Why being a Peace Ambassador at the Women’s March changed my mind about protests

I’ll be the first to admit that I used to be very cynical about the impact of protests. “What difference will this make?” was a common question that came to mind when I was in high school and saw protesters on the news marching with their signs or occupying a public area.

However, our current political climate has definitely pushed me to become a stronger and more active advocate for social justice and civil rights. Attending the occupation at my school, UC Berkeley, the day after the election and rallying then marching from campus to Oakland on Inauguration Day opened my eyes to the importance of remaining steadfast to our values, and resist whatever threatens or demeans it – even if it means resisting the presidency.

Being part of a movement is a completely different experience than being a spectator

When I first heard of the Women’s March, I immediately knew I wanted to be there. Not to spectate a historic event, but to actively participate in it. After signing up to attend, I felt a strong obligation to do more, for the sake of my values and being able to say that I did what I could to help in any way I can, no matter how small the role is. I decided to sign up to become a Peace Ambassador, and it was the best decision I could have made.

As a Peace Ambassador, it was my responsibility to make sure that the event remains peaceful and everyone participating is safe. I worked with dozens more volunteers along with the San Francisco Police Department, but we were nothing compared to the estimated 100,000 attendees (twice the amount we anticipated).

Marching down the San Francisco Tenderloin.

Reflecting upon my own values motivated me to stand up for the ones I love

When I marched from the San Francisco Civic Center to the Embarcadero in the pouring rain, while helping children stay away from dangerous areas and escorting the marchers to the correct route, I was thinking of my parents.

I am the daughter of two immigrants – my father came to America as a refugee from the Vietnam War, and my mother left the Philippines in her mid-twenties to find better opportunities than the ones she had been given. I owe my life to my parents, but when I look at the current state of our country, I couldn’t help but wonder, what would have happened if Donald Trump ran his campaign forty years ago? What would have happened if his executive order to ban refugees was signed in 1975, but instead of targeting Middle Easterners, he targeted at the Vietnamese due to their history of communism? What would have happened to my mom in the Philippines – a country where rape and sexual assault is common among the poor – if a rich American president used his privilege as an excuse to sexually objectify women?

And of course, I was thinking of my LGBTQ+, Muslim, and undocumented friends. A couple of them were bullied because of how they looked and who they chose to love. I remembered watching one of my Muslim friends struggle to find a job –  even with a B.S. in Computer Science, a high GPA, and extensive work experience – simply because he has citizenship in both the U.S. and Iran, and had to provide that information on his applications. And one of my closest friends immigrated from El Salvador all on her own when she was only a preteen, and in between her work at church and majoring in Bioengineering at UC Santa Cruz, she is still working with her lawyer to obtain her U.S. citizenship.

San Francisco Civic Center Plaza

Protesting is about doing what we can in the present to better the future

My friends and family people brought so much love and light into my life, and I am eternally grateful for how much they have inspired me and pushed me to become the person I am today. But these are the same people whose backgrounds, religious, and ethnic identities are currently being subject to bigotry and alienation from the American “We”. If my loved ones had already faced adversities as a result of who they are or where they are from, what more will happen to them and the millions of people from the same backgrounds – especially if a man who normalizes marginalization, sexual misconduct, and scapegoating runs this country for the next four years?

It’s easy to complain or criticize. The real challenge is turning that frustration into meaningful action, but once that challenge is met, I realized, it’s fulfilling. It’s powerful. It’s life-changing.