thinking about privilege
Mar. 4th, 2011 02:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crazyjaneOkay, so a bunch of events going on in various areas of my life are all coalescing around a couple of nexuses (nexi?).
Politics-wise, there's the perennial education debate of whether giving more money to public schools than private is unfair and removes 'choice' from parents.
Pagan-wise, there's some raging discussions going on in various online forums, all revolving around the idea of excluding people from some ritual spaces, defining what it means to be 'woman', and whether it's unfair to expect a public event to show inclusive rather than exclusive practices.
At uni, there's the ongoing problem of certain religious groups doing their level best to silence other viewpoints - whether by vandalising notices for queer groups, or pressuring the university to abandon the long-maintained tradition of providing condoms in O Week on the grounds it's 'religiously offensive'.
Personally, there's my experience of being a queer Ally at La Trobe, becoming clear about my own identity as genderqueer, and a heightened sensitivity to related issues that have previously only barely registered.
Running through all of that is an ugly, knotted thread. Those who are most dismissive of others' pain, who claim they are personally disadvantaged by inclusion, who scream loudest that they are 'silenced' and 'oppressed' - are usually the ones with the most privilege.
But you can't say that, of course. Tell the aforementioned religious group that their status as a well-known religion, the support they receive from the uni and their ability to walk almost anywhere openly displaying symbols of their belief without harassment is privilege - and the outrage is immense. Why? Because they are told they must share these advantages with others. That there is a space for all religions. That they can't impose their beliefs on everyone out of some idea that they are 'right' and can therefore dictate to others. To such a group, that's oppression.
Ditto the cis-woman (or 'woman-born-woman', the ugly, clumsy term that has been used more widely) who blithely states that a transwoman is not 'really' a woman, and therefore has no place in women's circles. When challenged, she complains that her experience as a woman is being somehow degraded, dismissed or oppressed - at worst, she accuses the transwoman of operating from a place of 'male oppression'. (Just about the most offensive thing I've heard coming out of paganism in a long time, btw.)
I thought for a long time that this sort of thing originated from a place of fear - or maybe simple misunderstanding. Now, though, I believe the misunderstanding is not about the other person's experience, but about our own. We don't believe we have privilege - and we don't want to believe it.
It's as though, by admitting we are privileged, we think we are admitting to being bad people, or being forced to apologise for who we are. It's not. Recognising our own privilege is just that - recognising that we have certain social advantages that have nothing to do with how we feel or what we think is right, and recognising that we are often so unconscious of these advantages that we speak and act blindly, hurting and dismissing others, rendering their experiences invisible or unimportant.
So, FWIW ... this is my recognition. It might not be entirely coherent, because I'm still thinking it through.
I have privilege.
I have privilege because I am white with northern European ancestry in a white-dominated society that still preserves a sense of superiority about skin colour and race.
I have privilege because I was born into a relatively affluent family, and never went hungry growing up.
I have privilege because I received (and am still undertaking) a good education where no area of study was barred to me.
I have privilege because through that education, I am clever with words and arguments - and can use that to silence others if I am not careful.
I have privilege because I am bisexual, and can therefore 'pass' for heterosexual in a society that still largely regards same-sex attraction as 'abnormal'.
I have privilege because I am married in a society where a male-female coupling is considered 'normal'.
I have privilege because, though genderqueer, I can 'pass' for female/feminine in a society where only two genders are acknowledged to even exist.
I have privilege because I have never lived in fear that simply being who I am might make me a target for institutionalised discrimination, hatred and violence.
I have privilege, and I recognise that with this privilege comes responsibility. I am responsible for ensuring that I do not use this privilege to silence, exclude or harm others. I am responsible for ensuring that I support and champion others without presuming to speak for them.
I have privilege, and this does not mean I cannot speak up for my own rights and opinions, nor have my own challenges or hurts acknowledged. It means that I must not ever assume that there is some kind of hierarchy of 'real' problems - that mine are not somehow are more or less important, but that I must not use mine to browbeat others or try to shut down others' rights by claiming my privilege has been infringed by wrongs done to them.
And at heart, I guess, is the responsibility to never lose sight of the fact that it's not all about me, and that I lose nothing by acknowledging any of this.
Politics-wise, there's the perennial education debate of whether giving more money to public schools than private is unfair and removes 'choice' from parents.
Pagan-wise, there's some raging discussions going on in various online forums, all revolving around the idea of excluding people from some ritual spaces, defining what it means to be 'woman', and whether it's unfair to expect a public event to show inclusive rather than exclusive practices.
At uni, there's the ongoing problem of certain religious groups doing their level best to silence other viewpoints - whether by vandalising notices for queer groups, or pressuring the university to abandon the long-maintained tradition of providing condoms in O Week on the grounds it's 'religiously offensive'.
Personally, there's my experience of being a queer Ally at La Trobe, becoming clear about my own identity as genderqueer, and a heightened sensitivity to related issues that have previously only barely registered.
Running through all of that is an ugly, knotted thread. Those who are most dismissive of others' pain, who claim they are personally disadvantaged by inclusion, who scream loudest that they are 'silenced' and 'oppressed' - are usually the ones with the most privilege.
But you can't say that, of course. Tell the aforementioned religious group that their status as a well-known religion, the support they receive from the uni and their ability to walk almost anywhere openly displaying symbols of their belief without harassment is privilege - and the outrage is immense. Why? Because they are told they must share these advantages with others. That there is a space for all religions. That they can't impose their beliefs on everyone out of some idea that they are 'right' and can therefore dictate to others. To such a group, that's oppression.
Ditto the cis-woman (or 'woman-born-woman', the ugly, clumsy term that has been used more widely) who blithely states that a transwoman is not 'really' a woman, and therefore has no place in women's circles. When challenged, she complains that her experience as a woman is being somehow degraded, dismissed or oppressed - at worst, she accuses the transwoman of operating from a place of 'male oppression'. (Just about the most offensive thing I've heard coming out of paganism in a long time, btw.)
I thought for a long time that this sort of thing originated from a place of fear - or maybe simple misunderstanding. Now, though, I believe the misunderstanding is not about the other person's experience, but about our own. We don't believe we have privilege - and we don't want to believe it.
It's as though, by admitting we are privileged, we think we are admitting to being bad people, or being forced to apologise for who we are. It's not. Recognising our own privilege is just that - recognising that we have certain social advantages that have nothing to do with how we feel or what we think is right, and recognising that we are often so unconscious of these advantages that we speak and act blindly, hurting and dismissing others, rendering their experiences invisible or unimportant.
So, FWIW ... this is my recognition. It might not be entirely coherent, because I'm still thinking it through.
I have privilege.
I have privilege because I am white with northern European ancestry in a white-dominated society that still preserves a sense of superiority about skin colour and race.
I have privilege because I was born into a relatively affluent family, and never went hungry growing up.
I have privilege because I received (and am still undertaking) a good education where no area of study was barred to me.
I have privilege because through that education, I am clever with words and arguments - and can use that to silence others if I am not careful.
I have privilege because I am bisexual, and can therefore 'pass' for heterosexual in a society that still largely regards same-sex attraction as 'abnormal'.
I have privilege because I am married in a society where a male-female coupling is considered 'normal'.
I have privilege because, though genderqueer, I can 'pass' for female/feminine in a society where only two genders are acknowledged to even exist.
I have privilege because I have never lived in fear that simply being who I am might make me a target for institutionalised discrimination, hatred and violence.
I have privilege, and I recognise that with this privilege comes responsibility. I am responsible for ensuring that I do not use this privilege to silence, exclude or harm others. I am responsible for ensuring that I support and champion others without presuming to speak for them.
I have privilege, and this does not mean I cannot speak up for my own rights and opinions, nor have my own challenges or hurts acknowledged. It means that I must not ever assume that there is some kind of hierarchy of 'real' problems - that mine are not somehow are more or less important, but that I must not use mine to browbeat others or try to shut down others' rights by claiming my privilege has been infringed by wrongs done to them.
And at heart, I guess, is the responsibility to never lose sight of the fact that it's not all about me, and that I lose nothing by acknowledging any of this.
