So, it's been a crazy day. I'm new to activism and being openly political in an area of the world where being liberal is like a scarlet letter.
I started the day off thinking about something I saw yesterday that got under my skin. It was a bingo card for people of privilege, and each square had a stereotypical response that privileged people tend to give. It irked me, but I didn't respond to it, because so often when you respond to things like that, it turns into a vicious circle of "well, of course, you would say that because you're privileged."
I followed up that thinking with some normal daily routine things like running on my treadmill, and sorting laundry. A group of my friends thought it would be cool to find a local tattoo shop where we could go get "nevertheless, she persisted" tattoos, and maybe the shop would be willing to donate a percentage of the proceeds to Planned Parenthood or the ACLU. It's lame activism compared to standing with the water protectors at Standing Rock, or going to a townhall meeting, but I really wanted to "mark" myself in some way to remind myself to keep on doing things that are new and hard.
Because it was my idea in the first place, I took responsibility for making contact with a shop that others suggested might be friendly. I didn't get a response to my initial contact, so as my morning routine was somewhat complete, I decided to follow up. Within moments, I received a response that truly shocked me.
Today was the first time I have ever been called a "baby murderer."
It felt almost as if someone had punched me in the stomach and just ran off. I didn't know how to respond. So, the only thing I could think of to do was make a screenshot of the message, and share it with my other friends who were interested in my idea.
I know that people who stand up for what they believe in are often attacked. And I know that the people who are on the other side of almost every single issue frequently feel attacked, too. I know that it will get worse before it gets better, and this is just a part of getting down into the trenches. I know that the fact that this is the first time I have been personally attacked affirms my privilege.
But here's the thing, as much as I understand that I am a white, straight, middle class woman, I am no less a person who understands right and wrong. I may not live within the skin of someone who is harmed by discrimination, violence, and bigotry on a daily basis, but that doesn't mean that I don't care, or that I accept things as they are.
One of the key things I took away from going to the Women's March on Washington was that I haven't personally done enough. I have cared about inequality, racism, rape culture and human rights. I have written about social injustice a million times. But I have never put myself in harm's way, and I have never made myself a target.
When I see or hear the statements about privilege, it does stick in my craw a little. Not because I am unaware of it, but because it feels like as someone of privilege I have to prove that I am on the right side of things. It feels like somehow there's some kind of competition within the sphere of activism. And for someone with privilege, it feels like in certain circles, no matter how much I want to do the right thing, and no matter how hard I might try, nothing I say or do will ever be good enough.
I know saying it is a lightning rod for those who will argue that of course, a privileged person would say that, but I can no more control my skin color, my ethnicity, gender identity or sexuality than the people I want to fight for. And I truly believe that continuing to focus on each other's failings or differences undermines everyone's cause.
No, I haven't been to Standing Rock. No, I haven't marched in a Black Lives Matter event. No, I haven't been to a gay pride parade. I've signed petitions. I've sent emails. I've canvassed for political candidates. I was a member of the ACLU while I lived in Kansas City, and though I couldn't afford to renew when my membership was due again a couple years back, I renewed my membership in November. I still know that none of these things are enough. I am still trying to develop my own confidence, and still trying to find my own way in this, as I know so many other people of privilege are doing.
All I can say about our past failings is this: We are here now, and we are on the same side. Isn't it time to remember that we are on the same side? And isn't it time to understand that the best chance we all have of advancing our causes is by acknowledging our failures and differences, then picking up wherever we are and moving forward together?
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