We joined the protest today, and it was such a relief to be able to take part in this important movement in such a visceral way. I’ve found myself momentarily forgetting about the virus in light of recent events. When I heard about the Arlington March for Black Lives, I got all caught up in what our signs should say, whether we should drive or bike, and who might want to join us. COVID was kind of an afterthought until today got closer. Then I started to get a little anxious, and a battle began in my mind: Are you putting your family at risk? What about people who are at risk every day because of their skin color? What if we get boxed in amid a crowd? What a privilege to be able to opt out of being at risk…
By mid-morning today, Maxine had painted our signs, a friend had given us a few hand-sewn masks, and we had a plan. We rode our bikes to Iwo Jima and met three other families and then waited in the shade under the pine trees for the Arlington contingency to make it to us. We could hear them coming right behind the police motorcycles, so we scrambled up the hill and and stood on the sidelines, masks secured and signs held high. A few minutes later, we nodded at each other and jumped in.
As we walked along the bike trail between Iwo Jima and Arlington Cemetery, I kept nudging the kids into the grass in order to maintain distance. I wouldn’t have been comfortable with any tighter conditions and began to wonder how long before we would have to peel off. Thankfully, things opened up when we got to the cemetery, and we were able to stick with the protest all the way up to Lafayette Square. Once we neared the heart of the action, we slowed to a stop, knowing we had reached our limit. It looked pretty darn tight up ahead.
We wandered around for a bit, and then met back up with our friends to make our way back to Arlington. I kept thinking how fortunate we are to call this place home. All we need to do to participate in these monumental events in our nation’s capital is hop on a bike or even just hoof it. As we passed the Lincoln Memorial, I glanced at the grassy slope where we watched Obama’s inauguration on the jumbotron almost 11 and a half years ago. The kids were bundled up so heavily they looked like little marshmallows in the frigid weather. The purpose and mood of the gathering that January day back in 2009 were drastically different from today, but both days were full of hope.
My Corner of the Village 