ABSTRACT
Early in the winter of 2001, less than four months after arriving in the United States as a graduate student pursuing a doctorate in women’s studies, I stood in a line of women protesters, all clad in black, at the busy intersection between Bidwell Parkway and Elmwood Avenue in Buffalo, New York. If anything distinguished our protest, it was the lack of signs and our overall silence. We stood there, not moving, not speaking, for one hour every Saturday. There were candles on the ground. We were a local group of Women in Black.
