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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, JANUARY 27, 2017
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MARCHING TO COUNTER
DESPAIR AND ANGER
Danny Miller/The Daily Astorian
Marchers walk during the Astoria Women’s March held Jan. 21 in Astoria.
Do not underestimate
the fortitude and
passion of marchers
The title for Joan Herman’s column comes from the poem
“Late Fragment” by Raymond Carver
‘LATE FRAGMENT’
And did you get what
By JOAN HERMAN
For The Daily Astorian
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
T
he six of us certainly don’t look like a bunch of
rabble-rousers.
Ranging in age from late 50s to late 60s and
bundled in our fleece and down, we appear to be head-
ing out for a stroll — or roll, in my case — through the
neighborhood on this overcast morning in Astoria.
Yet our faces reveal an undeniable expression of
excitement, even joy, as we set out to exercise our First
Amendment rights. We will join some 1,300 partic-
ipants in downtown Astoria in the first ever Women’s
March, one of hundreds of such events that occurred
around the nation and the world on Jan. 21.
Lest you underestimate the fortitude and passion of
a group of old women to get things done, you would be
wise to remember the example set by Elizabeth Cady
Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, who for decades worked
tirelessly to gain American women the right to vote.
That right was finally won in 1920 with the ratification
of the 19th Amendment.
Our reasons for marching are no less ambitious: to
do what each of us can to ensure that equality and justice
for all remain our abiding American principles; that the
most vulnerable among us are cared for; that our Social
Security and Medicare are not gutted; that our public
school system is not further compromised; that no one
is barred from entering the country due to religion or
nationality; that bullying does not become an accepted
norm; that our environment is protected for future gen-
erations; that reproductive rights remain the province of
women and not the government — I could go on.
Calling this a ”women’s march” mischaracterizes
the event, as it embodied so much more. Participants
included many men and children, as well as a few dogs.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
For me, a person living with a physical disability due
to multiple sclerosis, the march is especially personal.
One reason is the simple fact that I can do it, at a time
when so many activities I would love to participate in
(hiking and skiing, for example) are no longer possible.
I march for others
Submitted photo
Joan Herman, left, convenes with her friends Denise Moore,
Josie Peper, Pat Burness and Wendela Howie for the start of
the Women’s March at Heritage Square in Astoria on Jan. 21.
Wheelchair marchers
On this brisk day, I appear to be one of a handful
of wheelchair marchers in a crowd that stretches blocks
long, four and five bodies deep across the sidewalk. My
dear friends create a protective bubble around me to
help clear a path through the throng of marchers as we
wend our way through downtown.
Thanks to the Americans with Disabilities Act,
all downtown sidewalks — as well as many others
throughout town — have curb cuts, without which the
march would be impossible for me and the other wheel-
chair users.
As we walk and roll, a bearded marcher near me
begins booming out ”equality and justice for all,” and in
unison we shout back his words repeatedly as we head
east on Commercial Street.
Shopkeepers come out to thank us, and dozens of
motorists toot their horns in support. In fact, I witnessed
no aggressive responses to our demonstration, though I
heard that one driver gunned his truck loudly as he raced
by the marchers.
In my small way, I march for
others living with disabilities.
To a great extent, many of
them are invisible because
they cannot get out as I still
can, nor do they have a public
forum, as I thankfully do. Even
if you can’t see us, we are still
here. We need to be heard.
In my small way, I march for others living with dis-
abilities. To a great extent, many of them are invisible
because they cannot get out as I still can, nor do they
have a public forum, as I thankfully do. Even if you
can’t see us, we are still here. We need to be heard.
I march to counter the despair and anger I feel when I
think about the then-future president publicly mocking,
like a middle-schooler, a disabled news reporter.
But far more hurtful to me, and I know many others,
is the denial that I read on almost a daily basis by fel-
low Americans who insist the then-presidential candi-
date was doing nothing of the sort.
What as a nation, not to mention human race, have
we devolved to if we accept this behavior by rational-
izing it? What abuse — and it is abuse — will we per-
mit next? Who will be the target? How can we tell chil-
dren not to bully others if the nation’s most visible role
model, for better or worse, gets away with it?
Now the march is over. We participants felt exhila-
rated for a day, but we know our efforts are just begin-
ning. In a one-person-at-a-time kind of way, we must
work to retain our rights — indeed, our civility.
Drawing inspiration
Laugh at us, if you must, but I draw inspiration from
thinking about the many Americans throughout our
beloved country’s history who labored long and hard
for our inalienable rights as human beings.
And I remember my beautiful Aunt Joan, who, the
summer before she was to enter Radcliffe College in
Massachusetts, was rendered a quadriplegic by polio.
Nonetheless, she would become instrumental in the
nascent movement to create assisted living facilities for
the many young people disabled by polio in the 1940s
and 1950s in America.
What can I, a “cripple” in a wheelchair, possibly do
to affect change?
Plenty.
Joan Herman is a second-time Astorian who was
co-owner of Bikes & Beyond and a former reporter for
The Daily Astorian. She contributes occasional columns
about living with disabilities.