"Actions speak louder than words."
As a writer, a poet, and a student who is studying what language has the power to do, I am troubled by this statement. I spend hours picking the right words for the right time so that the right meaning comes across in the right way, and still, someone can perform one action and completely blow away all the words. How? All the rhetoric in the world and one fist in the air can punch so hard that not even language can describe what has occurred.
Today, I was given the luxury of experience how powerful actions are over words. It started last night, as my roommate and I discussed the Women's Marches planned around the world. We joked about driving 10 hours to Washington, D.C. to join and then it dawned on us that many Marches were happening close to us. We called a friend who lived outside of Chicago and we had a place to stay. So we packed our bags and drove through the night.
As a man, I was nervous to attend. I understood that this was by no means a space meant for me. I understood that even being gay, and being a person of color, the male privilege still was entangled in my existence. I understood how different my life is because I am male and male-bodied. I was nervous that it would appear that I was infringing on a space that was not meant for me. I, just as so many others, have watched words and intentions being slammed and slandered from all sides in 2016, and I was worried of falling prey to this as I embarked on the biggest adventure of the new year. My roommate and I had picked up posters and markers to make signs for the rally and I was racking my brain to figure out some slogan that would explain that I was there in support of women everywhere. And then it hit me.
"I march for the women that raised me."
My life is entirely the way it is because of the women in my life. I learned it all from the women who came before me, or who are alongside me. I dedicate this article, and my past 24 hours to them, and promise to continue to fight for their rights just as they have done for mine.
I march for...
... my college girl friends, the ones who call me when they walk home alone, the ones who remind me what it means to be a woman on a college campus and how that differs from my experience, and what I can do to help
... my roommate, the one who says spontaneous things like "let's go march with all the 'nasty women' in Chicago," the one who learned how to be a woman in a world that takes, who has shown me the internal hurricane that can sometimes plague those even with the toughest exteriors of strength and grace, the one who will not be bought or bossed in any way
... my teachers, past and present, the ones who constantly force me to question myself and the world around me, who make sure their students never settle for anything less than their best, the ones who don't know all the right answers, just the right questions.
... my two high school best friends, for showing me what it means to be independent, determined women in this day and age, for being unabashedly themselves, and for not letting anyone tell them how to pursue their dreams
... my godmothers, two women who love each other more fiercely and faithfully than most heterosexual couples I know, for showing me that there is no right or wrong in love, for burning the path for me and other LGBTQ+ youth, and never giving up the fight, for each other, or others.
... my grandmother, the biggest fan of all her grandchildren, for walking in the Women's March at 71 years old, as if it would be any other way, for raising three beautiful daughters like rockstar women, for hosting Thanksgiving every year, even though it stresses you out, just so you can bring your family home.
... and most of all, to my mother, a mosaic of a woman, for teaching me everything I know, for all the neurotic, compulsive, cleaning behavior you have passed down, for showing me how important it is to learn that you need to put yourself first sometimes, for turning yourself from shield into sword, for raising sons that treat women right, no question, for setting the highest of role models for your children to follow.
I am who I am because of the women in my life, and I will fight for rights today, tomorrow, and forever more.
