Why They March: Three Profiles from the Boston Women's March for America

Sophie H., Genesis Peralta and Nick Hebert are marching through the Back Bay Saturday, three among tens of thousands in Boston and hundreds of thousands across the country who have taken to the streets in the wake of President Donald Trump's inauguration.

The Boston Women's March is made up of multitudes. A few stories do not capture every viewpoint and motivation. But among these three, a few commonalities:

They are scared, concerned, anxious — most of all, because of the vast uncertainty of an untested and inexperienced president whose past statements bode ill for the issues most important to them. They are questioning their own understanding of the people around them in this country, and trying to learn more. They are seeking reaffirmation of deeply held values they feel like the rest of the country rejected.

They are not militant. They are not marching to reject the results of the election or to complain about its outcome. They are marching to make their voices heard.

Genesis Peralta remembers Saturdays growing up in the Bronx when her mom would devote the day to cooking, throwing a boxing match or Sábado Gigante on the television, playing music and churning dishes out from the kitchen — lasagnas, potato salads, yellow rice.

"My mom just made it an event," she said. "Our parents allowed us to really immerse ourselves in the best way with what little they have. They always said to us, you know, 'Be grateful. Always be grateful and work hard.'"

This weekend, Peralta marches for her.

"This march, I think, it's beyond women," said Peralta, 24, of Methuen. "For me, it just symbolizes empathy and compassion. I think we need to come together like we did in 2001, when the twin towers fell."

It's also about respect, respect Peralta does not believe Trump has demonstrated toward women or minorities, and that she therefore does not reciprocate.

"At the end of the day, you are representing a nation. As a candidate, he did not do that at all," she said. "We need to show... America belongs to everyone."

She has other reasons, too — she works two part-time jobs, is trying to pay off her student loans, her mother is sick and she has numerous, deep concerns regarding the newly inaugurated president, starting with his inexperience and extending to his proposed policies.

But it's her mom, who is working Saturday, that Peralta will have in mind.

"I'll go for you," she said she told her.

Peralta's parents came to the States in the 1990s without papers, Peralta said. Her mom gave birth to her in New York City. When she got older, Peralta said, she encountered the phrase "anchor baby," words she said disgust her because they seek to delegitimize her own citizenship.

Her father and all but two of her six sisters are citizens, but her mother's paperwork has stalled, Peralta said. Elements of the president's proposed actions, and his perceived hostility toward Latinos, have her family on edge. But still, she said, the opportunity for citizenship is worth it.

"It's a scary time," she said. "I'm just hoping and praying that my mom becomes a citizen, even with his agenda."

Friends and family in the Dominican Republic have told her parents they have a place to go, if things "go bad," Peralta said. It's become their fallback plan.

"It's just sad," she said. "At the end of the day, we've always looked to the U.S. as home, as the fallback."

Watching the 2016 presidential campaign unfold felt like seeing the worst instincts of the Internet's comment sections made manifest, to Sophie H., 26, of Somerville.

"It was like a troll came to life and ran for president," she said.

It hit, perhaps, its lowest point this October, when audio emerged of then-candidate Trump claiming that when it comes to beautiful women, "When you're a star they let you do it. ... Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."

To Sophie, the remarks were not just crass, but a gut-punch. A survivor of sexual assault, whose full name Patch is withholding to protect against harassment and invasion of privacy, she has advocated around the issue and spoken before groups about her experience. The casual nature of the remarks from someone then within grasp of the presidency, "It re-victimized me," she said.

The old wariness came back, symptoms associated with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder — hyper-vigilantly looking over her shoulder as she walked, distrustfully eyeing those around her, finding herself wondering, "Is my Uber driver going to assault me?" She felt irritable, edgy — feelings she had worked through with a therapist, nonetheless returning.

Eight years earlier, she was sexually assaulted by a childhood friend, an incident that at the time she did not acknowledge for what it was, she said. After all, her assailant was not someone in a dark alley or a stranger sneaking out of the bushes.

"Sexual assault is a much bigger spectrum than we've been taught," she said.

Trump's success, despite those remarks, made her feel like her work and her own experience were being violently undermined, dismissed. It was hard, Sophie said, and she shut down for a few days. She came out the other side angry, and ready to channel that anger into more action.

Advocating for herself and other survivors of sexual assault is one facet of Sophie's decision to join Saturday's March for Women. But for her, the event is also just one part of a job every citizen should take seriously — expressing their opinions to the government, holding elected officials accountable.

"If I had a megaphone, what I would say is, 'Please don't let this be your first and last day of action,'" she said. "'Let it continue past this administration.'"

Nick Hebert isn't new to a concept that reached a buzzwordy pitch in 2016, "privilege."

As a gay man, he faces slightly different obstacles than other white men might. Within the LGBTQ community, he knew he and his husband, MJ, were privileged to live in a state that permitted gay marriage before the Supreme Court made it the law of the land. Even then, though, he was cognizant that that achievement — hailed as a vast victory by many progressives — had its limitations.

"We were also aware of so many other difficulties folks in queer communities were struggling with," he said. "MJ's brother is trans, so we were super aware that while marriage equality was a huge step, it was relevant and important to a subset of the LGBT community."

Under President Trump, Hebert feels the nerves coming back, particularly around trans rights and marriage equality.

Massachusetts may be a "liberal bastion," as Hebert put it, but he's seen fear creeping in for others, as well.

At an infectious disease clinic at a local hospital, he works with HIV-positive people, helping them navigate the maze of insurance, medication, transportation and housing needs.

Already, watching what's happening in Washington, Hebert said he's heard from many patients worried about accessing healthcare and concerned whether they should share their immigration status with doctors.

"Over the past few months, I'm already seeing changes in how patients are interacting with clinic staff, which is huge and awful," he said.

Watching the results roll in on election night, he and his husband were sleepless, and Hebert said he spent the next day in a daze. But his self-awareness also came to bear in a different way, reminding him that what he saw as progress was alienating another part of the population, that he "was in this naive position living in Massachusetts and Boston."

A social worker, he's drawing on that training as he thinks about empathy, thinking about where people come from.

If someone espouses homophobic views, he tries not to label them as a homophobe. But it's hard.

"For me, it feels like a middle finger. What do I then still have to do to help somebody understand why this progress is important?" he said. But, "It's not just making it happen and making people feel alienated and left behind, like they're ignored — that's a bad feeling, too."

He's one of numerous men marching in Boston Saturday, determined to "stand beside people," "to use (his) privilege in as constructive a way as possible."

"We need to be out there as gay men, people of color, too, all acknowledging that this is an issue to do together, and not for women to do on their own," he said.

All photos courtesy to Patch