Why are we here? Reflections on Women’s March 2018

Words and photos by Constanza Prieto

One month ago, on January 20, more than 200,000 demonstrators congregated in the streets of Manhattan to be part of the 2018 Women’s March. It was a beautiful, sunny, powerful, and inspiring day. I woke up very early, as if a little girl on Christmas morning looking for her gifts. I had been looking forward to the event for weeks, when we would march for democracy and for our rights as women.

This was my second march. In 2017, a great friend urged me to participate. Fearful, I hesitated to go; as an immigrant, I did not want to encounter problems. However, she told me, “This is a historic moment. We must go.” There was no alternative but to get dressed and run to meet her.

This year would be different. This year I would go alone. I emerged victorious from my house with my sign that read: “Desobediencia al Patriarcado, immigrant power.” I soon discovered that I was not alone. Arriving on the subway platform, I recognized my peers wearing T-shirts bearing messages or gathered with smiling friends. We were many, and it was just the beginning.

During the march, there was a defiant sense of extreme pride in being a woman. Among the many proclamations written on signs and banners, maybe the simplest and most unpretentious one caught my attention: “Why are we here?” This poster prompted me to meditate on why I had decided to march with other women. It is simple, and it is related to the shared history of many women.

I have been a feminist since I was very young, but I did not know it. I studied in Chile at a conservative Catholic school that was only for women. It was an environment defined by catholic conservatism, where abortion, reproductive rights, and sexual freedom of women were deadly sins. Nevertheless, despite the context, I considered feminine power a value. In my safe and protected feminine world, I believed that women could do everything, ignoring the difficulties that I would face as a woman in the future.

I ignored the obnoxious comments of law school professors, who openly half-joked to the whole classroom things like: “If the best student in the class was a woman, it is clear that the class was dreadful” or “you have to be happy with a mediocre score because you are a woman” or “although it is true women are in general good students, they are never the best lawyers.” This attitude is entrenched even more deeply in the professional world, and especially toward immigrants.

Why do I march? Because in the 21st century, women are second-class citizens. Because I want to see the faces of women of all races, social classes, ages, religions, and sexual orientations. Because I want to find camaraderie among my peers who have faced the same challenges as I have. I march for my mom, because the patriarchy made her give up her job to take care of me when I was born, as her salary was not enough to pay for daycare. I march for the daughters of my friends and girls all over the world. I march because I believe that the feminist revolution changed the world and the global economy. I march in search of better times, with more effective rights. I march because I believe that we can continue creating influence in the world. I march because I have a voice, because I can speak and no one will silence me. I march for those who could not march and who said as we passed by their windows, “Thank you, in this house we have four daughters.” For me and for all of us, I march.