All images in this story of the WomensMarch 2018 in NYC are original and (c) Kirsten Alana. For usage permission, contact me.
For a while I’ve been in a self-inflicted funk. There are so many reasons for it but chief amongst them all has been:
– the state of my country
– the state of my job in light of all the pain in the world.
As I’ve tried, and yet failed, to change my focus slightly to get the kind of work that brings attention to important issues, I’ve felt less and less like what I do matters.
But when I woke up today, knowing that in my city there would be thousands of people marching in solidarity with so many others around the world, to take a stand against all the corruption and pain and evil that is plaguing us from the highest levels of government and on down through to some of our fellow citizens who have no problem letting hate rule their lives…
I had to be a part of it.
So I chanted and I snapped photos and I walked and I interviewed people. And the more people I talked to, the more stories I heard, the more pictures I took — the farther I traveled away from the funk that’s gotten me down lately. The more alive I felt. The more grateful I was.
For HOPE. And the undeserved blessing of having been born the citizen of a country that’s arguably broken but not so far gone that we don’t still have the freedom to speak up when we see injustice. To simply be free to speak up. Period.
I went to school for journalism and since journalism is so under fire today, I think it’s only appropriate that I let my photojournalism primarily tell you the story of today’s march. Photography can be manipulated but these photos have not been. The first group of images were shot with my Sony a7R II and the second with my iPhone X just hours ago. They have only had the most basic exposure or color correction in Lightroom.
This is the story of the Women’s March 2018 in New York City:
The people in these photos are all different but they seem to have one thing in common: the belief that it is our differences which make us a great nation.
L to R: I think Gayle from Staten Island might have said it best. But I also appreciated the sign Sydney from NYC showed me as I’ve never liked what G.O.P. means. I loved that 11 year old Bella and 8 year old Kavi didn’t think they were too young to march.
And I admired the Smith family from Brooklyn for coming to the March all together, with their daughters:
Last but certainly not least, I couldn’t help but fall for Stephen, Elliot and Stephen who told me they call themselves the #PussyGrandpas. Gentlemen, I wish my Grandpa was still alive to March with you. I think he just might have loved your style as much as I did.