10 Things I Learned Protesting the Kavanaugh Confirmation

So, as those of you crazy nuts who follow me on Facebook  and elsewhere know, I went down to DC last week to join the protests and demonstrations against the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh. 

I’ve been engaged in issues and causes for a long time, starting in high school. But I’ve never done something as extreme as decide only 22 hours in advance to travel 400+ miles to join a protest. Which is what I did last week.

I’m not a sexual assault survivor. I’m “lucky” only to have experienced garden variety crap so many women have put up with for so long, from catcalling to groping to lewd propositioning by strangers to the joy of having a guy expose himself to me while I was traveling in Ecuador, alone. (Yay!) But watching the hearings just wrecked me. And seeing that panel of old white men watching and doubting, already planning to vote yes even after witnessing the testimony of a man who, even if he didn’t actually commit sexual assault, was CLEARLY not fffffit to be a supreme court justice, infuriated me. And that video of Trump mocking Dr. Ford while his followers laughed and clapped made me want to….burn something.

I’ve felt dismayed puh-lenty over the past couple of years. But not quite like this. So When I found out the Women’s March was planning demonstrations, I just had to go to DC, to the belly of the beast. I packed my little overnight bag—like, really little, because cheapo Spirit Air charges for carry-ons beyond a “personal item”– and off I went. (I should qualify this by saying that this was after I’d gone back and forth with myself and my long suffering husband for about 48 hours, trying to decide whether or not to go. Fellow Gen-Xers: I was totally Cameron Frye.) 

2. This has been especially traumatic for sexual assault survivors. I knew this already, of course, from what I’ve read on social media and in talking to friends and acquaintances. But seeing and hearing from so many survivors, in one place, was quite stunning. There were a lot of tears. A lot of hugs. A lot of pain and anger, visible in people’s faces and audible in their voices. A lot of stories being told—some on stage at the rally in front of the Supreme Court after the march, and many more, I’m guessing, person to person. I talked with one women, a sixty-something former stripper and prostitute from the west coast, who told me that two days before coming to DC she told her 40-year-old son for the first time that she’d been raped, more than once. She had to tell him, she said. She had to make him understand why she was doing this—especially if she ended up arrested or on the news. She took my breath away. 

Anyway. Here are a few of the many things I learned on my trip, in convenient listicle form.

2. This has been especially traumatic for sexual assault survivors. I knew this already, of course, from what I’ve read on social media and in talking to friends and acquaintances. But seeing and hearing from so many survivors, in one place, was quite stunning. There were a lot of tears. A lot of hugs. A lot of pain and anger, visible in people’s faces and audible in their voices. A lot of stories being told—some on stage at the rally in front of the Supreme Court after the march, and many more, I’m guessing, person to person. I talked with one women, a sixty-something former stripper and prostitute from the west coast, who told me that two days before coming to DC she told her 40-year-old son for the first time that she’d been raped, more than once. She had to tell him, she said. She had to make him understand why she was doing this—especially if she ended up arrested or on the news. She took my breath away. 

3. Hardcore activists are amazing. Most people at the protest were, like me, just there for the day. But others have been in DC demonstrating, organizing and talking to legislators for weeks. Some work for nonprofits that champion causes. (Professional activists! Eek!) Others draw on their own time and resources. Either way, they are smart, savvy, fierce and incredibly well-organized. Women of color figure prominently. One of my favorite moments of the day was when one of the lead organizers announced that the original plan to fill the capitol was off because the police had barricaded it off. “But,” she said, “they forget that they’re dealing with women. And we’ve always got plan B, plan C, and plan D!” Plan B was to occupy the Hart Senate building. You might have seen the coverage on the news.

4. There are men in this fight, too.  I’d say 60-70% of the marchers and protesters were women. But 30-40% isn’t a bad showing for men. It was actually better than I expected. And I was incredibly moved by this video I later saw of line of men blocking the street in front of the Supreme Court. Sure, it would be if there were an equal number of men and women in this fight. But we’ll get there. (And besides, someone’s gotta stay home and watch the kids and vacuum for justice, like my kickass husband did, right?)

5. But mansplainers gonna ‘splain ‘splain ‘splain ‘splain ‘splain. There was only one thing that really pissed me off that day (besides, you know, the reason we were there): A guy who stood at the edge of the rally after the march with a sign scrawled on cardboard saying  “You’re wasting your time. McConnell has the votes. You should be canvassing and making calls to get out the vote for Democrats.” Seriously, what the fuck, dude? First of all, the vast majority of people there probably already do GOTV work regularly. Second, protests are also an important part of participatory democracy and, in this particular case, an important outlet for a lot of extremely pissed off and hurting people, many of them, if you hadn’t heard, are sexual assault survivors, asshole. Third and finally, WHY AREN’T YOU HOME GETTING OUT THE VOTE IF THIS IS SUCH A GODDAMNED WASTE OF TIME? We will speak no more of this horrible man.

6. The camera is totally biased. My fellow demonstrators were people of all stripes: Men and women on their lunch breaks, sweating in their business attire (it was HOT—the weather, I mean), moms pushing strollers, world-weary ex-hippies, fired-up female college students and twenty-somethings, and grandmotherly types straight out of Hallmark commercials. But to look at some of the media coverage I checked out after the march, particularly from right-wing sites, you’d think the entire thing was made up of ferociously screaming, wild-eyed women—nay, womyn! (Double eek!) At the rally, I watched with vague amusement and mild nausea as photographers kept taking pictures of the two women standing right next to me (me, with my unthreatening, wholesome, mom-next-door looks): They had very short hair, tattoos, black tank-tops. Maybe they were just particularly photogenic. But they also fit the right-wing narrative that this, and all liberal movements, are made up of people who are the other. (NOT to say that the left doesn’t do the same sometimes.) 

7. Celebrities—they’re just like us! Just with way more makeup and better hair! Amy Schumer (who I love) and Emily Ratajkowksi (who I’d never heard of before because I am old and out of it) were there, demonstrating and getting arrested and chatting up the common folk. Amy (I call her that; she lets me) in particular seemed very chill and normal. At one point, she was just a few feet away, signing autographs and posing for selfies. I was tempted to go up and ask for a picture, but….that ain’t me babe. I stuck to creepily photgraphing her with other people, and yelling “You rule Amy!” when she waved to those of us standing nearby. I didn’t feel dorky about that afterward at all. Nope.

 

 

8. Being arrested wasn’t what I expected. Ha! Gotcha with my tricksy sentence, there, didn’t I. I didn’t get arrested. I didn’t want to go down that road. (In fact, at first, I avoided going into the senate building, where the arrests were happening. But the energy inside was too infectious.) I just mean that the process of being arrested, which many protesters chose to do after the march, was eye-opening. While some people resisted, impelling the police to pull or drag them away, or put them in plastic cuffs, most people were more or less tapped on the shoulder, asked if they wanted to be arrested, and, if they answered yes (because that was their goal) they were directed to a line of people that was eventually led out of the building for processing and paperwork a few blocks away.  Meanwhile, when I entered the building I was politely told exactly where I needed to be / stand if I wanted to watch and cheer didn’t want to get arrested. It was a strange sort of civil disobedience kabuki theater. This is not to suggest for a single minute that civil disobedience isn’t effective, or that there aren’t cases where arrests and police treatment of protesters are much less polite, even brutal. But this wasn’t the case during this particular action, as far as I know. I could be wrong. I am frequently wrong. 

9. George Soros is a Deadbeat. I still haven’t gotten my check for going to the protest, or reimbursement for my plane and train tickets—and everyone else down there that I talked to said the same thing. PLUS: turns out he didn’t actually pay for those manufactured signs they were handing out (you know, the ones not made in the basement with love). They were made and distributed by the Women’s March, the ACLU, Planned Parenthood and other co-organizers of the march. WTF, George?

10. I’ve gotten more credit than I deserved. A lot of friends and others have thanked me for going down to protest on their behalf. Which is really nice, and appreciated. But the truth is, I did it in large part for selfish reasons: I needed an outlet for my anger and dismay. I needed to do something bigger than just complain to my friends, drink wine, and rant on social media. Something bigger even than writing postcards to voters and making calls to get out the vote. I was extremely lucky to have the cash and the time to travel to DC to satisfy that need. It was cathartic. It was intense. And I truly think I would have been more devastated by the ultimate outcome if I hadn’t done it.

So. What now? Now, I get back to the quiet, steady work of home-based and locally-focused activism. I keep doing what I can to smash the patriarchy. I refocus on work and writing and teaching my daughters about fairness, honesty and doing what’s right. And I pray (in my non-praying way) and hope for a better, more peaceful future for our country.

 

PS – Thanks to everyone who read and shared my primal scream of a post, “It’s Smash the Patriarchy Season, Motherfuckers.” You temporarily broke my website! Woohoo! Sorry this post doesn’t have nearly as many swears in it, fuckheads. 

PPS – Any comments below from bots, trolls (paid or otherwise) or generally nasty people will be summarily deleted. Be nice.