Popular Communication

The International Journal of Media and Culture

ISSN: 1540-5702 (Print) 1540-5710 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/hppc20

“A living archive of modern protest”: Memory-

making in the Women’s March

Carolyn Kitch

To cite this article: Carolyn Kitch (2018) “A living archive of modern protest”:
Memory-making in the Women’s March, Popular Communication, 16:2, 119-127, DOI:
10.1080/15405702.2017.1388383

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POPULAR COMMUNICATION
2018, VOL. 16, NO. 2, 119–127
https://doi.org/10.1080/15405702.2017.1388383

“A living archive of modern protest”: Memory-making in the

Women’s March
Carolyn Kitch
Temple University

ABSTRACT
The Women’s March, held on January 21, 2017, the day after Donald
Trump’s inauguration as President of the United States, made news
across the world as a surprisingly powerful current event that sig-
naled possible political and social futures. Yet this event was also
threaded with the past. This essay examines the uses and construc-
tions of memory in the marches and their mediation, drawing on
news and social media coverage, on my own on-site experience at
the Washington, DC, march, and interdisciplinary scholarship that
may provide theoretical context for understanding the event’s nature
and lasting importance. It considers the rhetorical and material mem-
ory work, on the ground, of both the official ceremonies and the
marchers’ more vernacular expressions, as well as the complex inter-
play of mediation, resulting in definitions of the event as historic in its
own right and as a map for the future.

The Women’s March, held on January 21, 2017, the day after Donald Trump’s inaugura-
tion as President of the United States, made news across the world as a surprisingly
powerful current event that signaled possible political and social futures. Yet this event
also was threaded with the past. This essay considers the uses and creation of memory in
the march and its mediation, drawing on news and social media coverage, my own on-site
experience at the Washington, DC, march, and interdisciplinary scholarship that may
provide theoretical context for understanding the event’s nature and lasting importance.
As a current event, the marches were newsworthy for several reasons. Chief among
them was scale. The core march in Washington, DC, initially expected to draw some
200,000 participants, instead drew more than three times that number. “Sister marches,”
initially planned in a few dozen other cities, occurred in more than 600 locations world-
wide and involved some 4 million additional people (Goodman, 2017), transforming
gestures of support into a transnational protest event.
In mainstream media, the day also was deemed remarkable as a grass-roots rally that
had been organized and was being communicated through social media; in other words,
the event was newsworthy as a moment in the transformation of mass communication
itself. While the on-site events were choreographed for national and global media cover-
age, which occurred in conventional ways, coverage also came from inside the crowds, as
marchers posted photographs, videos, and comments on social media throughout the day.

CONTACT Carolyn Kitch ckitch@temple.edu School of Media and Communication, Temple University, 345
Annenberg Hall, 2020 North 13th Street, Philadelphia, PA 19122, USA.
© 2018 Taylor & Francis
120 C. KITCH

By the end of that day, the march had been mentioned 7 million times on social media
(Garrison, 2017). Wired magazine proclaimed that the event “defines protest in the
Facebook age” (Lapowsky, 2017).
The third factor in the event’s newsworthiness was its visual nature. News and social
media coverage privileged photographs, and those images were vividly pink. The color of
the “pussyhats” that marchers wore served not only to condemn Trump’s admitted sexual
aggression toward women but also to make visually indisputable the massive size of the
crowds. Signs carried by the millions of marchers clarified their messages, made certain
slogans memorable, and created visual parallels with iconic photographs of other social-
protest marches, especially those held on the National Mall.
Such visual echoes underscored the final aspect of newsworthiness, the intersectionality of
the event, its professed intent to spotlight not only gender but also race and class inequities, as
well as issues including climate change, disability rights, immigration, and other concerns. Not
all participants in the march were women, and the march did not represent all women; it was
politically liberal across a range of issues. Its mission was to blend a range of social-justice
issues into an intervention that was “conceived by women, led by women, and staged in the
name of women,” as journalist Rebecca Traister noted (2017, n.p.). The lack of a clear focus
had been the theme of news media predictions that the event would fall apart even before it
could happen (e.g., Dalmia, 2017, n.p.; Wilhelm, 2017, n.p.). Yet it turned out that the event’s
political diversity did not hinder turnout or enthusiasm.
For all of these reasons, the march was hailed in news coverage as a surprisingly
effective, immediate action that exemplified both the survival of on-the-ground protest
and the nature of social organizing in a digital world. This essay contends that the
importance of the march may be explained not only by its currency, but also by its claims
to history and its construction of social memory for the future. These accomplishments
can be seen in several aspects of the event itself and the discourse around it: direct
historical references; uses of material culture; emphasis on visibility and physical presence;
and the creation of an archive.

“This is the moment:” References to history

From its announcement, the march was presented as an episode in a longer struggle,
dedicated to “honoring the champions of human rights, dignity, and justice who have
come before us,” its mission statement declared (Mission and vision, 2016/2017). News
coverage widely used the descriptor “historic,” and some compared it to other events in
women’s history, such as the 1848 Seneca Falls Convention (McConnaughy, 2017, n.p.).
Traister described the event as a “mass turnout in support of liberty, sorority, and
equality” (2017, n.p.), invoking the French Revolution; in Boston, MA, marchers included
a fife-and-drum unit dressed as American Revolutionary soldiers.
In many locations, marchers assembled on historic sites rich with what cultural
geographer Caitlin DeSilvey calls “the conductive properties of landscape” (2012, p. 49).
Surrounded by statues and monuments to great men of the past, marchers gathered on
Boston Common, in Chicago’s Grant Park, along Philadelphia’s Benjamin Franklin
Parkway, in London’s Trafalgar Square, and in Washington, DC, between the U.S.
Capitol Building and the Washington Monument. In London, one photo that went viral
showed three young women dressed as suffragettes, wearing period clothing and “Votes
 POPULAR COMMUNICATION 121

for Women” banners. All of these sites, and many other march locations, have hosted
protests of the past.
If, as sociologist Robin Wagner-Pacifici contends, memory “vibrates” according to “the
social acts of … [its] translation” (1996, pp. 301, 302), such grounds are powerful stages.
Brought to new life by new actors, whose physical presence places them within an older
political pageant, protest landscapes highlight the “spatial, material, [and] public dimen-
sions” of memory, recasting the grounds of official history “not only as texts that visitors
read, but also as sites of practice that are socially embodied and generative,” explain
historians Erica Lehrer and Cynthia Milton (2011, p. 3).
The specific pasts of memory grounds enable rhetorical as well as physical connections
between past and present, an invocation of earlier presence (and earlier presents). Yet such
context also can be limiting, cueing our associations with certain political pasts rather than
others. Both outcomes were evident in the 3-hour rally that began the Washington, DC, march.
Among the hundreds of historical protests that have taken place along the National Mall
was a 1913 women’s-suffrage parade the day before Woodrow Wilson’s first inauguration.
This historic precedent was referenced during the 2017 Women’s March only by U.S. Senator
Kirsten Gillibrand, who, of the dozens of speakers, most overtly framed the current march as
an event in women’s history, connected with the goal of electing a woman as the U.S.
President. After describing the 1913 woman’s suffrage parade, Gillibrand said:

Today, after Hillary Clinton put 65 million cracks in the hardest and
highest glass ceiling, we are marching on Washington for similar reasons.
We want to be counted. We want to be heard … This is the moment of the
beginning of the revival of the women’s movement. This is the moment
you will remember when women stood strong and stood firm and said
never again. (Gillibrand, 2017)

Some women’s-history references were made in a poem about “nasty women” (a label
Trump had applied to Hillary Clinton during one debate) performed by actress Ashley Judd,
who called out the first names of women’s-rights pioneers throughout history: “Susan,
Elizabeth, Eleanor, Amelia, Rosa, Gloria, Condoleeza, Sonia, Malala, Michelle, Hillary.”
“Gloria” herself—Gloria Steinem, an honorary co-chair of the march—also recited
names from the past, but they were men: John F. Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Martin
Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X, whose assassinations five decades ago signaled “the
death of the future” of political progress, she said (Steinem, 2017, n.p.). Her genera-
tional contemporary and the other honorary co-chair of the march, former Black
Panther Angela Davis, spoke on a variety of abuses and concluded by quoting Civil
Rights activist Ella Baker: “We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes”
(Davis, 2017, n.p.). While this was a tribute to a woman, it foregrounded the American
Civil Rights movement as the historic precursor to this present-day “march on
Washington,” as did the event’s many references to the Black Lives Matter movement.
Despite the attendance of several activists from the second wave of the American
women’s rights movement, few references were made to those 1970s protests. Thus,
the official ceremony was a diverse pageant that nevertheless downplayed its grounding
in the continuous social and political history of the American women’s movement. This
is particularly ironic in a protest over the outcome of a Presidential election that was
122 C. KITCH

expected to produce the nation’s first female President, and at a time so close to the
suffrage centennial.

Signs of change: The meanings of material culture

For the marchers, organizers had made available the official, stylized posters, created by
Obama “Hope” poster artist Shepard Fairey, showing faces of young women of color with
the phrases “We the People” and “Hear Our Voice.” Yet, at least in Washington, DC, they
were barely visible among the tens of thousands of handmade signs within the crowd. A
significant number of referenced the Black Lives Matter movement, and some made
historical gestures to Martin Luther King, Jr. Most of the signs, though, referenced
women and women’s experiences. Some depicted women from American history or
contained quotations from famous women, several reiterating poet Maya Angelou’s state-
ment “Each time a woman stands up for herself … she stands up for all women.” Others
contained vernacular proclamations such as “You are messing with the wrong girls” or,
borrowing from the Cyndi Lauper song, “Girls just wanna have fun-damental rights.” One
woman I saw carried a sign bearing a 1940s-era photograph and the full name of her
mother, with the phrase “Marching for my mom … who wanted to be a civil engineer.”
Many signs, referencing Hillary Clinton’s campaign slogan, read “I’m With Her,” with
arrows pointing to downward and sideways toward surrounding marchers. And numerous
messages played on the “nasty woman” and “pussy” themes.
It was the pussy theme that most strongly shaped the visual expression of the crowd. The
pink hats with cat-ear corners had functions beyond the appropriation of Trump’s insult.
Through the Pussyhat Project, volunteers received online instructions for how to knit the
caps and where to send them so that they could be distributed to marchers. The project’s
stated goal was to “creat[e] a sea of pink hats representing not only those at the march, but
also the makers of these pink hats” (Pussyhat Project, 2016/2017).
One knitter was Maine artist Abigail Gray Swartz, who, after marching in her state
capital of Augusta, created an illustration of a pink-hatted, African-American woman,
flexing a bicep in the pose of Rosie the Riveter (Swartz, 2017). She sent it, unsolicited, to
The New Yorker, and the following week her work appeared on the magazine’s cover. In
media interviews, the artist explained that prior to the march she had followed other hat-
knitters on Instagram and learned that some “were giving them to complete strangers … I
knew it would be a really important symbol” (Mann, 2017). She also thought about “how
women knit for the soldiers” during World War II, she told The Huffington Post, saying
that now, “we are knitting something for the new ‘war effort’ to fight for our rights as
women. We are knitting for ourselves” (Brooks, 2017).
Some knitters sent along personal notes for the marchers who received and wore their
hats, sharing their views and providing their contact information. One woman I saw in
Washington, DC, carried a sign bearing the name and hometown of the woman who had
made her hat, along with the issues that the maker had asked her to march in support of.
In this way, the marcher brought along another woman, recording her as a participant:
She, too, had a presence on the National Mall.
 POPULAR COMMUNICATION 123

“Count me”: Visibility, audibility, and presence

Presence matters, even in an era of social media, proclaimed Gloria Steinem in her
remarks to the Washington crowd. “Sometimes we must put our bodies where our beliefs
are,” she said. “Sometimes pressing ‘send’ is not enough.” Similarly, Sen. Kirsten
Gillibrand promised attendees, “This is the moment that you are going to be heard.”
For many of those on site at marches, audibility, visibility, and physical presence—simply
showing up—were the point, what the event was “about.”
Throughout social and mainstream media, Steinem’s point was echoed by participants who
seemed to feel compelled (or perhaps were repeatedly asked) to explain why they had attended.
More than 200,000 such statements were tweeted under the hashtag #WhyIMarch (Garrison,
2017). While some cited specific issues, others were more general in nature: Participants said that
they wanted to secure rights and set an example for their children, they wanted to represent
another woman who wasn’t there (in many cases, their mothers or Hillary Clinton), or they were
tired of being bullied (Offenbach, 2017; Richman-Abdou, 2017).
Longer explanations were published as essays in mainstream media outlets. The two I quote
here are typical of the general but certain tone of much of this discourse; they also articulate my
own motives and feelings. “‘What do you actually think you can achieve by standing out there?’”
Vogue editor Sarah Brown recalled being asked at a dinner party prior to the march. “I am going
because I want to be counted,” she answered in an essay the magazine published online the day of
the march. “To be a speck amongst hundreds of thousands of other specks who cared enough to
show up to say, ‘I do not agree’” (Brown, 2017, n.p.). In an essay published in The Financial
Times, attorney and activist Anne-Marie Slaughter acknowledged the myriad causes represented
at the Washington event and then wrote: “In the past six months I have been feeling more and
more invisible. … Rivers, indeed oceans, of women marching is the most physical manifestation
of visibility I can imagine” (Slaughter, 2017, n.p.)
Mainstream news media seemed primarily interested in the question of how many people
had participated, in each location and worldwide. In part, their focus on turnout was an
attempt to verify large claims of marcher numbers on the same day when the Trump
Administration was claiming huge inauguration-attendance figures despite National Park
Service photographs revealing empty space on the National Mall. By the day after the march,
information circulated on social media about how marchers could text the message “count
me” in order to register their participation and their locations.
Yet the most effective evidence of the number of participants was the unrelentingly
pink color in media images—the sea of hats. In aerial and long-shot photographs, they
united marchers into a visual formation, which was especially striking on recognizable
historic and tourism landscapes. Moreover, thanks to the hats and signs, women who were
physically absent—knitters, mothers, historical figures—were made present and incorpo-
rated into future memory of this event. A broader public also saw the marchers and heard
their messages, as they flowed across what journalism researcher Kari Anden-
Papadopoulos calls “the new circulatory memory-scape” (2014, p. 150).

Synchronizing, sharing, and saving: Creating an archive

On the day of the march, the @womensmarch Instagram account was tagged more than
52,000 times, and the #womensmarch and #womensmarch2017 hashtags were used nearly
124 C. KITCH

600,000 times, in posts that sent images and words through cyberspace (Heath, 2017).
Collectively these created a record that was based on specific experience and yet also was
fluid, open to reshaping and recirculation—the core qualities of social memory.
Social media also heighten users’ sense of agency as contributors to a broader narrative.
That development has “implications for the gendering of memory,” writes media scholar
Anna Reading, who notes that social networking creates “connective cultures” that “enable
personal memories to become public rapidly” (2016, pp. 2, 3). Other media researchers
make similar points, contending that digital technologies are now central to “the process
by which we tell the story of our life to ourselves and to others” and “synchronize” our
stories in an expression of collective experience (Garde-Hansen, 2011, p. 33; Van Dijck,
2007, p. 72). Social media allow us to set our personal memories in motion with those of
others, within a larger repository of memory.
While any individual’s access to that repository depends on her social networks, its
content is not entirely random. In the case of the Women’s March, many posts were not
just impressions but narratives assembled with thought and intent, and as they circulated
they came to resemble each other even while documenting particular experience. That
duality of memory—that it is “both particular and universal” (Zelizer, 1995, p. 224)—
predates but is greatly accelerated by social media.
March participants spent time editing, captioning, and ordering images before sharing
them, in part to be more visible within the sudden flood of posts on Facebook but also
because they believed that they were adding to a digital time capsule of an important
event. Subsequent editing of digital photo albums enabled another level of individual
decision making as posters received other participants’ accounts. I reviewed more than
100 of my pictures before choosing 10 that I thought, together, best conveyed the
impression the event had made on me, as well as the particular messages and images I
wanted to show others and retain in my own memory. While these seemed to me “my
own” choices, surely I was influenced by the visual narratives flowing into my Facebook
feed, and by my face-to-face conversations with the women I had marched with that day,
as we sat in my friend’s living room and talked about our experience. What’s more, my
own social identity predisposed me, during the march, to “see” in certain ways, focusing
on historical figures and on tributes to mothers of a certain generation.
Multiplied by millions, this kind of selection and curation process should not be
underestimated as a powerful act of memory-making that is both individual and social
in nature. Because social media posts are something that presumably “anyone” can do and
because they transmit instantly and may circulate unpredictably, we tend to think of this
form of communication as “spontaneous” rather than socially constructed in the ways that
other kinds of mediation are. Yet it can be just as shaped by social forces, and just as
expressive and persuasive in patterned ways, not only at the moment of its creation but
also in the process of its circulation. When march participants “pressed send,” we not only
communicated personally but also mediated globally.
News coverage of the event confirmed that our experience was shared and multiplied
across the world. It also made that experience savable. While some newspapers did not
consider the march newsworthy enough to put on their front pages, other hard-copy editions
clearly were designed as keepsakes (Gibbons, 2017, p. 2; Gladu, 2017, n.p.). Condé Nast, the
corporate owner of several of the magazines that had dedicated serious attention to the
march, repackaged that coverage in a “Special Commemorative Issue” titled Rise Up! The
 POPULAR COMMUNICATION 125

Women’s Marches Around the World. Compilations of photos were packaged as books whose
profits were dedicated to some of the causes associated with the march (e.g., Why I March,
2017; Why We March, 2017). Many news organizations archived their coverage online, where
the producers’ brand-name visibility and the content’s retrievability will increase the like-
lihood that a record of this event remains accessible in the future.
So will archives, libraries, and other historical and political organizations that imme-
diately began oral-history projects and collections of marchers’ signs. News coverage prior
to the march had speculated about the amount of trash that would be left behind on the
National Mall; instead, the signs marchers left behind were gathered by institutions
including the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History (Hirsch, 2017;
Ryan, 2017). Some organizations issued social media calls for post-march donations and
testimony: In its Twitter post, Chicago’s Newberry Library exclaimed that “We’re collect-
ing #ephemera as part of a living archive of modern protest” (Hirsch, 2017). University
libraries also collected items from local marches. Thus, the Women’s March will more
officially enter the halls of public history and education, elevating its historic status and
extending public access to this past.
Participants’ continuing access to such archives—in place and online—opens possibilities
for new uses of this memory in future social activism and for renewed alliances. In digital
culture, as José van Dijck notes, “recollection is also a form of reconnection” (2007, p. 180).

Conclusion
A march advances both literal and political movement. Cultural-studies scholar Astrid Erll
uses the term “traveling memory” in her contention that “memory fundamentally means
movement: traffic between individual and collective levels of remembering, circulation
among social, medial, and semantic dimensions” (2011, p. 15). Her metaphor works well
to describe the blend of experience and mediation that “traveled” through and beyond the
Women’s March.
The march’s rhetoric and imagery claimed historic significance by invoking earlier
protests and earlier activists. Material media including hats and signs created memorable
impressions and gave physical form to political and personal messages, even from people
who could not physically get to the protest sites. Those objects heightened the visibility of
participants, providing visual proof of their number and their presence, and later they
became keepsakes and historical artifacts. Their archival value today is supplemented by
participants’ and observers’ narratives, which form a record and yet continue to circulate
in productive patterns.
While it may seem logical to say that the Women’s March epitomized “protest in the
Facebook age,” as Wired magazine put it, the event itself and the discourse around it
turned out to be far from ephemeral in nature. Its communicative power owed much to
cyberspace but also much to physical space, conduits that worked together, rather than
oppositionally, in constructing the event’s lasting meaning. And while the march “hap-
pened” on a single day, it was infused with a sense of lasting time, filled with echoes of the
past and vows for the future. Even as it was happening, the march was a process of
commemoration—remembering together.
126 C. KITCH

Acknowledgments
I thank the women with whom I attended the Washington, DC, march Denise Graveline, Candida
Fink, and Jessica Agee for their companionship and insights. As so many other women did for
friends, Denise made our participation possible by encouraging us to come and housing us. I also
am grateful for the perspectives. I gained from seeing pictures and hearing stories of marchers in my
home city of Philadelphia and other locations.

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