They came. The call went out and … they came. In Washington, yes. In Los Angeles. Boston. Chicago. In Denver, and in Austin. But also in Bethel, Alaska where the high temperature for the day was -21. They came in conservative strongholds like Lubbock, Texas and Colorado Springs. They marched in Oxford, Mississippi, and in Oklahoma City. They marched in London and Paris and Madrid and flooded the streets of Amsterdam. They marched on the tiny Isle of Eigg in the Scottish Hebrides, and by their thousands in Nairobi. They brought their children. They got up in retirement homes where even 101-year-old feet showed they could still march.
They invented chants. And songs. They created signs that were clever, arch, hilarious, artistic, defiant, angry, touching, and heartbreaking. They wore T-shirts in sunshine and coats in the driving snow. They wore those glorious, glorious hats.
It was beautiful. So beautiful that it sometimes hurt to watch—in the best possible way.
After a day that seemed so dark, where it felt like hope had been crushed and the light had been dimmed, when optimism seemed lost and justice diminished, they showed that there is still a word that means all those things, all at once, and much, much more.
Women.
Come inside. Let’s read some pundits.
But first, because I can’t resist, the best view I’ve seen of the amazing turnout in DC.
E. J. Dionne on the message of the march, and the consequences.
No matter how much President Trump and his administration try to lie and spin, every objective indication is that far more people showed up to register dissent over his rise to power than to celebrate it. …
The Women’s March was decidedly about women, their rights and the demand that they not be denied. But it was at least as much a message to Trump and to the country: Less than 24 hours after the new president took the oath of office, hundreds of thousands of Americans came together to say that they would not stand by in silence if the new administration threatened basic freedoms or the advances of the past eight years, and the last 50.
One of the ways that media, especially conservative media, attempted to tiptoe around the size and enthusiasm of the marchers, was to spread their motivations on the wind, saying they were there for “diverse reasons.” People had come out to support family planning rights, or immigration, or LGBT rights, or (insert cause here). And they did. But they were all there because of the threat that Donald Trump represents to those causes. Yes, it was a march for women’s rights, but it was also a rebuke to the language, goals, and person of Donald Trump.
Those who had spent Jan. 20 in gloom spent Jan. 21 experiencing a sense of relief: In the face of the political troubles to come, they would have allies and friends. The passion, energy and commitment in politics have shifted decisively. Goodbye tea party. Hello Accountability Party — although I am sure someone will eventually come up with a better name.
The comparisons to the Tea Party are galling in a lot of ways, because the Tea Party’s origins were explicitly artificial. It came from messaging put together by wealthy interests (chiefly the Koch brothers) who constructed its theme, provided its imagery, and funded a series of “spontaneous” gatherings with all the authenticity of Trump’s hair. On the other hand, the Tea Party became a powerful, sustained influence that eventually didn’t just sway the existing Republican Party, but consumed it. Let’s keep that part.
The politics of the next few months and years will depend a great deal on whether the energy displayed on Saturday is sustained through the hard work of political activism. I can imagine skeptics reading this and saying one day of protests will be very easy for Trump and the Republican Party to absorb (even if one can imagine Trump’s fury at not getting even a day’s peace).
Imagining Trump’s fury always makes me smile.
Elizabeth Gutting gets on her feet.
Admitting this isn’t easy. But I realize now that even as women’s lives have changed — as our reproductive rights have expanded, as we marry later and stay in the work force after having children — a basic paradigm persists. Many educated, middle-class straight women expect to make less money than our partners. At the same time, many of us also expect certain rights: to focus on our careers, to have financial independence, to choose if and when we have children. I have been taking for granted the progress my mother’s generation made so that the women of my generation could benefit from their hard-won gains.
That won’t suit any longer.
When we talk about how Trump’s respect for traditions is non-existent, that includes how he treats others. Trump’s talk of dropping “political correctness” isn’t an expression of frustration with whether or not African American is hyphenated. It’s a an excuse to drop all pretense of respect for other people. When it comes to the respect he shows for any group or individual, the answer is the same as he gave concerning paying his taxes “why didn’t you make me?” Trump must be made to acknowledge rights which will only happen with both the force of law and the support to see those laws enforced.
It’s not that I’ve ever thought of marching as futile or otherwise. It’s that I’ve never thought to march. When I read more of what Ms. Mallory had to say about marching, I felt ashamed that it took the dread of Donald J. Trump to wake me up to the reality that progress is never permanent, or certain.
I won’t go so far as saying dread is good, but dread is appropriate. Start out marching in dread. Keep on marching when it turns to joy. Don’t stop marching until it becomes action.
Charles Ikins is here to make you cry.
My beloved wife, Debbie, who worked hard as a volunteer for the candidate of her choice in this election, suffered an accident late on Election Day and died early the next morning. Nov. 8 was the worst day of my life.
All day, worried because of how high tempers were running out there, I escorted her on her canvassing rounds. Were you to see me in my Ford pickup with military decals, my Marines cap — I am a retired Marine — and my beard, you might have assumed that we were canvassing for Donald Trump. But you’d have been wrong. As I crept conspicuously along behind in the pickup, Debbie strode up and down driveways for Hillary Clinton. This was the eighth day of her canvassing “mission” (as she viewed it). She was angry about the steady stream of attitudes denigrating women so prominently on display during the campaign. She intended to do something about it.
I’m skipping over the details of what happened next. I’d encourage you to go read it yourself, but only if you’re ready to clear your tear ducts.
As she lay in intensive care, I avoided any mention of the election results. I held her hand and watched the love of my life, my soul mate, slip away.
Debbie was extraordinary. Underlying her giving and considerate nature was a core of steel that became unyielding when she saw wrong being done. She was unafraid of attempts to intimidate her into silence. Our Ohio county went for Hillary Clinton — one of only eight in the state; I know that Debbie had a direct impact upon that.
I still believe that knocking on one door is worth an infinite number of Facebook “likes.” Put a face on progressive politics in your neighborhood. Be like Debbie.
Christine Emba on what comes next.
For many, Trump’s election was followed first by a brief period of shock and then by reaction. Among millennials, in particular, the days after Nov. 8 saw an explosion of shared resources, especially online, about how to engage in the political process in a way they hadn’t before. Whether news articles about effective resistance, documents about how to get involved in local politics, or action-item Facebook posts about which member of Congress to contact, young people finally seemed interested in taking the advice they’d been given by President Obama. (“Don’t boo. Vote!” And if that doesn’t work, do something.) It’s in that spirit that the march was conceived. It may be the energy that keeps its priorities alight.
I had a phone call with 314Action founder Shaughnessy Naughton this … no, yesterday morning. One of the things she noted was how difficult it is to keep up the energy of young people who launch into politics fired up, and find themselves attending monthly meetings dominated by reading last month’s minutes, making committee assignments, and debating Robert’s Rules of Order. Democratic organizations need a serious shake-up that takes technical tools and a modern attitude into local and state organizations. So the next time someone holds up one finger and says “point of order,” you get to kick him.
Saturday’s march attendees seemed to grasp the fact that just protesting wouldn’t be enough, and that the event should be a first step toward something larger. “Today we march, tomorrow we run for office,” read one sign. “A demonstration without follow-up is just … Occupy Wall Street,” said Nancy Xiao, a college senior who had driven from New Jersey to take part. “We feel a different sense of urgency. Instead of saying, ‘Oh, I have to get this and that experience first,’ friends of mine are thinking of running for office now.” Others spoke of networking with like-minded groups, hopefully to form connections that might take root at home.
Don’t sulk, Occupy supporters. It was great. It was important. But it was also passing. It left its fingerprints on the party, but it didn’t tackle the party, eat it alive, and spit out the tired messages and creaky policies. Which is what needs to happen.
Dana Milbank recounts the most disgusting moment of the inauguration. Which, amazingly, was not Trump’s speech.
It began at about the time Chuck Schumer, addressing the inauguration crowd from the Capitol, lamented that politics is “frequently consumed by rancor.” ...
They weren’t only booing and jeering Schumer, the highest ranking Democrat in the land; they were booing and jeering what he was saying.
What Schumer was reading was the Sullivan Ballou letter, a note from a Union soldier to his wife that was found only after his death in the first large battle of the Civil War. It’s among the most astonishing pieces of literature this nation has produced. A stirring call to genuine love of country, laced through with the solemn knowledge of the sacrifice that requires.
The booing intensified when Schumer mentioned “immigrant.” It continued as he read a letter from a Civil War soldier saying “my love of country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.”
The crowd responded: “Trump! Trump! Trump!”
Is this what we’ve come to, America?
I say none harm. I think none harm. Most of the time.
Michael Gerson on the speech from that day when God spit his blessings on Trump.
After every major Trump speech or event, the person I was before it seems desperately naive. I have been a consistent Trump critic, but my expectations are never quite low enough.
Trump’s ability to limbo under the lowest possible expectations is constantly shocking. I thinking it’s because most of us still have that inner voice repeating “Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last?” while Trump’s outer voice is saying. “Fuck no. Haven’t you been listening to me?”
Some of us approach Inauguration Day with a kind of democratic reverence. Its customs encourage the love of country. The best inaugural addresses offer historical context, emphasize shared values, encourage engaged citizenship, express goals worthy of a great nation, and at least attempt to wrap it all up in a neat package of rhetorical ambition. ...
Apart from a few nice phrases undoubtedly borrowed from other, superior drafts, the “American Carnage” speech was blunt, flat and devoid of craft. Also devoid of generosity, humility and grace. Making it perfectly credible as the work of Trump’s own hand.
Trump’s inaugural was instructive in this way: America has chosen a man for whom traditions and norms mean nothing (less than nothing when he finds them constraining).
The only boundaries that Trump recognizes are those were people push back. Hard.
Michael Waldman has his take on the American carnage speech.
Listeners felt no sense of the sweep of history, the humbling majesty of the moment. He offered no meaningful thank-you to Barack Obama for his years of service. (Contrast that with, say, Bill Clinton’s in 1993 — “On behalf of our Nation, I salute my predecessor, President Bush, for his half-century of service to America” — or Ronald Reagan’s lengthy homage to Jimmy Carter, whom he had just defeated.)
Worryingly, Trump did not evoke the documents, deeds or ideals of the founders — which serve as inspiration and guide for new presidents. “Liberty” and “democracy” did not appear. Nor did “the Constitution.” No “All men are created equal.”
Founders? Aren’t those guys all dead? Losers. Trump likes founders who aren’t dead.
New presidents get to decry the mess they inherit. Reagan did; so did Clinton and Obama. But none did it the way Trump did. The picture he painted was bleak, dystopian, a grimy sci-fi version of the country. The only truly vivid language came in a death-obsessed description of a hellish landscape, beset by gangs, with factories scattered “like tombstones.” “This American carnage stops right here and stops right now.” Yikes.
My worry is that Trump’s version of so-much-winning may be worse than any dystopia I can imagine. I think I might rather live in Bladerunner land than in the America Trump wants to create. Hey, at least there are off world colonies.
Leonard Pitts thought there was one moment in the speech that stood out … not in a good way.
“… mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities; rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation; an education system flush with cash, but which leaves our young and beautiful students deprived of all knowledge; and the crime and the gangs and the drugs that have stolen too many lives and robbed our country of so much unrealized potential.
“This American carnage,” promised Trump, “stops right here and stops right now.”
Leave aside the dubious veracity of painting our admittedly challenged nation as a hellish doomscape — “American carnage?!” Really? — and ponder instead what he actually said there. Poverty, unemployment, miseducation, crime and drugs, issues that have bedeviled every nation and all generations, came to a screeching stop “right here ... and right now” at noon on January 20th.
Wait, wait, wait. Let’s push aside all the blood, gore and smoke for a moment. There’s something else in there I want to know about. An education system “flush with cash.” Flush with cash? Really? Where is this system? I’m asking that seriously. Is he talking about Trump University? Because “flush with cash” but not teaching anything seems to fit his educational efforts, but it doesn’t match up to any public school system I’ve ever seen. Okay, Leonard. Sorry about the interruption. How is Trump going to stop all the bad stuff?
Because there’s a new sheriff in town, pardner. Because he’s putting his foot down. Because he says so. If Trump gave any other reason — if he has ever given any other reason — it escaped notice. No, once again, we are promised a magic solution through the sheer force of his will.
Huh. Maybe when he’s accomplished a few things, he can do a documentary. Call it The Triumph of the Will. That’s just a working title.
Kathleen Parker leads us in prayer. Which is totally voluntary. For now.
To sum up Trump’s mercifully short-ish speech: We’re Americans, America comes first, we love America, America will be great again. In other words, he said nothing new — or remarkable — except perhaps when he said people would look back on Jan. 20, 2017, and remember . . . I didn’t hear the rest because I was paralyzed by the foreboding in his fierce countenance and the possibility of so many perilous things that could potentially flow from that moment. ...
Perhaps Trump’s fist-punching finale was mere punctuation to his patriotic song of nationalism, but it somehow felt threatening. Most presidents and politicians show an open hand of nonthreatening conciliation as they wave to a crowd. Not Trump. He’s all fist and in your face. From what Trump has said and projected, it’s not a leap to imagine an increasingly militaristic society in which individual choices (to pray or pledge) are not so voluntary. Already we’ve seen hints as Trump trashes dissenters and tries to diminish reporters and news organizations as “fake news” to the detriment of a free society that, without a robust media presence, isn’t likely to long remain free.
Uhh…. Amen. Though the alternative form seems more appropriate. Oman.
Colbert King on Trump’s surreal visit to the CIA.
As a State Department special agent assigned to the U.S. Embassy in West Germany during the Cold War, as one of three regional security officers responsible for personnel and physical security of U.S. diplomatic missions in West Germany, and West Berlin, I had the privilege of working closely with American intelligence services on critical and extremely sensitive issues. …
President Trump at the CIA was appalling.
Standing in front of the wall where the CIA memorializes its fallen, Trump spent less time talking about them, or the agency, than he did on any subject starting with ‘I.’
The sacrifices he talked about were his own: mistreatment by the “dishonest” media; self-glorification (“Trust me, I’m like a smart person”); the size of his inaugural crowd (“It looked like a million, a million and a half people” on the Mall) (which isn’t true); his narcissistic boasting of being on the cover of Time magazine.
But Trump’s speech wasn’t all about himself. At least half his 15 minute ad lib focused on how much he hates the “most dishonest people in the world.” Meaning anyone who comes close to writing something other than the thickest flattery about him.
Kevin Baker on the cost of electing Trump.
No, I’m not over it.
On Election Day I felt as though I had awakened in America and gone to sleep in Ecuador, or maybe Belgium. Or Thailand, or Zambia, or any other perfectly nice country that endures the usual ups and downs of history as the years pass, headed toward no particular destiny.
It’s different here, or at least it was. America was always supposed to be something, as much a vision as a physical reality, from the moment that John Winthrop, evoking Jerusalem, urged the Massachusetts Bay Colony to “be as a city upon a hill.” To be an American writer meant being able to share that sense of purpose, those expectations, and to flatter yourself that you were helping to shape it. Nobody expects anything out of Belgium.
Baker’s piece is your reading assignment for the morning. There will be a quiz.
What they have done is a desecration, a foolish and vindictive act of vandalism, by which they betrayed all the best and most valiant labors of our ancestors. We don’t want to accept this, because we cannot accept that the people, at least in the long run of things, can be wrong in our American democracy. But they can be wrong, just like any people, anywhere. And until we do accept this abject failure of both our system and ourselves, there is no hope for our redemption.
Today’s APR would be longer … if I could stop obsessively looking at images from yesterday’s march and updating my total attendance numbers. But I’m not stopping. Because talking about Trump vs. looking at these great, enthusiastic, joyous faces? It’s not even close.