I wake up each morning before sunrise, torn between fear and excitement, I pick up my phone to scan through my newsfeed as I warm up my toddler’s milk. The excitement is immediately blown by the endless posts of outraged media, giving me an update on how a man can chisel away at the foundation of humanity in the six to seven hours that I spend not paying attention to him and what he’s done to the world in a mere week.
Last Saturday, I organized a march, here in Athens, Greece, where so many more people than I expected, as outraged as I, showed up and chanted for what should be our inalienable rights. I momentarily overcame my fear of speaking in public, stood up on a mounting right outside the US embassy, where to my knowledge, no demonstration has ever been given the privilege to gather, and without thinking, spoke into that megaphone, knees trembling, but a voice as powerful as it has ever been. For a country that is not my own. But for a civilization that is.
After that day, all of us here, and millions of marchers worldwide, felt high, felt connected, felt like we had the power to accomplish something together. We were an international community. United, we felt that our voice mattered.
Ever since, and naturally so, that magical feeling of sisterhood has split into smaller cells, mostly throughout the United States. Executive orders began to be signed like autographs at a small town pop concert, which for some reason had the power to make us gasp for air. Nobody seems to be able to keep up with what to fight for first, what to protest, or figure out if there are more important issues being overshadowed by the abhorrent attack on the foundation of the historic experiment in democracy that we have all called America for as long as we can remember. Flawed as it may be.
And I ask you now, on a day where thousands of people take the streets to fight for the very fist building block of their country, what can the rest of us do? Please tell us what to do. We want to help.