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Yes, I Use a Fork



There was a stark difference in the images and coverage of the Women's March stories in your Jan. 26 issue ("On the March"). The elegant and inspirational language of Dr. King was there — at least in part, in D.C. — alongside supportive signs of men supporting the right thing, and the other clearly common sense message: "More voices, better choices."

Also in Linda Stansberry's coverage of the Eureka walk where, supposedly, some of those signs echoed the same higher sentiments, but to carry a sign, up high, saying, "I can't believe I'm still protesting this shit," — doesn't that just descend to the obscene level of Donald Trump talk? I get it, the emotion, the frustration, but doesn't it neutralize, if not nullify, the whole point of the protest? Not quite the same thing as "I have a dream," or We Want a President Who is Not a Danger and a Disgrace! Same with arson and other deliberate destruction, and chanting, "Hey, ho, the pussy grabber must go!" and the sign reading: "Donald Trump Eats Pizza with a Fork." Where is that relevant? So do I; knife, too, sometimes, when needed.

Some years ago, I joined my son and others in West Hollywood's Gay Pride Parade. It was the one and only time I participated in a march, although it will probably not be the last time I do so. Onlookers threw fruit and insults at us. Some straight guys tried to start fights and, from what I observed, failed. Abuse was in the air (it wasn't easy to walk past all that) but so was the exuberance of nonviolently doing what was clearly the right thing to do. It was a day of simply proclaiming the right to live life, peacefully, as you wish and to love the one you love — what we all want.

Patricia Jerome, Trinidad

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