This has been a year fraught with divisive and ugly political discourse, and it seems there is no end in sight. In response, hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of cities all over the world are marching in solidarity and support of the issues of equality and humanity facing our country today. Our Editor-in-Chief plans to march in her home city of Philadelphia. She shares with us why participation is important to her.
It’s been pretty clear to me for nearly 20 years that the President Elect is not a good man. From the moment I arrived in New York City when I was 22 years old and worked for the event planning firm that had planned his father’s funeral a few years earlier, I heard stories about the man that would make your blood run cold. And these stories that I continued to hear over the years—including firsthand accounts of his brutish behavior—have not become more favorable over time.
So, when he announced his candidacy for President, I laughed. Who would even listen to a word he says, let alone cast their vote for him? And then, I watched his announcement speech, during which he referred to Mexicans as rapists and criminals. In that moment, seeds of fear started to take root in my gut. Because I knew millions of people in our country would lap up this “straight talk” without seeing the poison being unleashed. They would be thrilled that someone was “telling it like it is” and “shaking things up” by saying all the things that stoke fear and empower the anti-intellectual movement that has been growing in this country for 20 years. I may live in a liberal bubble and enjoy a social media echo chamber now, but it hasn’t always been so.
You see, I grew up in Southern and Central Illinois in the 80’s and 90’s, and while my parents were never overtly or even tacitly approving of most of the racist commentary that I ran into from time to time, I endured (and still endure) a significant amount of ugly rhetoric from members of my extended family. I’ll never forget the time when I was 18 and brought the guy I was dating to a family party and we nearly had to leave because of the vicious, racist conversation a couple of my cousins were having. My boyfriend, one of the most generous and kind people I know, was undone; he wanted to speak up. My memory on this final point may be colored by my guilt, but I believe I talked him out of it, largely because it made me too uncomfortable. I may have even used the words, “it’s not that big of a deal” to hide my embarrassment. This was in the early 90’s, and casual racism was largely ignored in my world. I was also happier just walking away or pretending I didn’t hear. Why get involved? At the time, and for years afterward, I believed that saying nothing was taking the high road. It’s painful to admit that obviously misguided belief, but it’s how I felt at the time.
Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek. —Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States
So, Why Do I March? Why do I call my senators and representatives in Washington D.C. and mobilize around causes of equality in my local community? Why do I refuse to normalize the incoming administration? Why am I unafraid to tell my daughters exactly what the new president may have in store? Why do I tell them they, too, have an obligation, young as they are, to speak out for what is fair and just?
I think the better question is, “how can I not?”
The time for silence and complacency is over. The time to let someone else solve these problems is over. The time to pretend we didn’t hear what we heard is over. The time for passive resistance is over. The time to just “give him a chance” is over.
As Maya Angelou said, “when someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.” And so I march. And I will continue to march and call and speak and testify and protest. I will exercise my constitutional right to Freedom of Speech, and I will teach my daughters to do the same. I owe it to them to fight for a future America that we can all be proud of.
Mollie Michel is a South Philly resident and a Philadelphia public school parent. A recovering non-profit professional, Mollie is also an experienced birth doula, Certified Lactation Counselor, and the mom of two awesome girls and a sweet pit bull named Princess Cleopatra. In her spare time, she is usually trying to figure out how Pinterest works, training for a(nother) half-marathon with her dog at her side, or simply trying to keep up with her increasingly wily daughters.