The morning after the presidential election last November, I cried, screamed and finally became numb to the insane amount of disappointment, anger and sincere distraught of Bush’s re-election. Yes, he was re-elected fair and square – as far as I know. I admit it.

But on the eve of his inauguration last Thursday, I decided to join hundreds of other Bush foes from across the nation in Washington, D.C. We planned to gather and march in protest of his anti-environment, anti-reproductive rights, anti-gay, pro-war policies.

After some last minute scrambling, my friend and I bummed a ride at about 1:30 a.m. on Friday with a Syracuse University student who was headed down there. Our friends here told us it was pointless to go. Why bother protesting an elected president? What would it prove? And why risk getting stranded on the highway in the blinding snow?

I recognized their points, and almost decided to stay in Syracuse. But for a reason I couldn’t pin down, I felt a burning need to go. So we ignored our critics and left. We arrived in the capital around 9:30 a.m., and we made our way to our meet-up point with a crowd of protestors. They milled around in an incredible jumble of color and anti-Bush paraphernalia, signs, shirts and stickers. We couldn’t stop craning our necks, pointing to the phrases that pleased us the most. Some people took the makeshift stage set up on some rocks near the side of the park, and revved up the audience with their words. We found other Syracuse-area residents who had made their way down on two buses that were chartered from Binghamton.

About half an hour later we joined the protestors’ march as it passed by the park. A small crowd was pounding some homemade drums and shaking homemade maracas. People began chanting, clapping, whistling and dancing. In the middle of my hopping and shaking, one woman thrust an empty water bottle filled with pebbles into my hands. ‘Do you need a shaker?’ she asked. I took it and found an unreasonable amount of glee in joining the completely spontaneous, beautiful ruckus.

We marched, and the crowd stretched on and on. People in costumes, masks, bandannas, adorned with more and more signs, surrounded me. I joined in the chants, ‘Welfare, not warfare,’ and ‘This is what democracy looks like.’ The sun emerged, bathing us all in the warm glow. For people who were so miserable about the president, his election and his policies, we were a happy crowd.

We marched not because we thought the election was rigged or inaccurate. The result of that democratic process we grudgingly accept. We marched because we have the right to peacefully gather and demonstrate our great discontent – a democratic process we passionately embrace. We marched to remind Mr. Bush that almost half of America is not happy with his actions and his decisions, and that he represents our views as well. And we marched to remind ourselves, and those who share our views, that we still have the ability to hope and work for a better America – especially in the next four years.

Published on January 23, 2005 at 12:00 pm