On Saturday March 7th I set my alarm for 10am, which is scarily early for me for a weekend. But I had a good reason to throw myself out of bed - to attend the first Million Women Rise demonstration with 5000 other women and children.
It was organised by local women voluntarily. It was grassroots and organic combined with women's groups from all over the UK, Latin America, the DRC and even Sri Lanka. We walked in solidarity from Portman Square, through the busy shoppers at Oxford Street and Regent Street, on to Piccadilly Circus, all with our whistles, drums, chanting, red items of clothing (to represent the blood shed by the many female victims of violence) and beautiful homemade banners to celebrate International Women's Day on March 8th.
It was the largest, most diverse demonstration of women against male violence in UK history - together we showed a united rage and opposition to male perpetrated violence.
When I first decided to go with my housemate (who works with ex-trafficked women) I was a bit frustrated men weren't allowed to go, as I thought it would end up being a group of anti-men raving feminists. However, after realising that many rape survivors were marching, I understood why we needed to show strength and solidarity with each other and that we didn't need men to make ourselves heard or seen.
We didn't have many 'famous' attendees or celebrity guest speakers. Instead we had inspiring, gutsy, passionate women who were either survivors of rape and violent abuse or speaking on behalf of survivors they work with on the ground - supporting and campaigning on the behalf of women in the UK and worldwide. We had 12 speakers in total, giving testimonies and asking us to act against rape and being used as a weapon in wars across the world. They included one lady abused by her uncle, one ex-prostitute and two Sri Lankan ladies talking through their tears about the atrocities happening in Sri Lanka at the moment. And during every speech I had to force myself not to cry because I knew that once one tear would escape I would be worse than Rhyl's Water Park.
It felt very empowering walking with women of all ages and backgrounds down a closed-off Oxford Street surrounded by shocked shoppers and retail staff watching us from their shop windows. It was great to see tourists getting their cameras out and thinking that they might have us crazy lot singing, chanting, smiling ladies as one of their holiday stories when they go back home.
You'll see me next year with even more red clothes on, shouting even louder and surrounded by friends I have bought to feel as proud as me to be a woman.
Image: Flickr User JudyGR