Slut Walk - 6/4/2011

About 10 days ago, I had the opportunity to spend some time with one of my best friends while taking place in a rather historic event in the streets of Chicago, and, despite wearing shorts and short sleeved tops, we were on the overdressed side of the occasion. The name of the even was Slut Walk, and it reminded me a few things.

The event spawned out of response to the now infamous representative from the Toronto Police Service who, in January, was quoted saying "Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order to not be victimized." The mission of the event, as quoted from their website, was 'to enforce the truth that those who experience sexual assault are never at fault-- no exceptions. We seek to combat a culture that teaches "don't get raped," as opposed to "don't rape."' As a topic that lives near to my heart, along with the chance to spend a few hours with the one of the few responsible for me caring so much about this in the first place, I set out on a warm and sunny Saturday in the city to go be a part of something that I believed in. Aside from missing about 75% of the march and never popping my shirt off, there were some interesting things to note.

First, and seemingly obvious, it's amazing what happens in this city. As someone who is usually somewhere between recovering and day drinking on a Saturday afternoon, it seriously amazes me how much activity is existing outside of my world, and makes me anxious to be more aware of the possibilities. Between catching the end of a breast cancer walk, passing by the edge of millennium park, and joining the march that we sought after, there was more activity within a six block radius that I had seen in months. I know this isn't what people necessarily mean when they refer to 'getting out and exploring in the city, trying new things, and going on adventures' (the most cliche aspect to most Chicago-based dating profiles), but just being awake, outside, in the loop, under the sun, and not drinking (despite it sounding like a good idea), it was an awesome change of pace.

Second, and actually related to the event, it's a special feeling to be a part of something that's bigger than you. Whatever the cause, the whole is definitely greater than the sum of the parts, as in, each of the hundreds of participants and organizers might be able to influence the world in which they live in small doses, but not until we all came together at one event was that message loud enough to be heard. As someone who barely fits the description of an activist, I can get lost in the day to day monotony of culture that at times seems too overbearing to influence. Being removed from the environment that inspired me in the first place definitely had its affect, and the greater the distance between me and my original platform, the harder it is to continue the spirited attempt to change those around me, but the rekindled emotion that I felt while listening to the speakers and observing the crowd of those passionately in support of the same cause, it was uplifting, it struck some heartstrings, and it made me remember why I ever got started down this path.

Third, and most importantly, there are varying degrees of support and activism you can choose to show, but everything is important. I am resigned to the idea that I am not a vocal leader. I do not like to confront people. I can be a pretty lazy person. And for the most part, have a thick skin and a slippery back (ya know, because I let stuff slide off it so easily). So in all fairness, I am not the ideal candidate for activism. A quiet, passive, and unmotivated go-with-the-flow probably won't rival the loud-speaker toting, in-your-face type in regard to making a statement, but like I said, there are more ways to be involved. My presence alone, and the presence of my friend, our inclusion with this group and for this cause bolstered the unity of a group of strangers with the same goal. My blank face, Chicago Fire baseball hat, blue shirt, and cargo shorts were nothing to note, but to those around me, those who care, my actions stood as loud as my words. I might not have yelled when the rest of the crowd cheered in support (but I clapped!), and I didn't make a sign as clever as 'PEACE, LOVE, SLUTS!,' and I didn't even bust out my lingerie in a proclamation of 'it doesn't matter how I dress!,' but I'll continue to be a body included in the head count, a silent role model, a lead by example, not by screaming leader, and be content with my role, knowing that everything I do to help is, in fact, help, and to never lose sight of that, no matter how small it might be.