#Whenwerise#


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Photo: Your Beautiful Life

A year ago this week, I was living in the UK, driving to work, when I collided with a cyclist. It was the most horrible experience one can have. I was in a state. The events seem to be happening to someone else, as I looked on. I remember getting out of my car, which was parked in the middle of the street, walking over to the cyclist, asking if he was okay, and falling apart. I just couldn’t handle it. A small crowd had already gathered. While we waited for the police to arrive, the cyclist and I talked for a bit. HE was trying to console me, even joking about the situation, in an effort to find some humor. He was a kind man. The majority of British people are. Thankfully, he didn’t need to be hospitalized. Cyclists/car drivers incidents in Bristol are alarming.

Where am I going with this, you wonder? Well, I will get to that. As I sat on the cold pavement waiting, a lovely, kind, and compassionate lady, Theresa, who was on her way to work, and saw the entire incident, came over to comfort me. As we spoke, she gently rubbed my shoulders. Thinking about the incident now, moves me to tears. One kind stranger, helping another. I apologized for keeping her from going about her business, to which she replied “It’s okay my dear. Please don’t worry about it.” She would later share that she did have a meeting to attend, but she felt like she was needed there. I was floored.

Amidst all the mayhem, I had forgotten to take my jacket out of the car, and was only reminded how cold it was, when yet another kind stranger, came up to me, and asked if she could buy me a cup of tea. I looked into her gentle features; the concern on her face was unmistakable. At my nod of consent, she walked away to the nearest café shop. All I could utter upon her return was a “Thank you”. She smiled warmly at me, wished me all the best, and told me she had to be off to work. My attitude was one of immense gratitude.

Present day: I’m in the NYC at this time. Public transportation is the way forward. A few months ago, I was on the select bus; one stop away from my place of abode. As passengers boarded the bus, I heard a young lady, a few rows behind me, pleading with the passenger next to her, to call emergency services. I have medical training, so of course my antennas went up. She was in acute physical distress. I got up from my seat and approached her. The passenger by this time, had moved ahead to tell the driver of the medical emergency. She was sweating profusely, vomiting, and had a “glazed” look in her eyes.

I asked the normal questions; name, date, where she was, etc. She was lucid and aware of her surroundings. I spoke to her in soothing tones, asked her to hang in there, as help was on the way. I assured her that I would stay with her until EMS arrived. By this time, another young lady, who later identified herself as a nurse, had joined us. I briefly checked towards the driver’s seat, and was stunned to see the bus was empty! All the passengers had vacated, and got on their way. New York is the best city in the world; it can also be a harsh at times! I didn’t have time to process anything else.

The nurse and I stayed with the ill passenger until rescue came. We kept talking to her in an effort to keep her calm and reassured. We told her the medical professionals in the hospital would take good care of her, and she will be okay. I offered her the tissues I was holding to mop the sweat off her face. I asked her for the phone number to a family member. The person who answered was ever so grateful that someone reached out to let her know a family member was ill. After EMS departed, I called the family member again to let her know where she was being taken. I thought about this young lady over the next several days. I hoped she was okay, and that her medical issues were sorted out on time.

I share this story for two reasons; the incident left an indelible impression on me, and we have a responsibility to pay it forward. Earlier in the year, strangers recognized I was in a bad way, and because of their kindness, a burden was made lighter. Months later, a situation offered me the opportunity, to be of comfort to someone one else.  At home later that night, I thought about the young woman, nurse, and the bus driver, all whose paths crossed with mine. I was never happier to be in the right place at the right time.

We all want better for ourselves, and hopefully the same for others. Paying it forward results in mutually shared joy, and keeps the flame of hope burning in people. Creating ripples of kindness helps to make the world, “a better place, for you, me, and the entire human race”. Life is a continuum. Sometimes it’s not about you or me. Life can deal shitty hands at times. Yet, we often find ourselves s in a position to save someone or vice versa. We are able to learn the mechanics of reciprocity, when stand together and rise.

 

Until the next post,

 

Best,

 

Juan

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Why We Marched


22march18-superjumboPhoto Credit : Nicole Cainer (NYT)

Two weeks ago yesterday, I was on my way to Manhattan to do some sightseeing. As I boarded the train, I remembered there was a Women’s March in DC, and cities all over the country. I hadn’t taken part in any marches for almost five years. I am ridiculously spontaneous, and thought to myself, “Is the activity I’m about to take part in, more important than what was happening all over the world today”? No! I wasn’t wearing a proper jacket, which would keep me warm outside for hours. The shoes I wore were another story. I would also be flying solo. As is my nature, I threw caution to the wind, and forged ahead anyway!

As the train headed deeper and deeper into Manhattan, it got VERY crowded. Pretty soon, everyone was rubbing elbows. My eyes met and held those of other women, obviously all heading to one central location or another. One of them smile widely at me, I smiled back. No words were needed. It was then I knew I was doing the right thing. I needed to catch another train to the destination I chose, Grand Central Station. The subway was literally crawling at a snail’s pace. To give you an idea, hundreds would move forward and board. Once the train took off, then another throng would do the same thing.  There wasn’t any pushing or shoving.Wash and repeat.

I cannot begin to describe the atmosphere of the city. As I exited Grand Central Station, I was greeted by the sight above. I joined the swarm of men, women, children, the elderly, all together for a common cause. Every few minutes, we would all chant the same things, after which a loud roar would start from the back of the crowd, and make its way to the front. There was literally no place to walk. The march was a crawl; we could only move every few minutes. I won’t forget January 21st, 2017.

The next day, social media was saturated with stories, and videos, of millions sharing their experiences. The march was held on every continent. Imagine that!! I found this rather beautiful and phenomenally written piece below.  The writer encapsulates all my thoughts and feelings on why I marched. I knew some of my more conservative friends were taken aback by my participation.  It’s too bad really. I’ve learned to live my truth. A few have posted about it being a waste of time etc. To them I say, please read the piece below, over and over, until it is fully understood:)

The battle goes on. There is a reason why I feel so content and happy working in Social Services. It’s where I belong. I absolutely LOVE this quote: “Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. The grave will supply plenty of time for silence” Christopher Hitchens.

“Say thank you. Say thank you to the women who gave you a voice. Say thank you to the women who were arrested and imprisoned and beaten and gassed for you to have a voice. Say thank you to the women who refused to back down, to the women who fought tirelessly to give you a voice. Say thank you to the women who put their lives on hold, who –lucky for you — did not have “better things to do” than to march and protest and rally for your voice. So you don’t feel like a “second class citizen.” So you get to feel “equal.”

Thank Susan B. Anthony and Alice Paul for your right to vote.

Thank Elizabeth Stanton for your right to work.

Thank Maud Wood Park for your prenatal care and your identity outside of your husband.

Thank Rose Schneiderman for your humane working conditions.

Thank Eleanor Roosevelt and Molly Dewson for your ability to work in politics and affect policy.

Thank Margaret Sanger for your legal birth control.

Thank Carol Downer for your reproductive healthcare rights.

Thank Sarah Muller for your equal education.

Thank Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Shannon Turner, Gloria Steinem, Zelda Kingoff Nordlinger, Rosa Parks, Angela Davis, Malika Saada Saar, Wagatwe Wanjuki, Ida B. Wells, Malala Yousafzai. Thank your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother who did not have half of the rights you have now.

You can make your own choices, speak and be heard, vote, work, control your body, defend yourself, defend your family, because of the women who marched. You did nothing to earn those rights. You were born into those rights. You did nothing, but you reap the benefits of women, strong women, women who fought misogyny and pushed through patriarchy and fought for you. And you sit on your pedestal, a pedestal you are fortunate enough to have, and type. A keyboard warrior. A fighter for complacency. An acceptor of what you were given. A denier of facts. Wrapped up in your delusion of equality.

You are not equal. Even if you feel like you are. You still make less than a man for doing the same work. You make less as a CEO, as an athlete, as an actress, as a doctor. You make less in government, in the tech industry, in healthcare.

You still don’t have full rights over your own body. Men are still debating over your uterus. Over your prenatal care. Over your choices.

You still have to pay taxes for your basic sanitary needs.

You still have to carry mace when walking alone at night. You still have to prove to the court why you were drunk on the night you were raped. You still have to justify your behavior when a man forces himself on you.

You still don’t have paid (or even unpaid) maternity leave. You still have to go back to work while your body is broken. While you silently suffer from postpartum depression.

You still have to fight to breastfeed in public. You still have to prove to other women it’s your right to do so. You still offend others with your breasts.

You are still objectified. You are still catcalled. You are still sexualized. You are still told you’re too skinny or you’re too fat. You’re still told you’re too old or too young. You’re applauded when you “age gracefully.” You’re still told men age “better.” You’re still told to dress like a lady. You are still judged on your outfit instead of what’s in your head. What brand bag you have still matters more than your college degree.

You are still being abused by your husband, by your boyfriend. You’re still being murdered by your partners. Being beaten by your soulmate.

You are still worse off if you are a woman of colour, a gay woman, a transgender woman. You are still harassed, belittled, dehumanised.

Your daughters are still told they are beautiful before they are told they are smart. Your daughters are still told to behave even though “boys will be boys.” Your daughters are still told boys pull hair or pinch them because they like them.

You are not equal. Your daughters are not equal. You are still systemically oppressed.

Estonia allows parents to take up to three years of leave, fully paid for the first 435 days. United States has no policy requiring maternity leave.

Singapore’s women feel safe walking alone at night. American women do not.

New Zealand’s women have the smallest gender gap in wages, at 5.6%. United States’ pay gap is 20%.

Iceland has the highest number of women CEOs, at 44%. United States is at 4.0%.

The United States ranks at 45 for women’s equality. Behind Rwanda, Cuba, Philippines, Jamaica.

But I get it. You don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to be a victim. You think feminism is a dirty word. You think it’s not classy to fight for equality. You hate the word pussy. Unless of course you use it to call a man who isn’t up to your standard of manhood. You know the type of man that “allows” “his” woman to do whatever she damn well pleases. I get it. You believe feminists are emotional, irrational, unreasonable. Why aren’t women just satisfied with their lives, right? You get what you get and you don’t get upset, right?

I get it. You want to feel empowered. You don’t want to believe you’re oppressed. Because that would mean you are indeed a “second-class citizen.” You don’t want to feel like one. I get it. But don’t worry. I will walk for you. I will walk for your daughter. And your daughter’s daughter. And maybe you will still believe the world did not change. You will believe you’ve always had the rights you have today. And that’s okay. Because women who actually care and support other women don’t care what you think about them. They care about their future and the future of the women who come after them.

Open your eyes. Open them wide. Because I’m here to tell you, along with millions of other women that you are not equal. Our equality is an illusion. A feel-good sleight of hand. A trick of the mind. I’m sorry to tell you, but you are not equal. And neither are your daughters.

But don’t worry. We will walk for you. We will fight for you. We will stand up for you. And one day you will actually be equal, instead of just feeling like you are.” ~ Dina Leygerman, 2017

 Until the next post,

Best,

Juan