On an unnervingly warm day in Chicago, the whole of Jackson Boulevard flooded.

The tumult of over 150,000 voices overlapped, rose and fell, glazed the thoroughfare in the music of resistance. Chants of opposition, cries for the bodies of women, ownership of the streets, and the righteousness of democracy swelled under the hot sun, a gold dust miracle on this January morning.

It was not a call for violence and upheaval the day after the inauguration of a sinister leader.

It was the birthing of a movement. A beautiful, unprejudiced, all-encompassing movement for the rights of the oppressed and the misunderstood. It was an exercise of the freedom to peaceably assemble, of the collective wish to stick it to the man who flung so many heinous affronts at the minorities of our already fragmented society.

The Women’s March on Washington– although it would more accurately be called the People’s March for Human Rights– has already nestled its place in history.

I wanted to be a part of it.

I marched on January 21, 2017 because, if I should be lucky enough to one day have a daughter, I want her to know that her mother is a fighter. Not just for the rights of women, but for the rights of Muslims, refugees, immigrants, African-Americans, Hispanics, LGBTQ+, and all the other oppressed minorities seeking liberation under the impending government administration.

I marched because my sister and her girlfriend love each other more than anyone else in the world, and their love is as valid and beautiful and natural as any other.

I marched because I am repulsed by the hateful and ignorant rhetoric of our new president, and sitting complacently in the wake of his inauguration would be counterproductive to spurn the words that cut me and others so deeply.

I marched because a woman’s body is HERS. No ifs, ands, or buts.

I marched because I am a privileged white female who is fortunate enough to know little plight and oppression, but wishes to stand up in solidarity among those who do. Because my heart hurts for the inequality of the world, and to live my own harmonious life without demanding others be allowed the same is to live in selfish ignorance.

“I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.” – Audre Lorde.

There is a fight ahead, but it is a fight for good. One of the best chants I heard during the march was as follows: “The people, united, can never be divided.”

So long as we remember that, good will persevere and freedom will win.