Two weeks ago, at the Women's March in Washington, my sister and I worked our way to what seemed like the front of the crowd. We had already been out for 4 hours, standing in crowds and tired of waiting. So, when our (wiser and local) friends decided to walk back to the outskirts of the crowd, we walked in.
From our new position, we were packed so tightly we couldn't extend our arms without touching anyone. We are both small, and couldn't really see anything. Ahead of us was a monitor showing the speeches. If we stood on our toes, we could see a corner. We couldn't hear anything. Those around us were in similar positions, although our small stature made it harder for us. We assumed, as did everyone around us, that we were waiting for the speeches to end so we could march forward - on the official planned route.
The speeches were scheduled to end at 1. As the hours ticked by, people kept giving speeches. Occasionally we saw people walking away from the front of the crowd. One couple even told us that they were saying at the front to go back. We stood our ground, firm in our thought that once people stopped talking, we could march. We had no cell service, no twitter. There was no microphone - human or mechanical. We had ourselves and the crowd right around us. We all waited. As each speaker stopped talking, a cheer rose. Then we would see another speaker and would groan.
Eventually, as the hours passed, we started chanting, "let us march; let us march". We were so confident in our knowledge that the reason we were not moving was that the speakers wouldn't stop speaking.
It was only later, seeing the aerial photos, that I realized what you likely already understand. We weren't moving because there was no place to go. We weren't waiting; we were trapped. We weren't at a march as much as we were in a very mellow mob. We should have gone back, or sideways, or in some direction other than forward.
In my sector, we talk about the difference in view between the balcony and the dance floor. What my sister and I experienced was a classic dance floor problem. On the dance floor, knowledge is limited to immediate vision and we have no choice but to act based on that which we can immediately see.
On the balcony, we can see the bigger picture. But on the balcony, there is little ability to act. With no vision above the crowd, and no cell service, there was no balcony at the march. The only to have seen the bigger picture from the middle of the march would have been to go back to the hotel, and watch it on tv. It wasn't a day for the balcony; so we did what we could, as calmly as possible, and stayed on the dance floor.
Being able to move from the dance floor to the balcony and sometimes to be both places at once is a crucial and hard skill. Most of us are more comfortable one place or another. I'm a balcony person myself, and find it hard to maneuver on a dance floor when I don't have perspective of the bigger picture.
Getting the big picture seems harder everyday. This is a moment in time where life on the dance floor feels increasingly frightening, outrage inducing, and morally devastating. The dance floor feels awful. And the balcony is almost impossible to find. The news is increasingly complicated; the view is overwhelming. As I look down towards one section of the dance floor that's on fire, another flare emerges. My gaze is continuously diverted.
At the march, finally, my sister climbed a tower. Briefly, she was able to see the big picture, to find a way out. For a moment, she saw, determined direction, and jumped down. She grabbed me by the hand and led me forward. Paralyzed by the dance floor and dizzied by the balcony view,that's where I am today. Emulating my sister, on that tower, climbing, getting a glimpse of the big picture, coming down, and determining the next step.
