In her dream, she was there. She was marching with a group of people, Hoxtonites appropriately dressed for the occasion, vintage wearers in eccentric skin-tight trousers.

As her body moved along with this wave of imaginary people, it all became clear.

Protest was no longer of the periphery, of the tropical. It was the entire centre, it was all that was visible and invisible, the happenings and non-happenings, it was pro-choice and anti-choice, the spoken word and silence.

Protest stopped being reactions, actions and statements. Protest no longer a mass demonstration of individualized collectivity.

Protest became a woman buying a vibrator; it became a new pair of shoes

Protest became peacefully waiting for something to happen. Anything.

Protest became making your own things when other things didn’t happen.

Protest became dancing tango, salsa and reggaeton; your sweet sweat in close proximity to other dancers

Protest as an alternative to boredom, an escape to the hiccup that is your own existence

Protest no longer human, always banal

Protest is L’oreal hair colour, because I’m worth it. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s