Some wise drag queens once told me (and a rowdy audience hyped up on alcohol and Gaga songs) that there is power in our voices. “We love tips, but if you don’t have a dollar you have a voice. So use it, motherfuckers. Let me hear you SCREAM!” This line has stuck with me. I fully believe in the power of our voices, both individually and collectively. I’m a fan of using mine to mostly express my eloquent views on important subjects like the Kardashians or my latest, shinest accessory. The lesson that the fabulous drag queen taught me has been seen in a new light since coming to work for an institution that encourages progressive thinking and actions, however. If one’s own voice is powerful on its own, imagine what can happen when a few (or many) collectively use their voices.
I got to see this in action today. Moveon.org encouraged its members around the country to do grassroots protests against the ridiculously large tax cuts that corporations receive each year. Surprisingly, my conservative podunk town was one of the many sites to host a protest, so two friends and I joined the protest on our lunch hour. My one friend warned that there may not be many people protesting since it is a smaller town filled with people who, uh, like money and hate anything progressive. Though the crowd was small to begin with, it doubled to nearly two dozen people crowding the street corners near a busy downtown intersection by the time we left. It wasn’t nearly the mob I had pictured it would be, but standing on the street corner waving my sign and chanting about corporation taxation was more exhilerating than I imagined it would be.
Since it was lunchtime traffic was thick. At first I worried about how I looked–what would people think of me and everyone standing on the corner of the sidewalk waving signs about tax cuts? Would I be called crazy? Would we be flipped off? The thought of being judged was a big concern…until I saw my friend waving her neon orange sign while passionately chanting about this being democracy. I realized that this wasn’t about me. This was about using my voice as a part of a collective chorus of citizens. So I took a deep breath, raised my sign above my head and chanted with her for the better part of an hour. The worry disappeared as cars honked their support or rolled down their windows to give us thumbs up signs. We grinned and waved as we screamed, happy for the support and relieved to be seeing no middle fingers.
Too soon we had to leave. I was surprised at how reluctant I felt to go–I wanted to stay and scream some more! But I left feeling exhilerated and proud, like I had accomplished something and made an impact. Something tells me that the drag queens would be pleased.
