This is why we march …

History is watching. The Black women who have led and shaped movements before us are watching. As white women, showing up isn’t enough—we have a responsibility to listen, to learn, and to take action that goes beyond the moment. Solidarity means stepping up in meaningful ways, not just when it’s easy, but when it truly matters.

That’s why we march.

I’ve seen comments saying that the Boston Women’s March didn’t feel like a ‘women’s march’—that it was more of a protest. But the fight for women’s rights has always been a fight for justice. At a time when our rights are being stripped away, we can’t just gather to celebrate the power of women—we have to raise our voices, call out the lawmakers taking our choices away, and show them that we are united. Marching isn’t just about recognition; it’s about resistance.

Feminism is, and always has been, about the greater good. It’s about more than just women’s rights—it’s about liberation for all. True feminism is intersectional. It means standing up not just for cis women, but for trans women, for nonbinary people, for Black and brown women, for disabled women, for every person marginalized by systems of oppression. It means understanding that the fight for reproductive justice is the fight for healthcare, for bodily autonomy, for the right to live freely and safely.

The Women’s March has evolved over the years. The first marches in 2017 were massive, filled with pink hats and hopeful energy. But hope alone doesn’t create change. This year’s march was smaller, but it was fierce, fueled by urgency. The stakes are higher now—our rights to healthcare, to education, to safety, to bodily autonomy are under attack. This isn’t just about one administration or one politician; it’s about a system that continuously prioritizes power over people.

Some people want feminism to be palatable, to be soft, to be comfortable. But comfort is a privilege that many don’t have. Feminism shouldn’t just be about empowerment—it should be about dismantling oppression. And that work is hard, uncomfortable, and ongoing.

So we march. We march because we refuse to be silent. We march because our sisters before us fought so we could have a voice, and we won’t let that voice be taken away. We march because justice isn’t given—it’s demanded. And we will keep demanding it, until every person, no matter their gender, race, or background, is free.