My Experience at the Orlando Women's March

3:12 PM

Me proudly showing off my sign

I woke up on the 21st of January and I didn't feel great. I felt a ball of anxiety tighten in my chest like someone's fist had hold of me. It had been there for a couple of days, but it felt like it had reached it's peak that morning. I hadn't turned on my TV in days and had been avoiding most news sites knowing that they would solely be covering the passing of presidential power. As dramatic as it may sound, I really could not bear to look.

I kept reminding myself how quickly time can go by. "Look at how quickly eight years went by." By the end of Trump's presidency it's highly likely I won't even be living in this country. However, regardless of where in the world I or you live, it would be irresponsible to turn a blind eye to how dangerous he could be to this country and beyond.

Still I laid there staring out the window listening to the voice in my head say, "You're just one person. It doesn't matter if you're there or not. Aren't you going to look so ridiculous going by yourself?" Until something inside me had enough of my anxiety trying to hold me back. Without any conscious thought I stood up and went to get clothes out of my closet. I was going to this march.

I sat on the bus still hearing my anxiety try to talk me into turning around, but I remained planted in my seat. I was only one person. but if everyone had that same mindset we would never accomplish anything. If I only sat behind my phone calling out injustice and inequality, but didn't publicly stand for these causes when it counted and I was able to, wouldn't I be a bit of a hypocrite? The further towards downtown Orlando the bus traveled, the more energized and relaxed I became about my participation.

My eyes looked up from my phone as we passed Pulse, the club where 49 innocent people had their lives violently taken from them. It was only the second time I'd been by it since returning to Florida in September, and I didn't get any less emotional than I did when I first saw the horrifying images on CNN on June 12th. Today wasn't just about fighting for cisgender women. Today was about fighting for LGBTQ+ people who are afraid to speak up for fear of being met with violence. Today was about fighting for my fellow Latinx community that deals with racism and stereotyping every single day of their lives. Today was about fighting for comprehensive gun control because we've already lost too many innocent lives to mass shootings. How many more do we have to lose before something changes?

I got off the bus at Lynx Central Station and proceeded towards Lake Eola where the march was taking place. The event wasn't scheduled to start until 1 pm, so I was a few hours early, but this gave me plenty of time to eat and prepare for the unforgiving midday Florida heat.

As I meandered about, I saw an older gentleman holding a sign on the opposite side of an upcoming crosswalk. I couldn't quite make out what it said at first, but I could read "Trump" and "Pence" in bold letters. My pink feminist sign and I almost went down a side street to avoid an early morning confrontation with this potential Trump supporter, but as I grew closer to the intersection I could see he wasn't a Trump supporter at all. For whatever reason I found myself uncharacteristically suppressing my instinct to walk by and silently acknowledge, and instead waiting to cross the road and talk to him.

I extended my hand as I approached him and introduced myself, and he did the same. I believe his name was Bob (I forgot to write it in my notes), and he graciously agreed to let me take a photo of his sign. As I took a few steps back and brought my camera up on my phone. he said "I think it's terrible that old men feel they have a right to say what women do with their bodies." I replied with a laugh, "Tell me about it!" He said, "I don't have to. You already know." It honestly surprised me to see someone from a generation just above my father's be so progressive. It's not something I've encountered often in my life, and I always feel a need to keep my liberal feminist views to myself around folks like this. But Bob talked to me for a few minutes and explained he was originally from south Florida where he witnessed the devastation that business decisions donors and members of Trump's cabinet made had on the people in his community. People lost their houses and fell into poverty due in part to corporate greed, and he worried what effect giving such an increase in power to these rich megalomaniacs could have on the country.

After saying goodbye to Bob, I found my way into a Subway where I ate and relaxed for a few hours until half past noon. At that point I decided to go see what the turnout was looking like at the lake. The sidewalks were already packed with people holding signs and talking, and I panicked thinking I should have shown up sooner to secure a good spot to listen to the pre-march speeches. Luckily, being myself meant I could sit anywhere I wanted, so I settled into a seat directly facing the center of the Walt Disney Amphitheater. Not long after I sat down I saw a rush of people moving towards my left to take a photo of a humorous anti-Trump sign. Once the crowd died down a bit I walked down the row of seats and asked the artist if I could also take a photo.

She told me her name was Lindsay and when I asked her what being at the march meant to her she told me, "It means I'm more than a number from 1-10," referencing the way Trump likes to rate women based on attractiveness. That really stuck with me throughout the day. The fact that there are people out there who genuinely believe he genuinely cares about every American, when he has repeatedly made it known he determines a woman's worth and importance based on her looks is mind boggling and disgusting to me.

I sat back down and took in my surroundings. The crowd was far bigger and more lively than I anticipated. There's a palpable fear surrounding the new president and what he's capable of doing, but you wouldn't have known it being in that crowd of people. People were angry, but energized. There were signs expressing fear of homophobia and sexism, but their spirits were clearly not broken. They were here showing their solidarity after all.

A woman a few seats away from me had a colorful sign and I struck up a conversation with her.

Her name was Teresa and she explained she was also here at the march by herself. Teresa was there to represent the diverse people in her life. She explained members of her family were mixed race, LGBT, and disabled, and watching Trump mock, ridicule, or blatantly insult every one of those demographics felt like a personal insult and brought her to tears. She was married to a republican, but even he couldn't bring himself to vote for Trump in light of his words and actions. "I just can't sit at home in my living room anymore," she said, "This man could, and it seems like he wants to take our rights so we have to act."

After speaking to Teresa, I decided to go find out the stories of some of the other marchers in the brief time I had before the speeches started. I met Sandy Rose Rotondo of Volusia and Flagler LGBTQ Equality a nd Volusia and Flagler LGBTQ Progressive Politics, who's sign echoed the first words of the Suffragettes' speech:

Andrea, Colleen, and Brittany (from right to left, below) who felt it was important to be at the march because "it['s] time" and were in disbelief the country is still having to do this, but "at the same I'm proud to be a part of it", Colleen said.

Then I met mother and son feminist duo, Christine and Julian Suarez:

And Claribel and Madeline who are apart of the LGBTQ+ community. "We've come so far and I don't want to see my my and my girlfriend's rights taken away," Claribel told me.

And just before the speeches began I also had the chance to speak to Shelby Maniccia and Julie Leonard who said, "Silence is not change and silence leads to violence."

I took my seat again and listened to a chorus rendition of "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten echo through the plaza to signify the beginning of the afternoon's events. The crowd began clapping and chanting along to the chorus and I couldn't help but think about all the marches that were simultaneously going on not only around the country, but worldwide. Millions of diverse people from completely different backgrounds banding together to show that we will not be divided and our rights will not so easily be stripped away. It was such a beautiful, indescribable feeling and counteracted all the anxiety I'd been experiencing for days. As the speeches began and 14 diverse women shared their stories and messages of strength and determination, I didn't feel nervous anymore. I felt hopeful. I felt bold. I felt pugnacious.

I listened to the words of Muslim speakers who expressed having felt fear in the past of being unapologetic about their religion. I felt the pain of commissioner Patty Sheehan as she relayed her regret at having the unfortunate distinction of being leader of the location of the worst mass shooting in our nation's history. I heard the story of a single mother of five who fought back when she was told her children wouldn't be granted health care. I became emotional when a woman maybe slightly younger than my own grandmother shared how heartbreaking it was for her Jewish friends to relive the horrors of World War II when they saw news stories of swastikas being spray painted on synagogues. And we all stood to give a standing ovation to the slam poet who so eloquently delivered a piece depicting a young girl growing up through the years and asking her mother what she should when repeatedly faced with sexism.

Being there amongst all these inspiring voices evoked a feeling of pure invincibility and drive to fight back. I felt angry listening to the concerned speeches of disabled speakers, one of whom was blind and the other had epilepsy. How could we in good conscience appoint Betsy DeVos as Secretary of Education when she refuses to promise to protect students with disabilities? Listening to Sussanah Randolph speak about the sexism she experienced during her run for Congress, reminded me of the countless instances of sexism I've experienced in the workplace. Potentially most painful of all when I was 17 and reported a much older male co-worker making sexually explicit comments, and was met with only "So, do you want to quit?" as a response from the owner.

I was reminded of the plight of my fellow Latinos when a highly educated, Hispanic college professor expressed how insulting it was for her to be followed by store associates while she's shopping. No matter how accomplished we are, based on our skin color or the sound of our voices we continue to be stereotyped as stupid, poor, and lazy. But no matter what amount of racism she's been faced with she managed to find humor in the karma of the situation. "My mixed race kids are going to marry your kids and I'm going to cook them rice and beans every Sunday."

After the speeches concluded, I marched very briefly with the crowd before giving in to the weakness my body was feeling due to an impending cold. I went home and lounged in the feeling of my rejuvenated soul. I'm not so naive as to believe this march has effected huge amounts of change...yet. But it was such a huge motion to let Trump know he's on watch, and let people who are in fear of their safety know we are ready to band together and take care of each other. We ARE capable of creating change. We ARE capable of being stronger than the hatred being spewed in the mainstream. We WILL fight back.
E Pluribus Unum: Out of Many, One.