There's been tremendous debate of late over whether preemptive violence against neo-Nazis or Klansmen is appropriate and ethical.
On one side, there are those who say that no verbal provocation is ever an acceptable reason for an escalation to force. and on the other side are those who essentially consider going out in public wearing a KKK hood or advocating Nazi ideology as throwing the first punch and rendering yourself fair game.
I'm not here to debate those questions. Each of us must wrestle with our own feelings on action, nonviolence, and escalation. I can't make that decision for you. I'm here to help you decide, once you've accepted that you're comfortable escalating to violence, whether *this particular moment* is a good one for Nazi-punching. You should always assume that violence will lead to reciprocal and escalated violence, because it always might.
So, some things you want to consider before you throw that haymaker:
Are you ready for a fight? Not just "yeah, man, bring it!" Have you ever been in a fight? Have you been punched, kicked, beaten before? Do you know how it feels? Do you understand you could lose teeth, break bones, or end up in the hospital? Do you have insurance? How will you pay for a broken jaw? Can you do your job with a broken jaw or your hand in a cast?
How many people are on the other side of this potential conflict? Are you outnumbered? Significantly? How many of them look like they'd be happy to let their buddy tussle with you himself, and how many of them look like they'd happily jump in and get a piece of the action? Is it possible that one thrown punch or even a shove could turn into a brawling mob? Tip: it is almost always possible.
Can the people around you handle the escalation to violence? Are there kids nearby? Are there disabled or older people who might not be able to get away from a spreading physical confrontation in the area? Are you surrounded by people who have been advocating nonviolence, who may be placed in danger if you start a brawl with the skinheads across the barrier? If you bring violence into a space actively and deliberately inhabited by those who seek nonviolence, you may make them unwilling targets of retaliation for YOUR choices. Many of them are willing to take a boot to the head for justice, but if you choose to start the fight that causes that, then it's little different from you kicking them in the head yourself.
Is the opposition armed? Are they carrying visible knives, sticks, bats, or guns? Are you and those around you ready to engage a group of armed racists? Do you understand that the moment weapons, even improvised weapons, become involved you start increasing the potential for serious injury, death, and felony conviction? Do you accept the risk of serious injury or real jail time, and do those around you consent to that escalation?
Do you have bail money, or an arrangement for bail and legal support? Once punches start getting traded the likelihood of arrest goes up. Be prepared to cool your heels behind bars. Are there cops nearby? Are they wearing riot gear and carrying tear gas? Are you ready to bring tear gas down on everyone around you?
Finally, one of the most important considerations: is choosing violence the act of an ally or an expression of your privilege? If you are or appear white, understand that the PoC in the area will suffer harsher consequences if a gathering turns violent than you will. They are more likely to be arrested, more likely to experience police brutality, more likely to be targeted by the opposition in a free-for-all. The color of your skin is a shield you can extend to those more vulnerable. If you become an epicenter of violence, you strip them of that shield without losing your own protections. Be mindful of what you may draw down upon those you intend to support, especially when the systematic injustice you showed up to fight means, inherently, that you will bear less of the brunt of your choices.
Overall, the choice to meet hate with violence should always be made with a full understanding of the possibilities. We're living in a world where white nationalist terrorists murder protesters with cars and some states are moving to legalise driving into protests. Our opposition is brutal, ruthless, and reactionary. Choose your consequences wisely.
Showing posts with label justice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label justice. Show all posts
Monday, August 21, 2017
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Complicated Thoughts on a Day Without a Woman
Yesterday was International Women's Day, and like most things involving women, it was complicated and experienced differently by a lot of different people.
Over the last several weeks, plans for a 'day without women' were floated around the internet, with a lot of women talking about how we should opt out for a day. Don't work, don't do unpaid labor at home, don't buy things, just remove our contributions from the common pool. A strike, essentially, from being women in the world.
Oh, if only we could.
Most of the criticisms of the 'day without women' idea were valid and based entirely in why we need one and may never get one. It was a thing that only women lucky enough to be able to afford a day off could participate in. Women for whom a day without work means an irreplaceable budget shortfall can't afford to strike. Women who are sole caregivers for their children, or for their parents, cannot take a day away. Women in "women's professions", especially teaching and nursing, have to face the fact that the people who suffer from their strike day are vulnerable children and patients, not corporations or the public at large. I saw a number of women explaining that if they took a day off, their already-outnumbered voices would be silent for a day, leaving the decisions and opinions in the hands of their male co-workers. Women said, "I provide care for others' children, mostly women. If I don't work, they can't work." Too many women who could afford to take a day off said, "Well, no one does my work if I'm not here so if I take the day off, I'll just have twice as much work tomorrow."
I took yesterday off. I slept late and did exactly as I wanted, which included a couple of house projects I've been trying to get to but haven't because I'm often exhausted from work and other obligations. It was excellent.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about what I was doing and why I should or should not do it. The day actually hit a minor guilt-bubble around the time I was drinking my coffee in bed, because how can self-indulgence be a radical act?
It is, you know. Though it's not just women, women (especially women of color) represent the greatest portion of the demographic for whom the words 'day off' are a faraway vision of unimaginable ease and luxury. Too many of us are working paycheck to paycheck and balancing a lioness's share of unpaid household labor.
Everyone deserves a living wage for a full day's work, and that includes women. If you're working 40 hours a week and you cannot afford to feed, house, and clothe yourself without taking on roommates or extra work, then you're being exploited. If you're working 40 hours a week and can't even afford rent on a space large enough for your family, you're being exploited. If you're working 40 hours a week and can't afford to save for emergencies *or* retirement, you're being exploited. If you're working two 25-hour-a-week jobs because neither employer wants to give you full-time benefits, you're being doubly exploited. Mark my words, every company that treats its employees this way receives government subsidies twice over, first as tax cuts and corporate welfare, and second by having tax dollars supplement their employees' abysmal wages with public assistance to meet a basic standard of living.
If you can't trust your male co-workers or managers to speak for women or consider their input as valuable if you're not physically there to hold them accountable, you're doing additional and likely unpaid labor to have a workplace that treats people fairly.
Systems, like modern nursing, that are arranged with such spare staffing coverage that every minute of every worker's day is essential to keeping the machine from failing increase burnout, which decreases employee longevity and destroys institutional knowledge. It shortens the lives of those who work under those conditions, and damages their physical and emotional health in the long term. If a shift that 'begins' at 3 and 'ends' at midnight requires you to be there at 2 and leave at 1230 in order to exchange critical information, AND work through your 'lunch' to finish required documentation, you're working an extra 10+ hours each week, unacknowledged.
Teachers, who are predominantly women, work hundreds of hours of invisible labor a year, from spending time over the summer designing and creating room decorations to supervising extracurricular activities to hours upon hours of grading. "It must be nice to only work till 4," they say to the woman struggling out to the parking lot at the end of a ten-hour day, with twenty-six term papers to read and grade over the weekend.
Some of this is why I stayed home. I am, as the articles point out, privileged in that I can do that. My job isn't endangered by a day off; my boss was slightly inconvenienced that a thing he wanted to know didn't materialize immediately upon asking it and he had to wait until today. Rather than dismissing things because "Only privileged women can do them" I think we need to say "Hey, this thing that's only accessible to privileged women, I think they all need to do it because they can, and to acknowledge that being able to do that should be available to all." When a protest is only available to those of privilege, one of the best uses of privilege is to do it while pointing out its universal inaccessibility.
That's not the only reason I stayed home, though. One of the most defining characteristics of modern womanhood is the idea that any time taken for oneself and one's own priorities is time 'stolen' from what we owe the rest of the world. Mothers make memes about hiding in the pantry to eat a candy bar and get a few minutes' quiet. We glamorize the idea of being 'so busy' that a cup of tea or a glass of wine in one's own living room is an unspeakable decadence. There's an entire culture based around the conflict between feeling obligated to social engagements but being so exhausted you have to cancel them and beg forgiveness from friends for 'letting them down' by staying in for a night.
We're supposed to 'have it all' by which 'having it all' means putting the job, and the family, and the partner, and the social expectations of activism or volunteering all ahead of the simple act of enjoying time doing the things that feed us emotionally. Women who put themselves and their own priorities ahead of any of those things are seen as somehow indulgent and rebellious.
There's a backlash against the self-care movement to tell women, "Stop claiming your pedicure or leaving a dish in the sink is 'self-care' because it's not, it's just being selfish and lazy and pretending that doing what you want is emotionally necessary."
Pretending that doing what you want is emotionally necessary.
So many of the arguments regarding women's rights boil down to whether or not women should have the same freedom to do as we want that men have. The same opportunities to attend colleges or be hired for jobs or paid fairly. The same ability to set our own boundaries. The right to do as we want with our bodies and our health care.
When you trivialize the idea that doing what you want is emotionally necessary, you undermine the entire idea of women's autonomy. You undermine our identity as complete, independent, self-actualized beings. So what if you think my pedicure is trivial? It's an hour of time doing what I want, at the end of which I feel physically and emotionally refreshed. So what if you think I should go home and do the dishes instead of staying at work to finish a project I'm really interested in? I will spend my time to my own best advantage.
Ultimately, it becomes a revolutionary act to do as we wish without validation or justification. It is pure rebellion to spend my time entirely on my terms regardless of what the world thinks I should do with it. Whether it's a full day I can take as a 'Floating Holiday' thanks to my employer's inclusive policies, or just a half-hour lunch break on which I refuse to work 'off the clock' and instead read a book or take a walk, unashamedly claiming the autonomy of spent time is a basic human right.
And if there's a better day for me to embrace that rebellion than International Women's Day, I don't know what it is.
Over the last several weeks, plans for a 'day without women' were floated around the internet, with a lot of women talking about how we should opt out for a day. Don't work, don't do unpaid labor at home, don't buy things, just remove our contributions from the common pool. A strike, essentially, from being women in the world.
Oh, if only we could.
Most of the criticisms of the 'day without women' idea were valid and based entirely in why we need one and may never get one. It was a thing that only women lucky enough to be able to afford a day off could participate in. Women for whom a day without work means an irreplaceable budget shortfall can't afford to strike. Women who are sole caregivers for their children, or for their parents, cannot take a day away. Women in "women's professions", especially teaching and nursing, have to face the fact that the people who suffer from their strike day are vulnerable children and patients, not corporations or the public at large. I saw a number of women explaining that if they took a day off, their already-outnumbered voices would be silent for a day, leaving the decisions and opinions in the hands of their male co-workers. Women said, "I provide care for others' children, mostly women. If I don't work, they can't work." Too many women who could afford to take a day off said, "Well, no one does my work if I'm not here so if I take the day off, I'll just have twice as much work tomorrow."
I took yesterday off. I slept late and did exactly as I wanted, which included a couple of house projects I've been trying to get to but haven't because I'm often exhausted from work and other obligations. It was excellent.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about what I was doing and why I should or should not do it. The day actually hit a minor guilt-bubble around the time I was drinking my coffee in bed, because how can self-indulgence be a radical act?
It is, you know. Though it's not just women, women (especially women of color) represent the greatest portion of the demographic for whom the words 'day off' are a faraway vision of unimaginable ease and luxury. Too many of us are working paycheck to paycheck and balancing a lioness's share of unpaid household labor.
Everyone deserves a living wage for a full day's work, and that includes women. If you're working 40 hours a week and you cannot afford to feed, house, and clothe yourself without taking on roommates or extra work, then you're being exploited. If you're working 40 hours a week and can't even afford rent on a space large enough for your family, you're being exploited. If you're working 40 hours a week and can't afford to save for emergencies *or* retirement, you're being exploited. If you're working two 25-hour-a-week jobs because neither employer wants to give you full-time benefits, you're being doubly exploited. Mark my words, every company that treats its employees this way receives government subsidies twice over, first as tax cuts and corporate welfare, and second by having tax dollars supplement their employees' abysmal wages with public assistance to meet a basic standard of living.
If you can't trust your male co-workers or managers to speak for women or consider their input as valuable if you're not physically there to hold them accountable, you're doing additional and likely unpaid labor to have a workplace that treats people fairly.
Systems, like modern nursing, that are arranged with such spare staffing coverage that every minute of every worker's day is essential to keeping the machine from failing increase burnout, which decreases employee longevity and destroys institutional knowledge. It shortens the lives of those who work under those conditions, and damages their physical and emotional health in the long term. If a shift that 'begins' at 3 and 'ends' at midnight requires you to be there at 2 and leave at 1230 in order to exchange critical information, AND work through your 'lunch' to finish required documentation, you're working an extra 10+ hours each week, unacknowledged.
Teachers, who are predominantly women, work hundreds of hours of invisible labor a year, from spending time over the summer designing and creating room decorations to supervising extracurricular activities to hours upon hours of grading. "It must be nice to only work till 4," they say to the woman struggling out to the parking lot at the end of a ten-hour day, with twenty-six term papers to read and grade over the weekend.
Some of this is why I stayed home. I am, as the articles point out, privileged in that I can do that. My job isn't endangered by a day off; my boss was slightly inconvenienced that a thing he wanted to know didn't materialize immediately upon asking it and he had to wait until today. Rather than dismissing things because "Only privileged women can do them" I think we need to say "Hey, this thing that's only accessible to privileged women, I think they all need to do it because they can, and to acknowledge that being able to do that should be available to all." When a protest is only available to those of privilege, one of the best uses of privilege is to do it while pointing out its universal inaccessibility.
That's not the only reason I stayed home, though. One of the most defining characteristics of modern womanhood is the idea that any time taken for oneself and one's own priorities is time 'stolen' from what we owe the rest of the world. Mothers make memes about hiding in the pantry to eat a candy bar and get a few minutes' quiet. We glamorize the idea of being 'so busy' that a cup of tea or a glass of wine in one's own living room is an unspeakable decadence. There's an entire culture based around the conflict between feeling obligated to social engagements but being so exhausted you have to cancel them and beg forgiveness from friends for 'letting them down' by staying in for a night.
We're supposed to 'have it all' by which 'having it all' means putting the job, and the family, and the partner, and the social expectations of activism or volunteering all ahead of the simple act of enjoying time doing the things that feed us emotionally. Women who put themselves and their own priorities ahead of any of those things are seen as somehow indulgent and rebellious.
There's a backlash against the self-care movement to tell women, "Stop claiming your pedicure or leaving a dish in the sink is 'self-care' because it's not, it's just being selfish and lazy and pretending that doing what you want is emotionally necessary."
Pretending that doing what you want is emotionally necessary.
So many of the arguments regarding women's rights boil down to whether or not women should have the same freedom to do as we want that men have. The same opportunities to attend colleges or be hired for jobs or paid fairly. The same ability to set our own boundaries. The right to do as we want with our bodies and our health care.
When you trivialize the idea that doing what you want is emotionally necessary, you undermine the entire idea of women's autonomy. You undermine our identity as complete, independent, self-actualized beings. So what if you think my pedicure is trivial? It's an hour of time doing what I want, at the end of which I feel physically and emotionally refreshed. So what if you think I should go home and do the dishes instead of staying at work to finish a project I'm really interested in? I will spend my time to my own best advantage.
Ultimately, it becomes a revolutionary act to do as we wish without validation or justification. It is pure rebellion to spend my time entirely on my terms regardless of what the world thinks I should do with it. Whether it's a full day I can take as a 'Floating Holiday' thanks to my employer's inclusive policies, or just a half-hour lunch break on which I refuse to work 'off the clock' and instead read a book or take a walk, unashamedly claiming the autonomy of spent time is a basic human right.
And if there's a better day for me to embrace that rebellion than International Women's Day, I don't know what it is.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Every Child a Wanted Child
When I was younger, I had a good friend. I'll call her 'Jane' for the sake of her privacy.
Jane was born at the end of 1972. Her mother had not wanted her, or her older sibling, but had no access to reliable birth control, and she had a husband with needs and expectations who wouldn't have allowed any child of his to be put up for adoption. It became clear to me, the longer I knew her, that Jane's mother was one of those people who should never have had children, and she knew it.
Rather than try to become the good mother she was singularly ill-equipped to be, Jane's mom let the resentment through. My friend was regularly beaten; she confided to me once that her mom had started using the belt on her upper thighs, because she'd had her ass beaten so frequently it no longer really hurt that much, and her mom had figured that out.
The thing that sticks with me, more than any other, is Jane finding out when my birthday was, and saying enviously, "You were wanted." I was born *after* the landmark Roe vs. Wade decision. Our friendship fell across that historic cusp.
Since she could remember, my good friend's mother had told her, on a regular basis, that she wished abortion had been legal in her state. She told her "If it had been six months later or if I could have afforded to drive to another state, I would have aborted you." She told her "you never should have been born and I wish you hadn't." She told her children "Your father left after you were born and it was your fault. He wouldn't have left me if not for you." Jane looked at everyone she knew through an age-related filter, with everyone younger than her living in this miracle land of being a wanted child, because the law hadn't forced their mothers to have them like it had hers.
Everything Jane had done to improve her life, from studying hard to taking up hobbies to applying to colleges and getting a part-time job, her mother met with, "Why bother? You'll just ruin your own life like you ruined mine." When she started dating, she was told, "When you've gone and gotten yourself knocked up, I'll take you to get an abortion because even you don't deserve a child like you."
I can't explain what it was like to be in proximity to this kind of toxic relationship. Jane made me promise not to tell anyone because every time someone tried to help it got worse. I was much younger then, so I kept her secret.
As the years wore on and we moved to different cities, Jane and I had our fallings-out. She was always a difficult person to be friends with, so quick to reject friendship if she had any fear that it might hurt her, so guarded against trust. But when she was in an emotionally healthy space the friendship was good and solid. Jane at her best was bright, kind, and witty.
Looking back I wish I'd tried harder to hold the connection, but that was tough to do in the days before email, and cellphones with free long distance, and jobs that pay enough for road trips. She started making some dangerous choices with drugs and sex, and the last straw for a close relationship was me trying to talk to her about that. I was not particularly subtle or empathetic about it, and she was not open to having her slow suicide through deliberate irresponsibility called out. She told me she should never have been born anyway, so why did it matter? We spoke occasionally after that, but the real closeness and trust were gone. Eventually, the relationship just dissolved, and she faded out of my life.
Whenever abortion comes up, I think of Jane. I hope she's all right and that she eventually managed to get the help she needed to deal with her abuse. I hope that she's never become the mother she feared she'd be if she had kids. I hope that her life, today, is one of joy and freedom. Every so often I put her name in a search engine to no real effect, and I'm not even sure what I'd say to her if I found her.
Most stories of the days before Roe focus on the women, the ones who lost their lives or suffered desperate health crises as a result of a botched illegal abortion. We tell a lot of stories about women whose lives were derailed or forever altered by a pregnancy and motherhood they didn't choose.
We talk about how now, because abortion is not as readily available as it should be, we have not reached the goal of making every pregnancy wanted and healthy. We talk so much about the effects of abortion restriction upon the women who are forced to bear by them.
I can never deny, though, that the deepest part of my own opinions on the necessity of safe, legal, accessible abortion doesn't come from my own identity as a woman, or from my belief in my bodily autonomy. It was formed by being helpless to stop the pain of a child who would not have existed if abortion access had been a reality for her mother.
Jane was born at the end of 1972. Her mother had not wanted her, or her older sibling, but had no access to reliable birth control, and she had a husband with needs and expectations who wouldn't have allowed any child of his to be put up for adoption. It became clear to me, the longer I knew her, that Jane's mother was one of those people who should never have had children, and she knew it.
Rather than try to become the good mother she was singularly ill-equipped to be, Jane's mom let the resentment through. My friend was regularly beaten; she confided to me once that her mom had started using the belt on her upper thighs, because she'd had her ass beaten so frequently it no longer really hurt that much, and her mom had figured that out.
The thing that sticks with me, more than any other, is Jane finding out when my birthday was, and saying enviously, "You were wanted." I was born *after* the landmark Roe vs. Wade decision. Our friendship fell across that historic cusp.
Since she could remember, my good friend's mother had told her, on a regular basis, that she wished abortion had been legal in her state. She told her "If it had been six months later or if I could have afforded to drive to another state, I would have aborted you." She told her "you never should have been born and I wish you hadn't." She told her children "Your father left after you were born and it was your fault. He wouldn't have left me if not for you." Jane looked at everyone she knew through an age-related filter, with everyone younger than her living in this miracle land of being a wanted child, because the law hadn't forced their mothers to have them like it had hers.
Everything Jane had done to improve her life, from studying hard to taking up hobbies to applying to colleges and getting a part-time job, her mother met with, "Why bother? You'll just ruin your own life like you ruined mine." When she started dating, she was told, "When you've gone and gotten yourself knocked up, I'll take you to get an abortion because even you don't deserve a child like you."
I can't explain what it was like to be in proximity to this kind of toxic relationship. Jane made me promise not to tell anyone because every time someone tried to help it got worse. I was much younger then, so I kept her secret.
As the years wore on and we moved to different cities, Jane and I had our fallings-out. She was always a difficult person to be friends with, so quick to reject friendship if she had any fear that it might hurt her, so guarded against trust. But when she was in an emotionally healthy space the friendship was good and solid. Jane at her best was bright, kind, and witty.
Looking back I wish I'd tried harder to hold the connection, but that was tough to do in the days before email, and cellphones with free long distance, and jobs that pay enough for road trips. She started making some dangerous choices with drugs and sex, and the last straw for a close relationship was me trying to talk to her about that. I was not particularly subtle or empathetic about it, and she was not open to having her slow suicide through deliberate irresponsibility called out. She told me she should never have been born anyway, so why did it matter? We spoke occasionally after that, but the real closeness and trust were gone. Eventually, the relationship just dissolved, and she faded out of my life.
Whenever abortion comes up, I think of Jane. I hope she's all right and that she eventually managed to get the help she needed to deal with her abuse. I hope that she's never become the mother she feared she'd be if she had kids. I hope that her life, today, is one of joy and freedom. Every so often I put her name in a search engine to no real effect, and I'm not even sure what I'd say to her if I found her.
Most stories of the days before Roe focus on the women, the ones who lost their lives or suffered desperate health crises as a result of a botched illegal abortion. We tell a lot of stories about women whose lives were derailed or forever altered by a pregnancy and motherhood they didn't choose.
We talk about how now, because abortion is not as readily available as it should be, we have not reached the goal of making every pregnancy wanted and healthy. We talk so much about the effects of abortion restriction upon the women who are forced to bear by them.
I can never deny, though, that the deepest part of my own opinions on the necessity of safe, legal, accessible abortion doesn't come from my own identity as a woman, or from my belief in my bodily autonomy. It was formed by being helpless to stop the pain of a child who would not have existed if abortion access had been a reality for her mother.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
I Will Stand With You
My social media presence is full of people speaking to their frightened friends, saying "I'll stand with you, I'll fight for you" and promising to use their privilege to help those who don't have it. As a friend pointed out yesterday, that's easy to say and sometimes tough to do. Many people don't even know where to start. So, while there is no be-all-end-all guide to being an ally, I do have some helpful tips for those who genuinely want to support their loved ones.
- It's not about 'the barricades'; it's about the day-to-day. It can be tempting to envision the fight for equality and dignity as an actual physical *fight*, one where we might need to take up arms to defend our friends. I desperately hope it never comes to that. The real battle is going on every day, in ways that don't feed our adrenaline. Most of the things you can do to stand and defend involve sitting and listening, speaking and teaching, reading and writing. It's tiring work, and it must continue steadily to do any good. The good news is that if you do it right, the number of people doing it with you increases, rippling outward from you.
- The goal is supporting others, not protecting them. We protect children, we protect the weak, we protect those who are incapable. Our friends are strong, courageous, intelligent, and dedicated. They can protect themselves. Do not stand between them and harm, thinking you can somehow shield them with your body. Stand behind them and beside them and among them. You are not the hero in someone else's fight for equality. You are the sidekick. Embrace that and be the best possible sidekick.
- Start by listening. Let your friends know that you would like to hear what they need from you, and then do your best to help them get what they need. Be present. Be thoughtful. Be open. Understand that they may have been burned, in the past, by 'allies' who demanded a tremendous amount of time and energy and praise in order to be decent human beings, so if your friends trust you enough to talk to you about things, be grateful for their trust.
- Accept feelings as valid, even if you don't have the same response to the situation. Don't try and tell people they're overreacting, don't try and tell them things will be OK, don't try and explain to them how it will all be fine and we just need to 'focus on the positive'. There are people legitimately afraid for themselves and their families, and that's not new. Some of these people are only experiencing a magnification of fears they've had every day for years. Understand that there is a real vulnerability in admitting those fears, acknowledge them and take them seriously.
- Don't make your friends waste precious time and energy when you can do the work yourself. Asking what you can do is good. Asking for recommendations to read is good. Asking your friend to dedicate hours to an online conversation explaining the basics of sexism to you and proving to your satisfaction that that is indeed what they are experiencing is cruel and exhausting. Asking your friend to give you detailed descriptions of what is and is not racist because you want to change as little as possible without hitting any land mines is lazy. Before you ask someone to explain things to you, spend half an hour with Google. Don't use that time to come up with ways to punch holes in what they say. Use it to try and better understand what they're saying.
- Stop hearing "That thing you are doing is hurtful to me and others," as "you're a bad person who should be ashamed of yourself." Don't make others spend the time and energy to ensure that you have a positive experience as an ally, just because it upsets you to have your mistakes pointed out. You WILL make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. Be the person your friends can trust to say, sincerely, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Thank you. I will be more mindful of that," not the one who tells them, "Why do I even try? I'm just wrong anyway. You should not be so harsh with people who are on your side, you know." Don't expect praise for basic decency as a human being. If your friends don't thank you, it doesn't mean they don't appreciate that you're there; you'll notice that appreciation in greater levels of trust and respect and friendship, not in overt praise or thanks.
- Carry safe space with you, and establish safe space where you are. Be the person your friend can trust to chime in with, "I agree with (friend), I don't think it's OK for you to say/do that either," or "I'd rather you not use that sort of language around me," or "I'm not sure you're aware of it, but that thing you're doing hurts people." This is a hard balance, because you also need to do it without co-opting others' rights for them to speak for themselves. Let your friends know you will back them, and then follow their lead. Don't try to own the conversation, just support the people having it. Make sure that your home is safe space. This can be as simple as creating a space where others feel comfortable to speak up because they know they'll be supported, or as significant as keeping your spare room ready to receive someone who needs to get out of a bad situation quickly.
- Embrace and use your privilege. There is *something* in your demographic that means some people might take you more seriously than they would take those who don't have it. Once you understand what that is, whether it's your gender, gender identity, race, religion, sexuality, ability, or some other factor, you can use your status in the group to actively include and advocate for others who aren't. Tell your male buddies you don't think rape jokes are funny, whether there are women around or not. Call out your other white friends on racist comments. Speak among your other straight friends of the need for LGBT rights. Make sure that gender-specific events are planned as trans-inclusive. Always be looking for ways you can include, support, and amplify others. If you're aware of areas where you're not privileged, then let that awareness give you empathy in the areas where you are. When different groups of people work together to overcome each other's oppressive systems, this is called intersectionality, and it is good.
- Members of demographic groups are individuals, not a monolithic hive mind. One member of the group who doesn't have a problem with a slur or a joke can't 'give you permission' to use it whenever you like around anyone you want. Some members of a group may not want your active support, for whatever reason. That's up to them, and you have to respect it. Some may not recognise you as an ally, while others might consider you one. Again, that's up to them and you have to respect it. Remember that these are your loved ones, first and foremost, and your goal should be making sure that you are doing what you can to make sure they, as individuals, have the opportunity to be safe and happy on their terms, not yours.
- You're not obligated to attend every fight to which you're invited. The fight for justice and equality is going to be decades more at least. You have to choose a sustainable level of involvement. Sometimes, you have to say "I am too tired to take that on right now." That's OK, as long as you do step in when you're NOT too tired. If you see someone else fighting for their life, remember that they're probably at least as tired as you, and that even a little public encouragement could mean the world.
Finally, too important for a number: Love is all. Love is everything. It is our shield and our fire and our reason for being. Lead with it. Live with it. Fight with it. Fight for it.
I love you all.
Lumos.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Thoughts on Charlotte
This morning's news brings disturbing reports of protest turning to riots and unrest in Charlotte. I'm saddened by the riots, because people are being hurt, and cops are using tear gas, and the long-term damage is more likely to affect the oppressed, not the oppressor. All of that makes me sad and frustrated.
It's in moments like this that I seek understanding, and that understanding most often comes from the words of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Among a great deal of the "advocacy for non-violent protest" we're seeing today, he said, "A riot is the language of the unheard."
We see nonviolent protest every day, and we see those who practice it dismissed, insulted, and threatened. Beyonce puts statements about police brutality, and the loved ones of those killed by police, into her art and she's criticised for being 'antagonistic' and 'too political'. Non-violent protests block a roadway, and people shout and scream that they're disruptive and shouldn't inconvenience people 'just to make their point'. Colin Kaepernick refuses to stand for the national anthem as a protest and other players and teams follow suit; people lose their damn minds, threatening him and burning his jersey in effigy. When people offer peaceful social protest, we tell them to be quiet, that 'now is not the time' or 'that is not the way' to make that statement.
We see police unions advocating a refusal to protect those who use nonviolent protest to challenge their authority. Aside from the fact that such a refusal is shameful when compared to the Dallas police who gave their lives earlier this year to protect peaceful protesters, it validates the position of those who distrust police and say that access to justice is restricted by institutional racism in law enforcement.
Rioting is the language of the unheard. That suggests to me that if we want to stop people from rioting, listening will be a hell of a lot more effective than tear gas. If we want to prevent the next riot, we need to work towards changing the things that keep people from being heard. If we want to decry violence, we need to support, openly and actively, those who choose nonviolence.
So, if you've got something to say about rioting, I damn sure hope you had something to say in support of that nonviolent protest you're now advocating, when you had the opportunity. I'll go so far as to say that if I've heard anything less than support and advocacy for people who use peaceful protest to speak against injustice, I don't want to hear a word from you about riots.
If you aren't hearing and amplifying the voices that ask for justice with peace in their hearts, you don't have any right to condemn those who demand it in anger.
It's in moments like this that I seek understanding, and that understanding most often comes from the words of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Among a great deal of the "advocacy for non-violent protest" we're seeing today, he said, "A riot is the language of the unheard."
We see nonviolent protest every day, and we see those who practice it dismissed, insulted, and threatened. Beyonce puts statements about police brutality, and the loved ones of those killed by police, into her art and she's criticised for being 'antagonistic' and 'too political'. Non-violent protests block a roadway, and people shout and scream that they're disruptive and shouldn't inconvenience people 'just to make their point'. Colin Kaepernick refuses to stand for the national anthem as a protest and other players and teams follow suit; people lose their damn minds, threatening him and burning his jersey in effigy. When people offer peaceful social protest, we tell them to be quiet, that 'now is not the time' or 'that is not the way' to make that statement.
We see police unions advocating a refusal to protect those who use nonviolent protest to challenge their authority. Aside from the fact that such a refusal is shameful when compared to the Dallas police who gave their lives earlier this year to protect peaceful protesters, it validates the position of those who distrust police and say that access to justice is restricted by institutional racism in law enforcement.
Rioting is the language of the unheard. That suggests to me that if we want to stop people from rioting, listening will be a hell of a lot more effective than tear gas. If we want to prevent the next riot, we need to work towards changing the things that keep people from being heard. If we want to decry violence, we need to support, openly and actively, those who choose nonviolence.
So, if you've got something to say about rioting, I damn sure hope you had something to say in support of that nonviolent protest you're now advocating, when you had the opportunity. I'll go so far as to say that if I've heard anything less than support and advocacy for people who use peaceful protest to speak against injustice, I don't want to hear a word from you about riots.
If you aren't hearing and amplifying the voices that ask for justice with peace in their hearts, you don't have any right to condemn those who demand it in anger.
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