My wife marched for me: A privileged white guy’s story

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Two weeks ago my wife asked me if she could go to the Women’s March on Washington. Only, in asking, she wasn’t asking, because I don’t tell her what to do under typical circumstances, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her not to join the biggest movement of our generation. But why would a well-educated white woman living in a nice neighborhood want to deal with the discomfort of inauguration and protest crowds on the one weekend people like her should avoid D.C.? Or as one guy (the type who wears a golf visor and hangs out in the country club bar drinking Fireball) said on social media, “You grew up in a rich family and went to private school. What do you have to complain about?” People think the rich shouldn’t care about anyone else.

When I was born 43 years ago, one thing was fairly certain: My life wasn’t going to be particularly difficult…

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