time instead of squished against our fellow travelers, it was one last chance to smile at the ladies in pink hats, the kids with Girls Run the World temporary tattoos on their faces, and the man whose sign read I SUPPORT WOMEN BUT I HATE CROWDS. “If we wanted to walk, how would we do that?” I asked. It was time to go.Ī helpful official at the Smithsonian metro station asked where we were headed, and gave us options for getting to the red line. Then word started to filter out that the march component of the march might not happen exactly as planned - too many people. We ate granola bars and nibbled raw almonds and we pledged to go back home and keep working. We wiped away tears at 6-year-old Sophie Cruz, daughter of two undocumented immigrants, who brought down the house when she said: “I also want to tell the children not to be afraid, because we are not alone.” We called out in agreement at the speaker who said that every mother trying to get a good job knows that the economy is a woman’s issue, and every mother trying to keep her family together knows that immigration is a woman’s issue. ![]() ![]() We raised our fists in solidarity for abortion rights. WASHINGTON - We finally got close enough to the Smithsonian Castle to stand in the crowd - or, in my 9-year-old daughter Phoebe’s case, perch on a ledge - to hear the speakers, and glimpse, if we craned our necks, an edge of the giant screen. ![]()
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