Article and Photography by Luke Teigue | Owl Staff
Thousands of protestors march to the White House to call for an immediate and permanent cease-fire in Gaza.
The thing I remember most about the Metro ride into D.C. was how quiet it was. For the first time, I found myself nervous about what was to come. I was stepping into a new experience that my journey through journalism hadn’t taken me yet.
As the doors to the train opened, the brisk winter air hit my face like a splash of water in the morning. The sun broke through the clouds, and the sound of protesters grew louder with each step towards Freedom Plaza. I passed by vendors selling bags and t-shirts of the Palestinian flag, instead of the usual chips and soda.
I was on nearly empty streets just two months prior, visiting Ford’s Theatre and the Smithsonian with my family. All of a sudden I was back, amidst a crowd of over 400,000 people calling for an immediate and permanent cease-fire in Gaza. The quiet train ride I had just taken felt like a distant memory.
When I arrived at the main event, various speakers had already began telling their stories. I heard testimonials from parents who had lost their children, and children who had lost their parents. They told of the hardships and the pain that they, along with many others, had suffered.
There were hundreds focused on their intense prayers, others danced and sang. Many chanted their cries for peace, some remained silent. I had covered protests before, but nothing came close to the scale of what I was seeing. Four hundred thousand people was difficult to imagine until I was physically among them.
The nervousness I had felt before shifted into feelings of duty and focus. I was honored to be at such a historic event, and realized I had an opportunity to tell an honest and raw story on what I was seeing unfold.
Previously, I had told myself I would only stay for the speakers and be gone before the actual march began. However, after seeing so many people pouring their hearts into something they truly believed in, I felt the urge to stay and cover as much as I possibly could.
As the march began, the sound of police sirens echoed through the streets. They had blocked off an entire pre-planned route for the protestors to follow to the White House. Bystanders stopped in their tracks to witness the monumental numbers of people marching through the streets of the capital.
The day was growing darker, but the protestors continued forward. As I rounded the final turn, the White House finally came into view. I had been many times throughout my life, but seeing thousands against the gates, in the trees, and on top of statues put things in a new perspective.
The thing I remember most about those final moments is how loud it was. Those thousands I had spent the day reporting on cast out their voices in unison. In the last minutes of the march, I let my camera hang and just watched. Now, my journey feels like it’s just begun.