I’m waiting for the light rail in South Seattle on my way to Women’s March 2.0. Camera strapped to my side, the morning weather is typical for a Pacific Northwest winter. Overcast, low 40s, threat of rain always imminent. I’m having a lot of feelings that match the weather. Grey, cloudy, unsure. A year ago I chose not to go to Women’s March 1.0 because, while important, it did not feel inclusive for me as a Womxn of Color.
A year later that nagging sensation of being an outsider to the movement remains. But this time in Seattle we are being led by Indigenous Womxn who have asked the community to turn out. Which changes everything. When an Indigenous contingent requests allyship on traditional lands, you show up if you can.
From the start, though, I can feel my lungs being compressed. In this wealthy, fast-gentrifying city, white feminism hangs thick everywhere like diesel fumes in too much traffic. It’s hard to breathe…
