Lincoln, the Women's March, and me ...

I’ve just returned home from the March on Austin, where more than 35,000 wonderful, committed people turned out (among perhaps 4 million worldwide), and I’ll have words about that. Not about me. About that, the event and the people and the movement.

But first, I have to move this thought forward in my mind, and onto the page or screen or whatever.

On the way back, during our 3 hour drive, one of our friends shared with us Ashley Judd’s speech at the March in Washington. The words were written by a 19 year old woman, Nina Donovan, from Franklin, Tennessee.

Right after that, my wife shared Ashley Judd’s Ted Talk, where she talks about what it’s like to be a woman, subjected to regular harassment.

There wasn’t a lot I could say. That’s not an experience an honest white male can talk about. It wasn’t my turn to share. It was my turn to listen.  Anything I could articulate would’ve been interfering with a moment that three people – with whom the experience resonated – were having.

What was in my head and my heart was this:  I kept hearing the Gettysburg Address. Weird? Disconnected? No. It just takes a moment of explaining.

I kept hearing Lincoln saying “The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.”  I can’t enter their experience, however close I am to any of them, specifically my wife of six years, who is also my best friend of ten.

I can’t add anything to their experience. I can’t expand upon it or explain it, or mitigate it.  I can't say "Hey, that reminds me of the time when ..." because it doesn't. I can't intrude via mansplaining and say "Well, that's because ..." or "What you have to remember is .." because it would be insulting and nonsensical.

At the same time, I can’t detract from it. I can’t minimize their experience. I can’t honestly claim that what they experienced wasn’t real.  Sometimes you can. “No, I was standing here. A bus didn’t hit you. No buses have been by in an hour.”  Among the range of experiences inflicted upon women that were mentioned in either Judd encounter, or by my friends, however, there was nothing a decent or rational person might say about, “No, I’m sure it didn’t happen the way you thought it happened.”  These were not my moments.  The moments were not my reality.

The brave women, living and dead, who have had these difficult and/or traumatizing moments, have consecrated their pain, far beyond my poor powers to add or detract.

It wasn’t my job to add, detract, or fix. Whatever I could do – and can do – and have done – amounts to “Show respect; stand in solidarity with them. Respect their past; encourage their future.”

The world will little note, nor long remember what I say here, but it will never forget what they’ve experienced here.  We can’t let it. Decency won’t allow it.

I know. That’s a lot of words to say I have nothing of value to say. It’s true, though. Don’t pay attention to what I say. Judge me by what I do. In fact, if you catch me not doing, call me on it. There’s no time left to not be doing.