I’ve marched twice in the last couple of weeks – once in protest, once in training. The protest was against You Know Who, He Who Shall Not Be Named, and his visit to the UK. I’d had a conversation with my 20-year-olds the night before about the planned demonstrations. They were pretty sceptical. “You’re quite a marchy generation aren’t you?” one of them said, sympathetically.
It is sort of true, although in all honesty, I haven’t marched that many times. But I admitted their counter-arguments made sense to me; I know marching doesn’t change anyone’s mind, but it’s about sending a message, to each other as much as anything.
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