It’s finally chilly in the Northeast, and the sun goes down well before happy hour, so in other words, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. But if you’re anything like me, you may be struggling to summon the holiday spirit this year. Maybe it’s the spree of senseless mass shootings or the near-hourly unmasking of another alleged serial sexual predator; the melting ice caps or the nuclear pissing contest with North Korea; the (so far just-shy-of-collusion) revelations of the Russia investigation or the never-ending Republican crusade to take health care away from the people who need it; or, maybe it’s simply the president’s unrelenting stream of offensive, divisive, corrosive Tweets (now, twice as long!): All I know is, I’m finding it hard to feel very merry.

On my husband’s side of the family, where gift-giving has always seemed sacrosanct, we’re currently in talks to chuck a long-standing Secret Santa program in favor of donating to charity. Giving your money to a good cause is never a bad idea, and now there’s another one to give to: If you’ve ever had the thought, All I want for Christmas is for Congress to show Donald Trump the swinging door of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, you’d do well to learn about a new organization called March On.

“Wouldn’t your friends much rather have the gift of impeachment, than, say, a new pair of socks?” March On’s executive director, Vanessa Wruble, asks, laughing. When I last spoke with Wruble, it was late December of 2016, and she was knee deep in the day-to-day frenzy of helping to pull off the monumental feat that was the Women’s March on Washington. Wruble was a cofounder of the national march and its director of campaign operations (she was also the person somewhat responsible for bringing three of the national cochairs—Tamika Mallory, Linda Sarsour, and Carmen Perez—into the fold, after organizing began organically on Facebook). In the months since 3 to 5 million people took to the streets internationally to protest the inauguration of a man accused by more than a dozen women of sexual misconduct, Mallory, Sarsour, Perez, and a handful of others (including colleagues Bob Bland, Paola Mendoza, and Sarah Sophie Flicker) have become synonymous with the Women’s March movement. They’ve held a conference, mounted a strike, led a protest against the NRA, initiated a senatorial postcard-writing campaign, put together an activist toolkit for students, and been named among Glamour’s Women of the Year.

But the Women’s March was never as centralized an operation as it may now seem: In reality, it was a diffuse network of homegrown, women-led resistance efforts that sprang up in solidarity in cities across the country (and across the world). In the aftermath of January 21, Wruble quietly set off on her own and turned her attention to those disparate march groups, helping to bring many of their organizers—and the resources and local know-how they command—into a national coalition, still women-led, now organized specifically around electoral politics. “The Women’s March right now”—as distinguished from March On—“is really focused on social and racial justice,” she tells me, “and we think that’s incredibly important work to be done. We’re very glad they’re doing it. . . . We think of ourselves as strategic partners, working in complementary ways.”

March On’s end goal is to harness the energy of the original marches—and Wruble’s reputation as one of the national effort’s key leaders—to, in the loosest sense of the word, “march” voters to the polls en masse in 2018 (and then again in 2020). “It will be carpools in some cases,” Wruble describes. “It will be rallies outside. It will just be the idea that we are all going together.” (For the record, they’re not the only ones looking to trade on the country’s newly revived affection for marching: Last February, the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee launched a new initiative to target 20 Republican-held districts called March in ’18.)