A long line of people dressed in purple, the color of SEIU, wound around from the western edge of Central Park to its north end at 110th Street. The march began at Adam Clayton Powell and Central Park north and headed north to 125th street. Jumbo television screens at 125th Street broadcast the march and the speeches and performances that followed. The crowd was confined to the east side of the street by steel barricades that the police use so frequently now for large public gatherings.

Home Health Aides reportedly make less than $7/hour; most have neither health insurance nor sick leave time. Most Home Health Aides are African-American or recent immigrants.

I watched from the press area (i was told repeatedly that a space was reserved for me on the bleachers) as the march bottle-necked at 124th Street. Steel barricades blocked passage across the east-west streets. Through an opening in the barrier, big enough for two people, I watched as the people piled up, becoming frustrated and angry. It was a momentary feeling for most I hope, but the barriers--and letting people through one or two at a time-- felt symbolic to me, in a bad way.

It was so cold, that many people started to leave once they reached the end of the march. Many moved over to the west side of the street and into the sunshine. Local delis were packed with people getting coffee.

One of the SEIU organizers came to me and gave me a purple press card on a metallic lanyard. How come I was being taken such care of? I'm not used to that.

I decided to leave early too. On the subway, I met Sonya Fatimah from Brooklyn, who was distributing handmade flyers of her own concerning Martin Luther King. She said to me, "I almost wish there wasn't a MLK holiday...because it's like, everyone thinks everything is o.k.! 'We've got integration, so we're ok...'"

I couldn't help but sort of understand what Sonya was saying. Yes, it is Martin Luther King Day, but are we really tapping into his message or is it just a pose, a nod, once a year, that has really lost its power?

Sonya told me that when she says to people the words, "black power" or "black love" that people shrink back, as if in fear. "Why?" she asks me. I asked her if she was an organizer or an activist. She shook her head and said, "No, I''m a survivor...I don't know what I am, but I am a survivor."