THE ELEVEN MILLION

A Love Letter to the Americans Who Marched for the Woman

I realized something yesterday.

The Eleven Million who took to the streets didn’t just protest a king.

They ALL voted for a woman. We voted for Kamala Harris.

Let’s pause there. Let that live in your chest for a minute.

Let it echo off the bones of every suffragette, every dismissed voice, every “not yet, sweetheart” and “too ambitious” ever lobbed at a girl who dared to dream big.

Because that sea of humanity that spilled across state lines? They weren’t just marching.

They were delivering ballots with their feet.

We have seen this moment before. Not in exact shape—but in spirit. We’ve seen it when women lined up to vote for the first time in 1920, when Black Americans risked their lives to register in the 1960s, when millions donned pink hats in 2017, and again now—when the stakes are even higher, and the threat wears a crown made of grievance.

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From Brattleboro to San Diego, Fort Worth to San Francisco, we rose.

In Pennsylvania, someone built a protest art installation—a golden toilet labeled “Trump’s Only Throne.” I couldn’t make that up if I tried. He placed it directly beneath a poster of Trump behind bars with a sign that read: NO KINGS.

In Fort Worth, Texas, a phalanx of women dressed in red Handmaid robes marched silently, holding a banner that read:

“We the people were not meant to kneel.”

And may I just say—Amen.

In San Francisco, palm trees waved as tens of thousands filled the city’s spine with signs like battle flags. One read:

“Coalition of Humanity vs. Narcissistic Megalomaniacs.”

Another:

“Our expectations were low—but HOLY FUCK!

And New York? New York didn’t march. New York roared. Fifth Avenue was so thick with bodies, umbrellas, and resistance it looked like a parade for the end of authoritarianism. (Spoiler: it was.)

And Brattleboro? Brattleboro showed up too, dammit. Because even Vermont has had enough. And when someone in a bonnet and boots walks silently past your café holding a sign that says “NO CROWNS,” you know history is being made outside your front door.

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We wore red for defiance. White for the ghost of democracy. Boots and buttons because… well, what else do you wear when you’re marching on history?

And yes, some of us wore boleros. Because sometimes a revolution needs a little flair. We weren’t just marching against something.

We were marching toward something.

Toward a country that doesn’t need to be great again because it dares to be better now. Toward a future that doesn’t silence women, doesn’t erase queerness, doesn’t criminalize dissent. Toward a truth we’ve known in our bones since before we had the right to say it aloud:

This country belongs to us.

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We carried signs that said:

“Whoever thought dystopian fiction would become real-life training.”

— Seen at a protest near you (and possibly in a deleted chapter of The Handmaid’s Tale*)*

And:

“Just wait until he’s mad at YOU.”

— A prophetic warning in bold black and boots (spoiler: authoritarianism spares no one)

And mine—my favorite:

“The Eleven Million who protested yesterday voted for the woman.”

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They say America is exhausted.

That we’re too divided, too cynical, too far gone.

But let me tell you what I saw:

We are awake. We are marching. And we are not waiting for permission.

This was not a one-day moment. It was a national primal scream. It was a coordinated declaration that we’re not done yet.

This was the largest protest against a sitting president in American history. And it wasn’t angry mobs. It was librarians and veterans, teenagers and retirees, mothers with strollers, queer couples holding hands, pastors in robes, immigrants with flags.

It was America.

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We voted for the woman. Not just any woman—but the woman. The one who waited while men failed upward. The one who held the line while others drew it. The one who knows the Constitution better than most of her critics have read it.

So don’t let them rewrite yesterday. Don’t let them downplay what you did.

You walked. You chanted. You voted.

And it mattered.

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Always remember we are united. We are the Eleven Million who protested yesterday and we are the mighty who

Voted for the Woman.

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And if you’re reading this wondering what to do next?

You already know. Stand up. Speak out. Write. Vote. March again because we have to.

Because we don’t want a crown—but we do have the numbers. And we don’t kneel. Not to kings. Not to cowards. Not to anyone who thinks a golden toilet is a throne.

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Always forward, Gloria ~ One of the Eleven Million