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Meet the locals, get some fresh air – protests are all the rage and becoming a bit of an industry.
Joanne Black
Since moving to Washington, DC, we have had lots of visitors, and in addition to recommending places they might like to see, I have found myself lately suggesting guests might like to take part in a march. It’s good exercise, you can meet some locals and I think of it like going to Sydney and attending a performance at the Sydney Opera House. It’s great to see the opera house from the outside but better still to get the feel inside.
In DC, it seems there is a march for everything that bothers you and quite a few things that probably don’t. In fact, it’s a small industry here. On the National Mall, which has the Capitol at one end and the Washington Monument at the other and the advantage of being within hearing distance of the White House if you are very loud, there are midweek and weekend marches – with peak bookings on Saturdays. So, for example, on May 20 there is the “March of Allied Power” (this is about people of colour, not a World War II get-together) in the morning, followed by the “March against Monsanto” in the afternoon. You could always take a picnic lunch and make a day of it.
Climate change, rights for QUILTBAGs (lesscommon sexual and gender identities), and immigration matters tend to be big; all have been energised by Donald Trump’s presidency and the desire to be part of the #Resistance. It’s a clever umbrella, because it turns the negativity of protest into the positivity of a movement.
The other day, I chanced upon the website of a business that rents out megaphones and lecterns and helps with applications for march licences if, instead of merely participating in a protest, you are organising one. It must be flourishing.
The one downside to the plethora of protests since Trump’s inauguration is that the Women’s March set an awfully high benchmark. Now, unless you have half a million participants, group hats and witty signs, it is not so much a protest as a walk in the park.
The other day, I was with a couple of friends who got talking about confetti cake. I had never heard of it, though I should have guessed it takes its name from coloured sprinkles in the cake. I asked if they had a recipe and they fell about laughing, because this is the United States and you buy the cake mix in a packet. I may be being completely unfair to Americans here because cake mix does exist in New Zealand, too; it’s just that personally, I had never bought a box until last Friday.
I came home, made it, it was all gone by nightfall and the next day I did the same again. I’m hooked. At the risk of sounding like Trump in reverse, asking who knew that health policy could be so difficult
(er, everyone), I have been asking who knew that cake baking could be so easy. Other than the packet of cake mix, I added half a cup of oil (the “recipe” did not specify what type, so I figured it didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t engine oil), a cup of water and three eggs. Et voila!
You can also buy ready-made icing (called frosting here), but I baulked at that because one of the options was coloured a particularly bright purple, so I made my own. I know – heroic. My assimilation will be complete the day I buy frosting from the supermarket.