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

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