Holding Up Half the Sky
The day was rainy and ugly. The choice was opening an umbrella, having to hold it up high to avoid hitting the people around me, or getting wet. It didn't much matter. With the umbrella open, I was also getting wet. I hadn't expected so many people to appear. But I wasn't going to leave, either.
8 March. International Women's Day. I went with my mother-in-law to my daughter's student apartment, from which the three of us went to the concentration at noon in Santiago's Praza Roxa. It's a largish area, with a one-lane street running through the middle. We were there before noon. I took my umbrella and my purple scarf, but not my rain repellant coat because it wasn't cold. We walked down to the square, where there were already quite a few people standing. There, we stood under a tall structure that protected us a bit from the incessant drizzle that threatened to become full fledged rain. But noon came and went, and people were still arriving. If there was a manifesto, we couldn't hear it. After about a half hour, the drummers arrived, chanting we were going to go to the Praza do Obradoiro, where we would all fit. We certainly would. The square in front of the cathedral can hold up to 25,000 people with a shoe horn.
So, we set off up the street. By the time we got to the Obradoiro, the square was pretty full, and the manifesto was finally said, though we couldn't hear it. We set off back to my daughter's apartment, where her two roommates were, and where we ate lunch and rested before the evening's march at eight.
My mother-in-law napped next to the radiator, my sweater dried on my back, and my daughter and one of the roommates studied, the other having gone out with friends. A gray day, the spires of the cathedral in the distance, rising hazily out of the mist, darker and clearer when the drizzle stopped for a couple of hours. We talked about many things in the hours before the march, including veganism and religion. Toward dusk, we left for the march.
It was to start from a small square, the Praza 8 de Marzo (appropriate) and had been scheduled to end at the Praza da Quintana, on one side of the cathedral, but that had been changed to the Obradoiro because of the number of people that had come out at midday. When we got to the square, it was full. The square had spilled over onto the surrounding streets, and more people were arriving by the minute. About a half hour after the march had begun, the section we were standing in began moving.
The rain blessed us with its watery touch. My daughter had brought an enormous umbrella to shelter her and her grandmother. I had my coat on. The people could care less about the rain; it wasn't stopping us, nor the festive air. People were chanting, people were singing, people were banging pots. "Vamos queimar, vamos queimar! A Conferencia Episcopal. Vamos queimar a conferencia, por machista e patriarcal!" (We're going to burn, we're going to burn! The Episcopal Conference. We're going to burn the Conference, for machistic and patriarchal.) "Querémonos vivas!" (We want ourselves alive!) "Non é unha morte, é un asesinato!" (It's not a death, it's a murder!)
We protested, we protested for our dignity, we protested for our lives. We protested that if we stop, the world stops. We protested against the Church hierarchy that calls us "possessed by demons", or that feminism is a "deconstruction of the person," and an attack on family life. We protested against that glass ceiling that won't let women reach the pinnacle of their profession because they're women. We protested against being paid less than a man for the same job because a man has to support his family, and a woman's income is merely a supplement. We protested against women scientists, and so many others, having to choose between having a family or obtaining funding for their research. We protested against walking the night (or the day) in fear of being assaulted, raped, and killed for how we decide to dress or how biology has shaped our bodies. We protested against being told that our place is in the home and not wherever we want it to be. We protested that our proper place in society is next to men, not behind them.
We were over 25,000 strong in the Praza do Obradoiro, with many more spilling out onto the narrow streets of Santiago. Our voices were one with all the others all over Spain and the world. We hold up half the sky, and we will be heard.
8 March. International Women's Day. I went with my mother-in-law to my daughter's student apartment, from which the three of us went to the concentration at noon in Santiago's Praza Roxa. It's a largish area, with a one-lane street running through the middle. We were there before noon. I took my umbrella and my purple scarf, but not my rain repellant coat because it wasn't cold. We walked down to the square, where there were already quite a few people standing. There, we stood under a tall structure that protected us a bit from the incessant drizzle that threatened to become full fledged rain. But noon came and went, and people were still arriving. If there was a manifesto, we couldn't hear it. After about a half hour, the drummers arrived, chanting we were going to go to the Praza do Obradoiro, where we would all fit. We certainly would. The square in front of the cathedral can hold up to 25,000 people with a shoe horn.
So, we set off up the street. By the time we got to the Obradoiro, the square was pretty full, and the manifesto was finally said, though we couldn't hear it. We set off back to my daughter's apartment, where her two roommates were, and where we ate lunch and rested before the evening's march at eight.
My mother-in-law napped next to the radiator, my sweater dried on my back, and my daughter and one of the roommates studied, the other having gone out with friends. A gray day, the spires of the cathedral in the distance, rising hazily out of the mist, darker and clearer when the drizzle stopped for a couple of hours. We talked about many things in the hours before the march, including veganism and religion. Toward dusk, we left for the march.
It was to start from a small square, the Praza 8 de Marzo (appropriate) and had been scheduled to end at the Praza da Quintana, on one side of the cathedral, but that had been changed to the Obradoiro because of the number of people that had come out at midday. When we got to the square, it was full. The square had spilled over onto the surrounding streets, and more people were arriving by the minute. About a half hour after the march had begun, the section we were standing in began moving.
The rain blessed us with its watery touch. My daughter had brought an enormous umbrella to shelter her and her grandmother. I had my coat on. The people could care less about the rain; it wasn't stopping us, nor the festive air. People were chanting, people were singing, people were banging pots. "Vamos queimar, vamos queimar! A Conferencia Episcopal. Vamos queimar a conferencia, por machista e patriarcal!" (We're going to burn, we're going to burn! The Episcopal Conference. We're going to burn the Conference, for machistic and patriarchal.) "Querémonos vivas!" (We want ourselves alive!) "Non é unha morte, é un asesinato!" (It's not a death, it's a murder!)We protested, we protested for our dignity, we protested for our lives. We protested that if we stop, the world stops. We protested against the Church hierarchy that calls us "possessed by demons", or that feminism is a "deconstruction of the person," and an attack on family life. We protested against that glass ceiling that won't let women reach the pinnacle of their profession because they're women. We protested against being paid less than a man for the same job because a man has to support his family, and a woman's income is merely a supplement. We protested against women scientists, and so many others, having to choose between having a family or obtaining funding for their research. We protested against walking the night (or the day) in fear of being assaulted, raped, and killed for how we decide to dress or how biology has shaped our bodies. We protested against being told that our place is in the home and not wherever we want it to be. We protested that our proper place in society is next to men, not behind them.
We were over 25,000 strong in the Praza do Obradoiro, with many more spilling out onto the narrow streets of Santiago. Our voices were one with all the others all over Spain and the world. We hold up half the sky, and we will be heard.
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