
DATE: Sunday, October 26, 1997              TAG: 9710270208

SECTION: FRONT                   PAGE: A1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY NIA NGINA MEEKS, STAFF WRITER 

DATELINE: PHILADELPHIA                      LENGTH:  166 lines

EVENT FOCUSES ON LIFE'S CHALLENGES

The thunder that pounded the City of Brotherly Love and sisterly affection did not come from Saturday's rain-swollen sky. The beat echoed from the drummers, drill teams and thousands of women who followed behind them chanting, ``One Million Women!''

That was the call, and Tina Griffin heard it as she wound through the streets with a cluster of friends, marching with a black, felt banner that read, ``Sisters Preserving the Kulture, Norfolk, Va.'' It was 9 a.m., and the thousands marching swelled to tens of thousands in a show of unity and sisterhood for women of African descent.

By day's end, they said, the number had reached 1.5 million. Unofficial estimates by the Philadelphia Police Department had attendance at 300,000.

``Give praise to the Almighty, whatever name you call him,'' a voice from a distant stage urged. As Griffin and her Norfolk contingent moved closer to the stage, she shoved her fist into the air and chanted along with women from cities such as Des Moines, Iowa, and Orlando, Fla.

``We are sisters,'' Griffin sang.

``Mighty, mighty sisters.

``Powerful sisters.

``Strong sisters.

``Educated sisters.

``Beautiful sisters.''

``My husband was involved in the Million Man March,'' Griffin said. ``He told me about all the energy and I wanted to be a part of that. To just look back and see an ocean of us.''

That ocean widened with every passing minute as women - and some men - poured onto the Benjamin Franklin Parkway to hear a day's worth of speeches. They came in on foot, by taxi, by bus. They just kept rolling in.

``White men can't jump; white men can't count,'' one Detroit vendor screamed. ``There are a million sisters here today! One million strong!''

The count had been creeping up since the sunrise prayer service by the Delaware River. It was fog-filled, if not soulful. Griffin and her crew missed the service, getting into town in time to join the procession to the parkway. The walk from the river to the stage before the Philadelphia Museum of Art added close to 2 1/2 miles.

Griffin wasn't tired. Just energized. Her copper-brown dreadlocks bobbed as she sang along with the crowd.

While she didn't stand too far from a set of speakers, the speeches were not that clear. She couldn't see the stage that well, either. Griffin munched on some fruit-nut mix and continued to strain to hear ``bits and snatches.''

About 300 yards away from Tina Griffin, Newport News' Pertina Ketchmore celebrated her 41st birthday as cheers ripped the mist.

Ketchmore beamed and took pictures. She wanted to share this day with her son, Troy. He is in prison, serving a 43-year sentence for murder. He's 25 - Ketchmore's oldest - and her heart.

``I used to read about other people's sons getting locked up,'' she said. ``Now I wonder how could I have read that so casually. After I get my son out, and I say after, I'm going to fight for some other mother.''

Fighting the good fight has taken a lot out of Ketchmore. She recently went through a divorce. Her salary as a customer service representative doesn't pull down loads. And she needs $5,000 to move her son's case toward an appeal.

She is the first to admit he is no angel. He has had his scrapes with the law ``and served his time,'' Ketchmore said.

``If he had killed (the victim), there was no way in the world Troy could have done it and looked me in the eye,'' she said. ``That's why I know he didn't do it.''

She visits when she can. And writes often, not just to him, but other inmates. Some of them, Ketchmore said, grew up with Troy and Chanell, her 21-year-old daughter. She has become a surrogate mother for her pen-pals, their families having given up on them.

Ketchmore knows what it is like not to have family support. She started adulthood early, having Troy at 15 and an apartment at 16. But she always kept a job and her kids at her life's center.

Ketchmore dreams of opening a business, a place where Troy and others can work when they come back from prison.

``At 50, I want to be able to enjoy my life,'' Ketchmore said. ``I don't want to struggle like this. But I want to tell Troy how spiritual and uplifting it all was. I never felt this much strength at one time, some backup and power behind me.''

By 3 p.m., Marlene Y. Montague's back and legs were sore. She had marched and carried her Hampton sign for hours. Montague runs a video production company in Newport News. Ketchmore waved as she strolled by. Montague shifted the wooden pole from arm to arm, weight from foot to foot.

People weaved around Montague, angling for a better vantage point. Others gathered to pose for pictures, representing Detroit, Kansas City, New York, Washington, D.C., and dozens of other places.

``It's not the same as the Million Man March,'' she said, scanning the crowd. ``I don't feel that spirit. With the Million Man March, I felt that through the television. This is like a Umoja festival.''

Vendors hustled T-shirts, sweatshirts, buttons and bumper stickers in as many varieties as the hues of blackness in the crowd. The smell of hot dogs and fried fish wafted along the parkway. Some women grumbled about sore feet and too many entertainment breaks, one per speaker.

Montague sank to the ground. A plastic bag separated her from the cold, wet street. More than a dozen speakers had taken the microphone since 9 a.m. Most had spoken of self-esteem, self-love and apologizing to self. Others talked about reparations from the government for slavery and freeing ``political prisoners'' such as former journalist Mumia Abu-Jamal and former Black Panther Assata Shakur, both convicted of murder in controversial trials.

Hollywood actress Jada Pinkett, who acted as the mistress of ceremonies, kept the events going. The frank words of rapper/activist Sister Souljah captured the crowd earlier in the afternoon. California Congresswoman Maxine Waters' speech on incarceration statistics and the effect of partisan politics met with weary applause.

Winnie Madikizela-Mandela was the final speaker, and her presence lifted everyone - Montague, too. She peeked through the binoculars of a woman standing next to her to get a better look at ``The Mother of South Africa.''

``She is so beautiful,'' Montague whispered.

Madikizela-Mandela charged the crowd to take power - ``Amandla!''

``I embrace you,'' Madikizela-Mandela told the screaming crowd. ``I celebrate you for all that you have achieved. Yours is a study of survival and more, of victory of every conceivable condition.''

Fists flew in the air. Black liberation flags flapped. Million Woman March pennants danced.

Minutes later, it was all over. Women broke for buses, taxis and shuttles. Tina Griffin dipped to her rental car, due south to Norfolk.

Montague found her Hampton crew and walked toward the shuttle stop. Ketchmore, too, headed for the bus.

``Now it's back to the same thing,'' Montague said. ``Back to being a strong, black woman.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos

ASSOCIATED PRESS

Thousands pack in for the start of the rally at the end of the

Million Women March in Philadelphia Saturday. The event focused

on...

MOTOYA NAKAMURA/The Virginian-Pilot

...Friday night...local women met...

Photos

MOTOYA NAKAMURA/ The Virginian-Pilot