We wait with our protest sign in hand, sitting quietly on the edge of the fountain. There are so many people here. Some of them were even on the bus with us. There are friendly policemen in fluorescent yellow jackets, near two men playing banjos as a young woman juggles. Tents spring up from within the small gathering of trees in the middle of the park. I know no one, except my boyfriend, when the general assembly begins; but I know that we'll echo the speaker's words, just like everyone else in the crowd.
For the most part, the formalities are somewhat boring, but no one leaves. We wait patiently while everyone voices their thoughts and concerns. The more they talk, the more I feel my anxiety slipping away. I joke with a man in a Guy Fawkes mask and feel strangely comfortable in this group, never even asking anyone's name.
There is no guarantee of equality or safety - nothing that gives us the right not to starve or waste away from untreated illnesses. We are okay today, but each of us fears tomorrow. We have come because our voices can no longer be heard by those we elected. Despite being the constituents of the people we legally selected to make decisions regarding our future, they listen instead to the demands of those who donated most to campaign funding. If our votes are not powerful enough to sway them, then perhaps our numbers are.
Our purpose binds us together, electrifying and warming us in the cool Autumn afternoon.
Shouting in unison is the perfect warm-up for the march. There is a nearly tangible tuning of our intent as we approach the street. There's a rhythm and it's easily found. I still don't know anyone, but I'm smiling and so are they. It's easy enough to dismiss one man, standing on the corner, shouting about doomsday - but can a crowd of hundreds of people, screaming for justice be so easily ignored? Suddenly, I'm breathless and laughing and pumping my fist in the air as we all yell together.
"Ain't no power like the power of the people,
'Cause the power of the people don't stop!"
We cheer wordlessly when the bus drivers honk in approval; when a gaping shopper steps from the curb to join our mass; and when someone claps as we move past. We're contained in an amoeba of strangers who mirror our yearning for solutions to the troubles of corporate and political greed. In this crowd, none of us are alone.
"We are the 99% and SO ARE YOU!"
Although my head aches from the slowly ebbing ocean of noise and my voice is hoarse from screaming the chants, I'm still grinning like a loon when the march draws to a close. We were seen. We were heard. I may never be able to join the protesters in the countries worse off than my own, but I marched here. We marched for them as much as for ourselves.
Our feet shared the same language, in the march, and our prayers struck the ground with every step.
Listen.
Change.
Unify.
Change.
This entry was written as part of the
first topic of
LJ Idol's 8th season, which is "When you pray, move your feet."