This does not even begin to represent all who were covered in snow last weekend; this represents just one perspective—a perspective that is uniquely mine.
“Damn right, we’re snowflakes. Winter is coming.”
You are always in a state of emergency—the air is so cold that you cannot feel your heart beating, but you know that you are alive because you are still angry. You’ve been fighting this way for many winters—all ice and pepper spray and riot gear and broken bones and no snowflakes.
Your arms hurt because your hands are always up—never down because it’s better for them that you are vulnerable instead of the other way around.
Screaming that your life matters is your demand for compassion
Screaming her name so that the world will not forget is your cry for help
Being endangered has become life for you; your water is poisoned with lead, you cannot breathe, and you are dying; it is always winter—all frost and rubber bullets and tear gas and blood and no snowflakes.
Nothing changes until you hear grab her by the pussy:
Snowflakes pulse through the veins of every big city in the world, wearing pink pussy hats and carrying signs that read “Damn right, we’re snowflakes. Winter is coming.” More snow than you’d ever seen before—snowflakes cover you and your blood and your voice and your dead until they bury you. And then
You realize that “grab her by the pussy” is the only call snow will respond to
When it takes
all of you to die
and their vaginas to be threatened
for over two million of them to show up—
they still don’t realize winter came a long time ago.
Amber Taylor, Women’s Center Intern