By Eva Andersen
Thousands of New Yorkers swarmed Union Square Park with signs, megaphones, and palpable frustration, snaking their way through the streets of Manhattan. They chanted at the top of their lungs and charged north–50 blocks in all–to the tower bearing the name of the very man that they were protesting: our new president, Donald J. Trump.
“Not our president! Not our president!” some yelled.
“Donald Trump has got to go, hey hey! Ho ho!” shouted others.
The long battle of the election had ended one day before, but New York wasn’t done fighting. Expletives, tears, and loud cries erupted from a steady procession of Millennials, baby boomers, and even a few babies slung over the shoulders of tired parents.
The chants ebbed and flowed, coming in waves—when one died out, another was ready to jump in its place.
“Stop the hate and stop the fear! Immigrants are welcome here!”
As the group hit Herald Square, they faced a wall of NYPD officers.
“This is the New York City Police Department. You are unlawfully in the roadway and obstructing vehicular traffic,” boomed a voice from an ominous speaker held by a tall officer, just barely able to make conversation with his fellow officer over the volume. “If you remain in the roadway and refuse to leave the sidewalk, you will be placed under arrest.”
The protesters kept marching.
City buses, double decker tour buses, SUVS, and taxicabs had come to a stunning halt, hugged on each side by protesters, Facebook live-ing all the way. As the marchers chanted, some drivers honked their horns in rhythm with the chanting, others rested their heads against the steering wheels in irritation.
“The people! United! Will never be defeated!”
If the people of New York did feel defeated, tonight, they were not showing it.
And they marched on.
