Yesterday was the big march in London. After March no. 3, I had written about how the protests had started to feel performative. But, skipping this march wasn't an option after the Home Secretary called us hate marchers, and incited the far-right against us. I realise that women and children don't need men to protect them, and, if anything, yobs get provoked by the presence of men on the other side. In hairy situations, women step in to protect their men from other violent men. But, I would have felt like a wuss if I had sat this one out. I am glad I went, and there was no trouble from the fash, but it was a draining experience. Maybe, it was accumulated fatigue from all the marches I have been to over the past four weeks. Maybe it was the size of the crowd and the fact that we were crawling along. But, I don't think I am going to go for the next march in London. Spending six hours on a coach to march for less than five hours requires a level of commitment to the cause that is difficult to sustain ( at least for me).
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