Hope in Humanity

This weekend I was fortunate to spend time in DC with my friends from Richmond. This weekend also happened to coincide with the March in support of Gaza. In a time when bleakness permeates the news cycle, I am grateful for the touching moments I experienced which buoyed by faith in humanity.

Anticipating heavy traffic, I chose to travel to meet my friends at the National Air and Space Museum via bus. As I stood gingerly at the bus stop double-checking the precise location of my pick up location, I turned to the lady next to me.

“Do they accept Apple Pay for the ticket?” I asked nervously.

Wearing a beanie cap and short puffer jacket, the lady looked up from her bench. She kindly informed me the bus system did not accept credit card; only cash or a metro pass were accepted modes of payment. Thankfully (and luckily) I had exactly two one-dollar bills for the fare, but thankfully and luckily (again!) the bus driver waved me inside so as to not hold up the line with my inefficient payment method.

A few stops on the bus ride, I realized the woman I had sought advice from earlier was seated behind me. I turned around.

“Do you live around here?” I asked, interrupting her disconnection from the world. She removed an ear bud.

“I do, just a few blocks away,” she replied.

“What do you do for work?” I continued. She paused.

Embarrassed at the forwardness of my question, I immediately regretted asking her.

“I’m retired.”

She smiled.

“I had breast cancer, but I’m doing better now. I made a lot of lifestyle changes, and I’m a Pilates instructor now.”

“That’s…wow, that’s amazing.” I fumbled with my words, simultaneously unsure of how to proceed and grateful for her graciousness. Pleased to hear about my plans with my friends, she soon gathered her belongings, signaling her imminent departure from the bus. We exchanged goodbyes.

Stepping off the bus, she added quickly, “Welcome to DC!” I watched her turn swiftly to the left, her leggings lost against the closing bus doors. What a kind and interesting lady I thought. She rebuilt her life after such adversity in the best of ways, exuding calm and radiance through it all.

Time at the National Air and Space Museum was as fun as my friends and I anticipated it would be. Opened in 1976 and the second most visited museum in the United States, the Air and Space Museum houses historic airplanes such as the Wright Brothers’ Wright Flyer to the more modern Apollo 11 Command Module.

After lunch, we proceeded to the March for Gaza, which called for a permanent ceasefire to the war in Palestine. Having never been to a protest before, a few pre-conceived expectations came to mind. I expected chants. I expected speeches. I expected crowds, and I expected a brutally cold experience on a windy, winter day.

What I did not expect, though, was the love of humanity I witnessed that day.

Thousands upon thousands of individuals (by some estimates 400,000 individuals) descended into DC to protest the killing of 23,000 Palestinians and displacement of 2 million people since October 7, 2023. With the United States helping to fund a war that has led to the equivalent of two nuclear bombs detonating on land one-quarter the size of London, one does not have to be pro any side to realize inhumanity when one sees it.

As I stood listening to the speeches, I scanned the crowd. Thousands of individuals lifted the Palestinian flag above them, expressing their outcry for the destruction of a country they had never traveled to, and in all likelihood, never would. A young girl, in her tween years, smiled with her friends as they posed for a group photo at the protest, cementing a core memory so decades later she could say I was there.

Thunderous eruptions of claps punctuated speeches until the the video of journalist Wael Dahdouh flickered onto the ginormous screens in the audience. A silence descended on the crowd. Despite having lost his wife, two sons, and daughter; despite having lost his home, his colleagues, and his workplace, Dahdouh thanked the crowd. He thanked them for their support, their love and their prayers.

What kind of humanity is this I thought. To have so much taken from you, and to remain so humble and grateful through it all- surely it takes the highest degree of strength and humility for such character.

Shortly thereafter, we turned to leave. I prayed silently for the people of Gaza who would have no coat to draw close as I pulled mine tighter around me. I thought of the visitors from so many different walks of life, faiths, ages and backgrounds, standing up against injustice. And I remembered fondly the words of a man a million miles away and of a lady a few blocks away, who taught me resilience, in the worst of times, is the essence of the human spirit. It is our shared humanity.