As I chanted “No Trump. No KKK. No Fascist USA,” I looked into the faces of the marchers around me, and I got my answer: Americans are not accustomed to this. Most of these hundreds of thousands of people had probably never been to a protest before, and never marched with their children and their parents and screamed at the top of their lungs in the middle of a metropolitan road. This was their first time, their introduction to taking the streets. What I assumed was a lack of passion turned out to be something equally important: a first step. The million people: women, men, children, and allies who marched on Washington, did not have the experience of fighting against overt oppression, but they knew they needed to show up; they knew they must be united in the face of a new era that will have them fight for the rights they have long taken for granted. On this day, the American Woman showed up, she rose to the occasion, and though she was hesitant, she was determined.We arrived at the White House, filling the National Mall with pink pussy hats and chants of “my body, my rights”, and made our presence known. Soon after people started to scatter, but for the rest of the day, one could not go anywhere without running into someone with a sign or a pussy hat. This may not be the desperate protest that started a revolution against a Middle Eastern dictatorship, but it is the American woman beginning her fight. The movement has begun.