Women’s March and the Trumping of Hate


Women’s March and the Trumping of Hate

Illustration: Akshita Monga


n the day before the historic Women’s March, I had watched the inauguration, stumped. The ominous spectre that we’d hoped was only a bad dream and could be wished away, was now a reality. Donald Trump was indeed president. In spite of everything that everyone had done in the last few months to stop this from coming to pass, it had come to pass.

What then could be achieved by joining a march? Although Houston had voted Democrat, the state of Texas had stuck to its tradition of going Republican. What was the point, I thought. The election was over. This wasn’t even our home. We had been living here only for two years. We were likely going to leave before the end of Trump’s presidential term. We couldn’t even vote. I went to sleep dejected, ready to float away from this indifferent world that had brought this nightmare to fruition.