Rise Up, Fight Back
I’m hot, I’m sweaty, my thighs have been chafing all day, and for all intents and purposes I’m tired. We’ve been walking for 10 minutes, and I have no idea where we are - neither does anyone around me. Well, that statement may not be entirely true. I knew we were going to the Trans March, though I didn’t know exactly where it was. Chris and Kallie know where we’re going, but they’re so far ahead of me and my peers, so asking them over the noise of the crowd is pointless - though I trust them to lead us to the correct place.
We talk of YouTubers and streamers - our opinion of them, content we’ve seen, the usual when bringing up internet celebrities.
We pass shops and restaurants I haven’t seen even this far into our stay — mostly bars hidden behind the shadow of buildings. I’m not much of a person to go out to these places though, so it doesn’t remain that much of a mystery to me as to why I hadn’t ventured this far out.
“Do we know where the march starts?” I ask, expecting similar confusion.
“Probably where all the people are.” Someone responds with a laugh. I peer between the gaps in basketball courts to see the rolling hills of Dolores Park covered in a mass of people. In the swath of city noise, I begin to pick up on loud music emanating from the crowd. We trudge up a small grassy hill and look over the gathering - mere minutes before the march is to begin. The late afternoon sun beats down on my face as I look across the crowd — and I can’t help but feel excited.
I’ve never seen so many open and accepted trans people in one place — celebrating our identity for solely what it was.
This space is for them. For me. It is a place of community and strength.
We stand and watch the beginning of the march on a small grassy median — the road from the park to Market Street fully blocked off for our space. We film, take pictures, and cheer for those as we pass. Many people raise flags and signs high in the air for all to see — signs that read of their love and pride for trans people. Deyne leans over to me and points one out in the crowd - “Trans March? But it’s June.”
Roe v. Wade had been overturned that morning. I don’t know if it truly hit me when I opened my email from the university and from my subsequent google search — the danger that millions of people would be put in. I still don’t think it hit until I got home.
My community and that of my friends does not exist without protest. We do not have our current lives without those before us stepping up to fight and those after us joining in. Our lives have constantly been hovered over in fear and uncertainty, but in the face of everything past, present, and future, my community can still stand tall. We can still hold hands and march down streets to celebrate our mere existence and identity — we don’t have to be quiet or complacent in the face of fear. I saw the fight already beginning the day it was announced. Mere hours after doom was delivered, people were already organizing and gathering strength.
In the crowd I see a young girl who couldn’t be over 11 using a megaphone to lead a chant.
“When our community is under attack, what do we do?”
Rise up, fight back.
