Pussy Power – One Man’s Perspective on the Women’s March on Washington

Janet and I attended the woman’s March in Washington DC to protest the Trump Administration’s insane and inept position on just about everything. As a male in the midst of close to half a million women, it was indeed a transformational moment for me. To be honest when Janet told me about the march and asked if I would accompany her to Washington, I was less than enthused. This was a women’s march and I didn’t see a place for males. I was downright dismayed at the election results but I wasn’t really ready to head to DC to protest like back in the civil rights movement. I had my reasons, or so I thought. I was older and more mature now and I felt protesting was the purview of the young. Besides I didn’t want to be the only male on the bus heading to DC for a 5 hour drive there and back. So I said I wasn’t going. Didn’t need too. It’s for women only. Too long a drive. Other men are not going with their wives. Too far, have fun.

I saw the look on Janet’s face and I thought well I’m still not going. A few days later she’s buying yarn and knitting. I haven’t seen her knit in a number of years. In fact I teased her about how strange she looked with knitting needles in her hands. What was that all about? “We’re wearing hats to the march, Pussy Hats.” I choked down a laugh as I asked what in the world are you talking about. Pussy hats? Yes, and I’m knitting one for you too. Oh no, I’m not wearing one of those things. On my head? Are you nuts? Janet looked at me with consternation and said yes I was and told me that I was going with her. It’s too important and we have to make a statement. Take a stand. Well, I was all for taking some kind of stand. I hadn’t been part of a protest in decades. But I’m still not going, especially if I have to wear one of those pink pussy hats. Where the heck did that idea come from? This was definitely a women’s march not a place for men. So that’s it then. I’m not going.

A few days later Janet asked me if would take a photo of her in her newly finished pussy hat, which, to be honest looked kind of cute. So I did. She and the dog sat for a few snaps. So then Janet says she’s starting mine and I can have it customized. Well they looked cute and certainly would be warm. Heck I could just wear one around the house and not turn up the heat. Yeah that made sense – save on the heating bill. Okay make me one but not all pink. How about gray and pink or some such combination. Janet was on it. But did I mention I’m still not going to the march? I don’t want to be the only guy on the bus. Too much female energy. It’ll be weird. They’ll look at me with disdain. I’m not going.

Before I knew it my hat was done and I was presented with a gray knit hat with streaks of pink laced throughout. Not bad. In a mostly humorous tone I said let me try it on. It fit snuggly and was definitely warm. I could wear this thing around here and be done with it. I told Janet I still wasn’t going to DC but perhaps I would go to the New York March. Yes that’s it — the New York March was here at home and easy to get to and would be just as effective. And there would be men there for sure. I was going to the New York March. Besides she was now having major issues securing the bus which, with less than two weeks to the march, because she couldn’t get enough committed riders. We’ll go to New York instead and I’m on board with that.

The date was getting closer and I was actually wearing the hat around the house keeping toasty watching Janet deal with the uncertainty of the chartered bus and having enough people to make the trip. Lots of anxiety for her. A funny thing happened wearing my “customized” pinkish pussy hat. I felt connected to something bigger, more important than me sitting for a 5 hour drive. I was part of something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Then the bus fell through. Cancelled. Well that settles it then. Done. But suddenly I realized I was disappointed. I actually wanted to go. I watched Janet and her sister grapple with the uncertainty of our circumstances and began to see something unique about how they worked and more importantly, they believed that they had to find a way to Washington. With just a few days to go before the march, they had a 12 passenger van. We were back in business. I was quietly excited as I watched people sign up to be in the van and I even got my daughter Michaela to join us. So I would be the only male in the van. Ugh, not good and I was having second thoughts. I can’t back out now but then Henry, Janet’s son, said he was on board. Well that was it. If Henry’s going too, then lets do this!

It was 3 AM on Saturday morning and we were up and heading out the door. Michaela had come up the night before and I was looking forward to the sharing this very important day with my daughter. Sleep ruled the moment but there was a quiet anticipation as we boarded the van greeting each other with groggy excitement. A few hours later we stopped for a bathroom break at the Clara Barton rest stop on the NJ Turnpike. It was wall-to-wall women in pink hats. It was sight to behold. It was a quiet controlled chaos if you could call it that. A quiet shared purpose that permeated the place. A pre-cursor of what was to come.

The cloudy weather engulfed us but the threatening rain never arrived. The spirit of the event erased any gloom from the weather. I spent the day walking and photographing the scene at the National Mall and Washington Monument. I had never seeing so many women in one place — peaceful, focused and determined to be heard. And of course there were other men there, but the women ruled the day. There were posters and signs, many somewhat vulgar referring to Trumps attack on women’s “pussies.” I thought maybe this is how women are with one another, perhaps in the locker room away from men or just being with one another. It was such a different energy than any male event I had ever participated in. It was embracing. It was endearing. It was powerful in so many respects. I had to just melt in and observe and get the whole gender thing out of my head and be a part of something historic. It was an amazing, amazing event. So many people sharing a common purpose and showing the world how they felt and not being silent or afraid.

It’s so easy to fall and be trapped into long entrenched stereotypes about gender and place. I can’t say I’m free from that. It swirls around us daily. We’re trying to change it across the globe, but the struggle continues. The Women’s March on Washington allowed me to step into another realm that I felt privileged to witness and be a part of. I came away enlightened with fresh perspectives and refreshed outlooks about myself and my relationship to women, and in a way to all creatures. It pulled me out of myself and opened me up to the world again. It turned into a 24hour day as we got back home at 3 AM Sunday morning exhausted but energized. And yes I wore my “Pussy Hat” on my head the entire time.