Personal Narrative: My First Protest March

My First Protest March
On January 25, 2013, I found myself thousands of miles away from my home, in the freezing cold, and surrounded by people I didn’t know. It is one of my fondest memories thus far. We were marching, well shuffling, in Washington, DC in the March for Life. By we, I mean the 500,000 people or more that came from all over the U.S.
The March for Life is a protest march against the killing of millions of unborn babies throughout America. In 2013, it was the 40th anniversary of the first March for Life. The same year of the court case between Jane Roe and Henry Wade, which ended with the legalization of abortion. We’ve been fighting ever since.
My youth group and I left our hotel in a hurry. We were already running behind

so we missed lunch. It wasn’t the best idea we’ve ever had. We booked it to the subway, which was fascinating but somewhat repulsive at the same time, and rode it to the Mall. There we listened to some senators and politicians talking about how they will fight to end abortion. One of the speakers I can remember is Rick Santorum. We also listened to some heartbreaking stories that abortion has caused, which both the mothers and fathers told.
There were so many people, it took about twenty minutes just to get from the Mall to the street. Then we started inching towards the Supreme Court. Our whole group was wearing neon green hats so we wouldn’t get lost. There was a problem though. There was another group of people in the general vicinity who had the same color of hats on. The only difference was that ours had the purple words, “ LCMS Lutheran for Life”, sown on the front, so we had to walk up in front of people to see if they had words on their hat or not. Or we’d think we were with our group, but then look behind and see that they were a few yards away, which could be really dangerous in the middle of a unfamiliar big city.
You could see many signs in the crowd from different religions and organizations. There were some groups who were strictly anti-abortion with no religious affiliation at all. We were in a pool of different cultures and ethnic groups. There were people who dressed in a very different way or said things unlike anything I have heard before.
Up ahead of us, a group started chanting, “Roe V. Wade has got to go, hey, hey, ho, ho.” We joined the cheer. Soon, everyone in our little area was shouting as loud as a jet engine. A few minutes later, we started singing hymns like “Children of the Heavenly Father”, and “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” I was awestruck for about the whole first hour of marching, so enthralled that I didn’t notice that I couldn’t feel my toes and my ankles were getting stiff. Time to break out those glorious hand warmers.
The first time I looked back from the top of a little hill, I stared, openmouthed and speechless.

We ogled at the hundreds of thousands of people, as far as we could see behind us. I felt this intense sense of unity between me and these strangers. A bond that surpassed all other barriers, with a common goal. Stop abortion, and save the unborn babies.
I started talking to other people, finding out where they came from and what had led them there. We met our vicar’s parents and brother, who had come from Chicago. There were cameras on the street lamps that we would wave frantically at like idiots, believing that we’d be on T.V., letting the whole world know who we were and what we were fighting for.
Hours passed like this. Chanting and singing. Talking and laughing. Hugging and crying. Our feet were tired, but none of us cared. We were just so happy to be in the moment, with each other.
We came to our destination, the Supreme Court building. It was under remodeling. To hide the construction and to keep up appearances, there was a giant picture of the building hanging in front of it. I thought it was hiding. The court building was in shame. It had made abortion legal. It was cowering from the people who cared about the unborn

child.
The crowd was dispersing up ahead. People were going their own ways. Reality started to come back. My stomach was gnawing a hole into itself. My feet were yelling at me to sit down. My limbs were sore to the bone. I was physically and emotionally spent, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that I had been a part of something big. Even though these perfect strangers were leaving my life, I still felt in my core, a harmony that comes with sharing a memorable moment together.