From The New Yorker-
What should—what will—protests against Donald Trump be like? I asked myself this question early yesterday morning while riding a bus down to Washington from New York. My bus left from Trinity Church, near Wall Street. On the bus were teen-agers, twentysomethings, parents, children, the late-middle-aged, and a few Episcopal priests. In the front seats, two young women were knitting pink pussy hats; across from them, two more made posters about racial justice. Would the march be cozy or confrontational? Affable or angry?
On the Mall and on the streets, every possibility co-existed. Eras, sensibilities, and aesthetics jostled for attention. A large family clustered around a little girl, perhaps four or five years old; when they said “Smash the—” she shouted “patriarchy!” to general applause. Many people carried signs expressing exasperation and bewilderment: “WTF,” “Shit Is Fucked Up,” “What Have You Idiots Done?” Others, such as the marchers from the International Communist Party, seemed unfazed by Trumpism—like the old pros they were, they led a polished, megaphone-powered march-within-a-march, with its own refrain (“Stand up, fight back!”). A young woman with a Russian accent held a sign with Cyrillic lettering: in Russian, she explained, it read, “Trump, Putin, Fuck Off.” Another sign quoted Dylan Thomas: “Do not go gentle into that good night. / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
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