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.
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