If you attended today's Women's March on Portland, please join me in shouting out the old man at the turn at Jefferson and Fourth who yelled gruffly from the sidelines, "YOU PEOPLE... GIVE ME HOPE!" That opener had me ready to tune out a lone Trump voter, and that beautiful segue was like praise from the strict math teacher you didn't know was rooting for you.
That moment stands out, but there are so many others: There were the folks waving and cheering through the windows of the Hotel Rose, one of them in a bathrobe. There were the Pussy Riot dancers, the witches, the vaginas dentata (yes, that's the plural), and the crowds of marchers leaning out of multiple parking structures along the route to cheer their fellow activists on. There was the beautiful realization that a crowd of 100,000 in Portland, just one of numerous sister marches across the country today, is what you get when you lose the popular vote by a margin of millions. Today, Portland was one of many cities to show the world that someone got a mandate from the people, and it wasn't the Assaulter in Chief.
Your Mercury delegation tweeted, Facebooked, and photographed it all. We also muted angry trolls from our phones along the march route, and passed around a hand-warmer. My lips turned blue. I'm pretty sure my phone is water-damaged. It was worth it.
Here are just a few more stories from today's (let's just say it) historic march:
That old guy was right. You people give me hope.