Note: This post is long overdue. I wrote it a few weeks ago, but just kept forgetting to finishing editing it and then post it.
As I watched a re-airing of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech in commemoration of its 50th anniversary, I wrote the following Facebook status update: "Watching the indescribably breathtaking 'I Have A Dream' speech being re-aired in its entirety on MSNBC right now with tears in my eyes and so many emotions in my heart. How far we've come. How far we must still go."
Over the past couple months, the reality of the latter statement became explicitly clear to me. Watching the George Zimmerman acquittal, I came to realize that the biggest problem with the verdict wasn't the fact that Zimmerman "got away with it" (because, truthfully, the prosecution's case wasn't that strong, so I really don't fault the jury for reaching that verdict). Instead, I struggled so strongly accepting the reality of the legal precedent that it sets: if someone with racial animus in their heart sees someone in their neighbourhood that (in their opinion) doesn't "belong there," s/he can follow that individual, say or do something to instigate a fight (even if it's just making the person feel intimidated by being followed), and then pull out a gun and shoot that person.
I was particularly struck in the aftermath of the acquittal by one viral tweet: "How cool would it be to live in a world where George Zimmerman offered Trayvon Martin a ride home to get him out of the rain that night" (Tom Crabtree @itscrab).
A few weeks ago, I watched Fruitvale Station, the movie chronicling the final day in Oscar Grant's life. This was a young African American man (my same age, 22 years old, at the time of his death) who wasn't perfect, but he was a good man. And yet, after getting in an altercation with someone on an Oakland train, was pulled off the train, had his head smashed into the ground repeatedly, and then shot in the back by an Oakland cop (who claimed to have mistaken his gun for his tazer).
And then you have the spotlight being put, in recent weeks, upon the "Stop & Frisk" program in New York City which, even the law's proponents admit, highly unequally targets young African American males than any other demographic group. And I hear stories of young men, my own age, who, since they were as young as ten years old, have been frisked by the police up to a dozen times. And how, after so many times, you just stop trusting the police. You stop looking to them for help, because you assume that they'll immediately look on you with suspicion simply by virtue of your skin colour. One young man said that he didn't even call the police when he was robbed for this very reason. And I highly doubt that his story is an anamoly.
Sure, you can make arguments and justifications and excuses for all of these things.
But is that really the type of country that we want?
Why are we still settling for excuses and justifications behind unequal treatment based upon race?
Yes, things have absolutely gotten better since Dr. King shared his dream with us 50 years ago. You'd be hard-pressed to find a single person who would disagree with that. There are no more weekly lynchings or images in the media of elementary school kids being sprayed with fire houses.
Yes, the world has changed.
We have an African-American president, dozens of African-American members of Congress, and an African-American attorney general. And those are just the most high-profile figures nationally. There are hundreds of African-Americans in positions of power in dozens of fields across America, without such a stark contrast anymore between the northern and southern states.
But we still have a long ways to go. Changes still have to be made before we can say that we have finally fulfilled the dream which Dr. King prophecied over America 50 years ago.
Dr. King's dream is about more than just having most people be "judged by the content of their character" instead of their skin colour. It's about economic equality. It's not just about universal voting rights, but about having something worthwhile to vote for.
I'm not going to pretend to understand every length to which this nation must still go before we reach Dr. King's dream. Because I think there's more to it than the specific examples that Dr. King proclaimed. It's about living in a world where no one goes hungry, no one is denied rights due to some demographic category, no one is without the highest quality education, no one is left behind.
And Dr. King's dream doesn't stop at the edges of this nation. It extends far and wide to every nation on earth. It's ambitious, and will likely never be fully reached. But that's not to say we should stop trying, stop reaching, stop changing, stop advancing the dream.
It's been 50 years, but so much of King's speech is just as relevant today as it was 50 years ago. And his dream will never become irrelevant.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Embracing the Discontent: Problematizing Privilege and Examining Intersectionality
I've considered myself a feminist for probably around eight years now. And I thought I knew what that meant the first time I embraced the term. I joyfully celebrated the idea that everyone is equal and deserves the full manifestation of that equality, regardless of gender. I still embrace that ideal. I still embrace feminism. But I had no clue, when I first proudly proclaimed the label, how much the feminist discourse would change my whole outlook on life.
I used to argue that feminists who constantly complain about problems in the world, those feminists that get labelled "angry" or "radical," are not representative of the feminist movement as a whole, that they are the fringe who give the whole group a bad reputation.
I used to view feminism so simply, so freely.
I had zero clue. None.
If you had asked me back in high school to explain the terms "privilege" or "intersectionality," I would've just stared blankly at you.
I just didn't have a clue.
I didn't get that I would come to this point where I view everything around me, even those things and people that I love and idolize the most, so problematically and critically. And I definitely never thought that I would embrace that discontent. I certainly never thought that I would seek it out.
I recently had a conversation with a new friend about musical interests, and when she mentioned that she loves Lady Gaga, I started explaining the many problems I have with the way she has presented herself in the last couple years. And as I explained my reasons, as I expounded upon the idea that, alongside her incredible privilege necessarily comes a profound responsibility to realize how she talks and acts impacts the world and speaks on behalf of a larger community, I found myself feeling like I needed to justify my discontent. I found myself explaining that I do hugely respect Gaga's heart and talent. But that I just couldn't embrace her utter lack of understanding of how painful, insensitive, and even offensive her cultural misappropriation is, how much more harm than good her attempts at representing the larger LGBT community have done. But even as I explained all of these things, I felt this pressure to backpeddle and put so much more emphasis on my respect for her talent and good intentions than on my (vitally important) critiques of her message.
But I've come to realize that it wasn't me that wanted to backpeddle. I had no actual desire to try and explain, rationalize, or downsize my discontent, my critiques, my comments on her privilege. I realized that I was cowing to the desires of society around me that sends this message that we have to be either completely satisfied and content with something or someone or completely dissatisfied and discontent. There is this pressure in the world today to refuse to view people and things, especially those that we respect and think are largely good, problematically. You're either supposed to be completely for an entity or completely opposed to it. And if you find yourself wanting to embrace the good in that entity, you aren't supposed to shine a light on its flaws. You're not supposed to wish that it did better.
But I refuse to stand by and think or act that way. I refuse to believe that the good things in this world must be accepted as stagnant and unable to improve, incapable of being challenged or questioned as capable of change.
There are so many things in this world that have an incredible amount of value in them but can and always will be capable of being better. For instance, I think the new Netflix hit, Orange is the New Black, is one of the greatest single pieces of television ever created. It's ability to both embrace and challenge privileges and shine a glaring light on intersectional issues of discrimination are so profound, I am continuously amazed that it even exists.
And yet.
It could do so very much better. It still pigeonholes so many groups of people, in such very problematic ways. And while, in a lot of different ways, the show does an amazing job of pointing out the errors in our own initial judgments as well as in society's treatment of individual people and groups as a whole, the show still falls short in some very predictable and painful ways. The show perpetuates the stereotype that, no matter where they are, latin@ women will constantly find a way to get themselves knocked up (and I am very purposely wording that statement so crassly). It shines zero problematic light on seemingly "consensual" sexual relations between a prison guard and an inmate. It goes so far as to push its audience to cheer for the seeming "adorableness" of this couple. It doesn't question the inherently unconsensual power dynamic or the very real propensity to violence in this type of relationship. It has us cheering for the demise of an extremely stereotyped lower class white woman; it makes Pensatucky the villain of the show with little if any humanity allowed to shine through the poignant character.
I could go on. I could give so many other examples. And yet even within the most liberal, feminist discourse regarding the show, those who raise these (and many other more incisive and poignant) critiques inevitable find themselves defending their love for the show, as if they have to justify their very ability to simply wish for this amazing show to simply do better. Even now, I feel compelled to reassure everyone that I truly do adore this show.
I'm not sure how to adequately explain my desire to perpetually be involved in a discourse that challenges my own privileges, that examines intersectionality, that makes me uncomfortable. What I do know is that the first time I engaged in an in-depth exercise of examining and challenging my own privileges, my life changed forever.
It's easy for us to simply accept the world around us, accept the privileges handed to us by society without questioning the justice of these offerings. But should we allow ourselves to rest comfortably on our haunches, never questioning not just the injustice around us but our own role in it? If we constantly profess that the ambiguous "other" is the only one responsible for the injustices of the world, we disabuse ourselves of any responsibility. And because every person with any degree of privilege is equally capable of engaging in this disabuse, no one takes responsibility and nothing can ever change. This world will constantly remain in an us-versus-them mentality wherein we blame this ambiguous "other" for all of the world's problems, but no one person or group of people ever embraces this role of the problematic "other" for themselves. Therefore, no one ever takes responsibility for the injustices of the world, but instead we, as a society, play a perpetual game of passing-the-buck.
We have to take responsibility for society. We have to realize that, every single day, each one of us plays a role in perpetuating the discrimination and injustice of the world, no matter our good intentions. Because only through this realization can we begin to take responsibility, and only though embracing this discontent can we ever hope to make this world a more just and equitable place.
I will choose to take responsible. I commit to examine my own privileges, my own perpetuation of discrimination and inequality. And I won't be content with simply "good enough." Because I know we are capable of so much better than this. I won't be cowed by condemnations that I am "overly-critical," "hypersensitive," or even "angry."
Instead, I will embrace the discontent.
I used to argue that feminists who constantly complain about problems in the world, those feminists that get labelled "angry" or "radical," are not representative of the feminist movement as a whole, that they are the fringe who give the whole group a bad reputation.
I used to view feminism so simply, so freely.
I had zero clue. None.
If you had asked me back in high school to explain the terms "privilege" or "intersectionality," I would've just stared blankly at you.
I just didn't have a clue.
I didn't get that I would come to this point where I view everything around me, even those things and people that I love and idolize the most, so problematically and critically. And I definitely never thought that I would embrace that discontent. I certainly never thought that I would seek it out.
I recently had a conversation with a new friend about musical interests, and when she mentioned that she loves Lady Gaga, I started explaining the many problems I have with the way she has presented herself in the last couple years. And as I explained my reasons, as I expounded upon the idea that, alongside her incredible privilege necessarily comes a profound responsibility to realize how she talks and acts impacts the world and speaks on behalf of a larger community, I found myself feeling like I needed to justify my discontent. I found myself explaining that I do hugely respect Gaga's heart and talent. But that I just couldn't embrace her utter lack of understanding of how painful, insensitive, and even offensive her cultural misappropriation is, how much more harm than good her attempts at representing the larger LGBT community have done. But even as I explained all of these things, I felt this pressure to backpeddle and put so much more emphasis on my respect for her talent and good intentions than on my (vitally important) critiques of her message.
But I've come to realize that it wasn't me that wanted to backpeddle. I had no actual desire to try and explain, rationalize, or downsize my discontent, my critiques, my comments on her privilege. I realized that I was cowing to the desires of society around me that sends this message that we have to be either completely satisfied and content with something or someone or completely dissatisfied and discontent. There is this pressure in the world today to refuse to view people and things, especially those that we respect and think are largely good, problematically. You're either supposed to be completely for an entity or completely opposed to it. And if you find yourself wanting to embrace the good in that entity, you aren't supposed to shine a light on its flaws. You're not supposed to wish that it did better.
But I refuse to stand by and think or act that way. I refuse to believe that the good things in this world must be accepted as stagnant and unable to improve, incapable of being challenged or questioned as capable of change.
There are so many things in this world that have an incredible amount of value in them but can and always will be capable of being better. For instance, I think the new Netflix hit, Orange is the New Black, is one of the greatest single pieces of television ever created. It's ability to both embrace and challenge privileges and shine a glaring light on intersectional issues of discrimination are so profound, I am continuously amazed that it even exists.
And yet.
It could do so very much better. It still pigeonholes so many groups of people, in such very problematic ways. And while, in a lot of different ways, the show does an amazing job of pointing out the errors in our own initial judgments as well as in society's treatment of individual people and groups as a whole, the show still falls short in some very predictable and painful ways. The show perpetuates the stereotype that, no matter where they are, latin@ women will constantly find a way to get themselves knocked up (and I am very purposely wording that statement so crassly). It shines zero problematic light on seemingly "consensual" sexual relations between a prison guard and an inmate. It goes so far as to push its audience to cheer for the seeming "adorableness" of this couple. It doesn't question the inherently unconsensual power dynamic or the very real propensity to violence in this type of relationship. It has us cheering for the demise of an extremely stereotyped lower class white woman; it makes Pensatucky the villain of the show with little if any humanity allowed to shine through the poignant character.
I could go on. I could give so many other examples. And yet even within the most liberal, feminist discourse regarding the show, those who raise these (and many other more incisive and poignant) critiques inevitable find themselves defending their love for the show, as if they have to justify their very ability to simply wish for this amazing show to simply do better. Even now, I feel compelled to reassure everyone that I truly do adore this show.
I'm not sure how to adequately explain my desire to perpetually be involved in a discourse that challenges my own privileges, that examines intersectionality, that makes me uncomfortable. What I do know is that the first time I engaged in an in-depth exercise of examining and challenging my own privileges, my life changed forever.
It's easy for us to simply accept the world around us, accept the privileges handed to us by society without questioning the justice of these offerings. But should we allow ourselves to rest comfortably on our haunches, never questioning not just the injustice around us but our own role in it? If we constantly profess that the ambiguous "other" is the only one responsible for the injustices of the world, we disabuse ourselves of any responsibility. And because every person with any degree of privilege is equally capable of engaging in this disabuse, no one takes responsibility and nothing can ever change. This world will constantly remain in an us-versus-them mentality wherein we blame this ambiguous "other" for all of the world's problems, but no one person or group of people ever embraces this role of the problematic "other" for themselves. Therefore, no one ever takes responsibility for the injustices of the world, but instead we, as a society, play a perpetual game of passing-the-buck.
We have to take responsibility for society. We have to realize that, every single day, each one of us plays a role in perpetuating the discrimination and injustice of the world, no matter our good intentions. Because only through this realization can we begin to take responsibility, and only though embracing this discontent can we ever hope to make this world a more just and equitable place.
I will choose to take responsible. I commit to examine my own privileges, my own perpetuation of discrimination and inequality. And I won't be content with simply "good enough." Because I know we are capable of so much better than this. I won't be cowed by condemnations that I am "overly-critical," "hypersensitive," or even "angry."
Instead, I will embrace the discontent.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)