Flash Mob

By Marilynn Turner

Written 2/18/2013

On Valentine’s Day, I gathered with two hundred strangers in an act of organized social protest, and participated in a flash mob.  At 59 years old, I decided that I would learn dance steps, go to the appointed location, and be part of this not-so-spontaneous dance group.

“Dance, Rise, Dance, Rise.” These are lyrics to a song called Break the Chain, written by Tena Clark,  the anthem for One Billion Rising, a world-wide event focused on bringing recognition to the problem of abuse against women and girls,  by orchestrating flash mobs around the globe to protest violence.

 I arrived at the Legislative Office Building of the Connecticut State Capitol in Hartford, the setting for this event. There were people everywhere, all moving about the cavernous atrium. I couldn’t find my group and asked directions from the Capitol police officers standing nearby who pointed me towards the room. Once there I saw a very diverse, noisy group of women and girls. Mostly girls.  Very young girls. Very  thin girls.  Very fit girls.

In the room  were college students, most of them wearing black t-shirts with “got vagina?” emblazoned in bold white letters across the front. There were also high school girls from a nearby prep school all wearing pink t-shirts. And then there was the gray hair brigade, and I was one of them, thank goodness, I’d found my people.

We were all there for the same cause. The cause of stopping violence against women and girls world wide. This is a theme that unified us despite our differences in age, culture and gender. It was part of the V-Day celebration begun fifteen years ago by playwright Eve Ensler.  And at the One Billion Rising event in Connecticut at the LOB, we were two hundred  strong, ready to dance in unison, sing in unison, rise in unison; one voice united in bringing awareness to the problem of violence against women.

Organizers had planned well for our gathering.  Social media is how they got the word out, and dance instruction was found on YouTube. There were  online videos depicting the horrors suffered by women throughout the world by their abusers. Along with the statistical information  on rape, murder, and sexual abuse, was footage of celebrities, men and women telling why they were rising for the occasion.  And even on that day, the news of the murder of South African model Reeva Steenkamp, by her boyfriend Oscar Pistorius,  hit the airwaves just hours earlier.

It was time. We all spilled out into the atrium where we had been instructed to mill around. A woman approached the podium towards the entrance to the room; she began to  read a poem and cited statistics of abused women throughout the world. It was noisy; no one was paying attention; her voice simply echoed throughout the cavernous space. Then suddenly, the music began. It was very rhythmic, very prayer-like;  it was our call to action. We all fell into position, my eyes focused on the professional dancers at the front of the group.  We began.

March two, three, four, right leg side, left leg side. March two, three, four, right leg side, left leg side. Swing to back hands up high, swing to front hands up high, shake, shake, shake; shake, shake, shake.  Jazz Square,  then on and on.

Many people wonder how two hundred women dancing is going to stop abuse. I don’t know the answer to that question. What I do know is that all those girls and young women, and the few men participating do know what abuse is. And I do know, that awareness is the beginning for many people.  Gaining this awareness through dance, an expression of freedom through our bodies, is bold, and freeing.  It is an act of liberation – an act of empowerment.

As a gender, women are fierce. We are warriors, and we are strong and we are a force with which to be reckoned.  In the midst of it all, I was struck by the confidence of the dancers of all ages.  We were singing the lyrics to the song loud and clear, punctuated by the choreography of the dance.

“You’ve never owned me, don’t even know me I’m not invisible, I’m simply wonderful I feel my heart for the first time racing I feel alive, I feel so amazing.”

From four stories up politicians and legislative workers were looking down at this sea of unabashed  dancing estrogen.  Many were clapping with the music, gettin’ into the groove. We were a sight to behold.  Our gestures were big, our gestures were strong, our gestures were open.

The song lyrics pulsated through the hall and energized this group of women and a few men with these words:

                                                I dance cause I love

                                                Dance cause I dream

                                                Dance cause I’ve had enough

                                                Dance to stop the screams….

                                               

                                                Dance, rise

                                                Dance, rise

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. With two hundred women, and a few men, raising their right arm, index finger pointed, looking upward in unison.