Why I Didn't March.

I write this out of guilt, self-preservation, frustration, and mostly insecurity. Cool, glad that's out there.

Yesterday, as most of my peers were standing for something under the sun, holding peaceful and beautiful protests in various cities, I was having a casual Saturday enjoying the 50+ degree weather in Chicago. I went to a park with a few friends for the simple purpose of being outside. Just a couple miles South of me, more than 200,000 people gathered in downtown Chicago for the Women's March, taking a stand for various things a day after Trump's inauguration.

On Instagram and Snapchat, I followed posts and stories of close friends at rallies across the country -- friends in Houston, friends in Kansas City, sister in Denver, and neighbors in Chicago. A dear friend responded to a snap of mine asking, "Why aren't you at a rally?!"

Well shit -- why wasn't I at a rally? Didn't I care? Do I support Trump? Am I a bad person? Am I a rapist? Where was my decency? I'm an ass sometimes, but have I stooped that low?

The real answer why I wasn't at a rally: I just wasn't. Same reason why literally millions of others who are anti-Trump and care about women's rights, minorities, etc. weren't at a rally -- they just weren't. They had plans set beforehand. They didn't have plans, but ended up doing something else. They went for a run. They had errands to take care of. They were out of town. They were hungry. They were too far from a rally. It wasn't kid-friendly. They thought it was just for women. They slept in. They were lazy. They don't like crowds.

During the day I felt like I had missed a part of history. And I did. But I miss parts of history every day, some events which are easy for me to take part in. What affected me the most was not that I missed out, but that I felt guilty for having abandoned an apparent civic duty. Barring a valid excuse, like work or emergency, there was an expectation (perhaps self-conjured) that developed as the day went on, that someone of my demographic should be at a rally.

I understand that sentiment. It's like, how can you claim you're a Houston Rockets fan and you don't even watch Game 7 of a playoffs round, and instead you go play mini-golf? But it's not that simple. A single march, albeit an incredibly symbolic one, is not necessarily akin to a game 7. Whereas the success of a basketball team is adequately measured in wins and losses, and the avid support of a team requires at least some participation in critical games, the fight for rights isn't so basic. It's diminishing to think that participation alone at a single event serves as proxy for genuine support. Though yesterday was indeed a success in terms of sheer number, the absence of those who are like-minded and able to attend was not a failure. Progress is incremental, and this battle is multifaceted. There are countless fronts on which this struggle is fought, every day. Yesterday's rallies were not the beginning to something amazing, but instead a continuation of progress that momentarily manifested itself in a very visible, popular way.

It was a beautiful day, one that I chose to experience away from the main event, and one that I will remember for years. However, I will look back upon Trump's presidency and I will not see my absence yesterday as singular indication of my support or disdain. I know where I stand and how I fight -- I trust we all do, no matter how active we are in the spotlight moments.

A Racist Moment

I live in Chicago at the moment and I just experienced the most racist moment of my life. I grew up in the Houston area, which is a pretty diverse and integrated city. Chicago, although diverse, isn't as integrated. Maybe this fact contributed to this anecdote, or maybe I just happened to choose the wrong bus to hop on to today.

I'm writing this not to incite anything, or to have a debate about the current state of racism in our country, etc. -- I just want to share it because it was pretty appalling to witness: I get onto Bus 36 heading North. It's Memorial Day, so there's more people on the bus than usual at 3 p.m. on a Monday. The bus is about 80% full and 2 seats open up to my right just as I board. A middle-aged couple is sitting in front of me. One of the woman's leg is propped up onto the chair seat in front of her. The man has his arm around her. They're dressed like tourists, but they seem like they're from the area. I don't smell booze on either of them, but I really hope alcohol is involved.

"I really don't like the warmth," the man says. "I like feeling frostbite on my toes. My fingers. I don't mind the winter at all. I have had frostbite on my toes. My fingers. I'm okay without the warmth. Did you know? Frostbite on my toes and fingers." This statement isn't too random for a Chicago bus ride. I don't make much of it. Maybe he's a bit crazy? He's directing all these comments at his wife.

She begins murmuring something, and then I hear it -- "...THESE NIGGERS." Some curse words follow. The man tries to hush her. He tries talking about something else. Ah, now I know why he was talking about frostbite. He glances back at me just enough to gauge whether I'm black or not. I look around and most everyone is looking down at their phones or out the window. I realize that this woman has been causing a scene even before I got on the bus. The woman sounds drunk. She sits up a bit in her chair and tries to look behind her towards the back of the bus. She's searching for someone it seems. The man turns her back around and hugs her to contain her.

"Those fuckers. Shit. NIGGERS." An elderly woman next to me says in response, just loud enough, "There are children on this bus." The woman in front of me turns around to glare at the comment. The bus comes to stop and the doors open. A woman outside the bus pleads with the driver, "Sir -- I just need a ride. I've been trying to get change but I can't get any." The driver responds, "No sorry I can't do that." The woman in front of me exclaims "SHE'S A WHITE WOMAN. JUST LET HER ON. SHE'S WHITE." Everyone is shaking their heads now. Two stops later a black man gets onto the bus. Uh-oh. The man immediately holds his wife tight and begins to kiss her on the cheek to divert her attention. It doesn't work. "Where do they all come from? They're everywhere. They belong in South Chicago with the scum." The black man just walks past her.

The husband then says, "I live on the streets. I don't mind it. I live in the alleyways. Like a superhero. I'm like a superhero." Maybe this is his attempt to appease the situation. I don't think anyone knows what his comments mean. An elderly man with a cane gets onto the bus and sits in front of the couple. "Let me shake your hand grandpa" the woman says. The husband and his wife both reach out to shake his hand. They both fumble around like they're drunk. "You shake hands like this --" the husband says as he grabs the old man's wrist instead of his palm. This is all really weird. He then says, "You shake hands like a Jewish man. You know? Like a Jewish man." The old man just nods and minds his own business.

Then the woman in front raises her hands. She's flicking off people in the back of the bus. I don't turn around to see who's sitting back there. The man pushes her hand down. She raises her middle finger again and again. There's some cursing coming from her. We come to a stop and a black woman and her 3 kids walk to the front of the bus, ready to get off. So that's who all this hatred has been geared towards. "THERE'S RETRIBUTION FOR EVERYONE WHO ELECTED BARACK OBAMA" she yells at the family. The husband tags on, "All I know is that none of them are mine. That's all I can say. They're not mine." He means the kids. One of the daughters turns around slightly to take a look at the couple. She seems a bit confused. I think she knows the comments are directed at her family. The mom looks straight ahead, waiting for the bus doors to open.