Allies, privilege, amplification, and self-care

Yesterday, New York Magazine went live with an article which was focused on amplifying the voices of 35 women. These women are only a portion of the total number of women who have come forward in recent months, detailing the sexual assaults they suffered at the hands of Bill Cosby. The cover photo, seen here, shows each of the 35 women, sitting in a chair, in stark black and white. There are 36 chairs. The last chair in the image is empty. That chair is haunting. That empty chair sparked a hashtag on twitter, #TheEmptyChair, which has become a platform for women who feel like that chair belongs, at least in part, to them. A platform from which they are telling their stories, explaining why their chair is still empty. At least one man on Twitter, Elon James White, offered his own profile as a part of that platform. He invited victims who felt the need to tell their story to send him private messages, which he would then post without their names, twitter usernames, or identifying information.

It probably won’t come as a surprise that his inbox was immediately flooded with responses. Accounts of some of the most vile bits of humanity, repeated and expanded upon beyond the capacity that any one human brain can reasonably hold. He will never know what it is like to be a woman in America. The best he can do is listen to the people who do know, and believe what they tell him, and magnify their voices from his male-privileged position. That isn’t as dangerous for him as it is for those women.

In the last few years, institutionalized racism has been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the light. Into a place where even the most isolated, oblivious white person can’t possibly be unaware of the inexcusable, abominable acts being perpetrated on black people by a white-dominated society. In the wake of Michael Brown’s murder, and the fallout in Ferguson in reaction to that murder, and the seemingly endless murderous rampage of the US police force, directly after, I stopped just shaking my head, then turning away. I spent days watching the live feed videos from Ferguson and St Louis. Watching police hit peaceful, law-abiding protesters with pepper spray, rubber bullets, tasers, and various other military operational equipment. What we were being shown on mainstream media was an unruly crowd of mostly black youth, vandalizing and burning shops and police cars. What wasn’t being shown, on most TV stations, but was being shown in a host of live streaming feeds on the ground, was an entirely different story. Police inciting, rather than responding to, outbreaks of violence. Protesters demanding justice they wouldn’t receive, and being taunted, derided, ridiculed, infantilized and demonized in the press and by law enforcement in the streets.

I watched until my eyes hurt from weeping. A human being had been murdered. An innocent black man shot down by a white cop in the streets of his own hometown. And the mainstream media was undeniably bending over backwards to excuse it, to justify it, to explain it away. Pundits debating the existence of racism, as if there was any doubt that it still exists.

I wrote some things, like you do. I talked to my friends, and lamented the fucked up state of the nation. I cried some more. I agonized over what I might be able to do, from my perch as a disabled woman in a small town in the racist-as-fuck south.  I debated with my partner. I listened to black people. I asked questions. Then I listened some more. I’m white. I have white privilege. These are undeniable facts. I will never know what it’s like to be black in America. The best I can do is listen to the people who do know, and believe what they tell me. The best I can do is amplify their voices, to help the things they say be heard by people who may not listen to them. I can argue against the people who may not even give them the time of day, because of the levels of melanin in their skin. I can use my white privilege to speak to intractable, ignorant white people. That won’t be as dangerous, for me, as it would be for a black person.

Look, I’m what the relentlessly oblivious refer to as an SJW. A “Social Justice Warrior.” They mean it as a derogatory term, an insult that usually implies some sort of weakness, some sort of bleeding-heart liberal status that is, in their terms, indicative of a “pussy,” a “bitch,” a “beta.” I don’t care how they mean it. I am a Social Justice Warrior. To me, it means that I refuse to limit my noise-making and calls for attention only to problems that affect me, personally, or people like me. Intersectionality. It’s a thing. There are so many justifications for oppressing people, so many ways people are held down due to factors beyond their control or agency, and I’m not okay with any of them. I’m not affected, personally, by racism. It can still fuck right off. I’m not personally affected by transmisogyny or cis-sexism, but that can fuck in the general direction of off, as well. I will speak out against oppression, wherever I see it, in whatever form, no matter who I see perpetuating it.

I do it because I actually believe that human beings are all equal, and all deserve equal rights, equal treatment, equal representation, equal consideration. For me, that’s not just some easy history class recitation. It’s immutable fact. I have empathy for my fellow human beings who are being oppressed, no matter what form that takes. That empathy requires me to stand up when and where I am able. That may not mean much, all by itself. It’s a very small droplet in a very large ocean, especially when the town in which I’m frustratingly stuck is practically Wonderbread, USA. But it still matters.

I may be disabled, but I can still amplify the voices of black people who speak out on the various social media sites I utilize on a daily basis. Perhaps I expose one white person to something that makes them unpack their own privilege, or previously unexamined ignorance. Perhaps I get one previously cis-sexist person to recognize the harm they’re doing to transpeople. If I’m very fortunate, I can manage that much. In the meantime, I can keep on speaking out, keep on amplifying.

I may not get out much, or see many people in real life, but my biological family is almost entirely made up of a bunch of people who are bigoted at pretty much every point on the axes of oppression. At Christmas dinner last year, when the talk turned to Ferguson, the things my father and aunt were saying made me physically ill. We left, and they were informed as to the reasons why we refused to be around anyone spouting such insidious justifications for hatred. Maybe I didn’t change their minds at all. I kind of doubt it. But I can absolutely refuse to associate with anyone who behaves this way. If they care about me, they’ll be willing to have a conversation, and examine the reality from outside their normal lens.

I can call out any and all instances of racism, transmisogyny, and other bigotry and prejudice and unexamined privilege I see, in online forums. I can educate.

But, as Elon Jame White mentioned in the ThisWeekInBlackness Prime broadcast dealing with #TheEmptyChair, this shit is exhausting. There is such a dizzying array of rampant oppression going on in our country, and it never sleeps. When you step in to speak against it, you will meet resistance. You will have your resolve and will and empathy tested, again and again. You will tire of hearing the same horrible stories. You will tire of arguing the same tired old oppressive rhetoric that the oppressors have been using since time began and an ‘other’ existed. You will be attacked, shouted down, spoken over, condescended to, and bullied. It is inevitable.

It is okay to take a break. 

I know, we often have to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. Individual stories of oppression only get traction through publicity for so long. It’s understandable to feel the need to run yourself into the ground, trying to stay right on top of every tweet, every DM, every news story, every untold horror. Sadly, though, no matter how many of these stories you amplify, there will almost assuredly be more, in the next breath. You can’t stay on top of it every waking moment. All that’s going to do is invite burnout, and then someone, somewhere has lost a valuable, meaningful ally. You can take a step back, take a breather, get some rest, and do whatever you need to do to recharge your batteries, before wading back in. Unfortunately, racism isn’t going anywhere, not in the time it takes you to eat, shower, and sleep, or even take a vacation and unplug for a bit. Rape culture isn’t going anywhere. Misogyny isn’t going anywhere. Cis-sexism isn’t going anywhere. Ableism isn’t going anywhere. You’re not going to hurt the progress of any of these social issues that much, by taking care of you for a minute. Or a week. Not doing so, however, could take you out of the equation, entirely, much sooner than you may have bowed out, otherwise.

So, no. Don’t just care about and speak about the issues that affect you, but do make sure that you take the time to deal with the ways in which all of the issues affect you. We all need those voices being amplified.

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There’s not a Multipass for oppression

Originally posted elsewhere, December 8, 2014


multipass

I’m disabled. I’m a woman. I’m poor. I’m pansexual. I’m sure, if I thought about it, I could come up with several other things that put me on the disadvantaged side.

But there isn’t a single one of them that excuses me actively oppressing other people, who are underprivileged in different ways. Not one.

In other words, I don’t get to act like a racist, and then claim that it’s somehow okay, because of the disadvantages I face as a poor person. I don’t get to be a douchebag, and use my own suffering as a justification.

It isn’t that I don’t care about the ways in which you’ve been oppressed. It’s that I care about the ways that all people are oppressed. And I won’t give you a pass on being classist, just because you’re disabled, or black, or gay. Or vice any of those versas (and yes, I just made that phrasing up, and I don’t care if it’s linguistically accurate).

So, no matter who you are, how much I like you, or how much shit you’ve been put through by some busted aspect(s) of the system that currently exists, I will call you out, if I see you being a jerk about this stuff.

Most recently, I found this via a thread about medical care. A woman was ranting about ER doctors prescribing a drug that was no longer available in the US, for intestinal parasites.

Some folks wanted to laugh at the condition. Sure, it sounds gross, and is easily mock-able. That seemed kind of crass, but still didn’t really upset me, much.

Then came the space cadets who think that it’s oh-so-easy, in the US, to simply be insured, or get decent medical care, regardless of circumstance. They jumped all over the OP for going to the emergency room for care, for something they deemed a minor irritant. And those people? Yeah. They can fuck right off.

First, intestinal parasites aren’t really a minor thing. Symptoms can include abdominal pain, fever, dysentery, weight loss, malnutrition, intestinal bleeding, anemia, cysts in muscle tissue or the liver, swelling of the eyes, cardiovascular distress, dementia, and even death, especially if left untreated. And you can easily contract some types by swimming in contaminated water, or simply being around groups of small children. So, they absolutely require treatment.

Second, a ton of the suggestions had to do with going to an urgent care, getting a GP, or using health department services. Well, all of those sound like wonderful options. In many cases, though, they aren’t. I’m just going to speak from personal experience, here, from the last year and the rural area in which I live.

Go to an urgent care:

There are two urgent care facilities, here. If you don’t have insurance, and can’t pay up front, neither one will see you. The rates range from $140-$180, just for an office visit. That’s half a week’s pay, for many people, and only the more expensive office is open on Sundays, or after 7 p.m. And it doesn’t count tests, procedures, or medication.

$180 is more than many poor people spend on groceries for a family of four in an entire month. It can be, and often is, the choice between going to a doctor, and feeding your family.

If you work a minimum wage job, you probably don’t have affordable insurance, and you’re not likely to be allowed time off for a doctor visit unless your health is somehow having an impact on the company’s bottom line. Even then, many restaurants give no fucks, and will demand that sick people come to work, even if they’re wildly contagious. So, if you work until close, making minimum wage, the only remaining option is the ER. This is an “at-will” employment state. That means any employer can fire any employee for no reason at all, anytime they like. Miss work due to illness, and there are people waiting in line for your job. Bosses make certain that you know it.

Find a GP

I am disabled, so I have Medicare. I’ve been living here for a year and a half. I can’t find a doctor who a)isn’t a total hack, and b)is willing to accept me as a patient.

The one office that I sort-of trusted made me fill out an application, much like I was applying for credit, or a job, because I didn’t have private insurance. They denied me.

I am literally unable to get a decent GP, where I live, and many other poor, rural areas are much the same. And one of the urgent care facilities has told me that they won’t treat me again, until I get one. Of course, it’s the one with the longer hours and better practitioners.

Go to the Health Department

The health department, here, offers family planning services. It offers WIC. It will not act as a primary care physician for adults.


So, let’s say I get sick. A sinus infection. Let’s say that, because I don’t have an easily accessible option for healthcare, I treat it with OTC meds, and hope for the best, but it gets worse, and finds its way into my lungs. I have bronchitis, or pneumonia. I’m having trouble breathing.

What options do I have?

There’s only one, unless I want to travel for over an hour: the emergency room.

And that shit is no cakewalk, either. I don’t know if you think that poor people get some sort of red carpet treatment, when they hang their heads and walk into an emergency room for non-emergent care, or what, but that isn’t how it goes. Usually, you get people being just as rude, discriminatory, and insulting as the assholes on that thread. You get ignored, shamed, belittled, pushed around, and outright bullied. You often get misdiagnosed, because no one takes your complaints seriously.

Don’t even get me started on the other shitty things about living at or below the poverty line. If you haven’t lived this hand-to-mouth, paycheck-to-paycheck existence in this economical and political climate? You have NO IDEA, and need to STFU and listen to the people who have and do.

And another thing? Fuck you, if you say, Well, you can obviously afford internet, so you can’t be in such bad shape, really.

Get a fucking grip. My internet access costs around $50 a month.

I just did a search for an insurance quote, assuming I worked full time at minimum wage, with a gross (pre-tax) income of $1218. Private insurance would cost me anywhere from $290.00 to $486.00 a month, and the lowest deductible on any of those plans, for in-network care, is three thousand dollars. That would be nearly three months income. If I disconnected my internet right now, and someone else paid my premiums, I still wouldn’t have enough money to pay forjust the deductibles.

And fuck you, too, if you want to talk about how I got here. You know what? It would take me a month of non-stop writing to explain all the ways that happened, and the proportion of the responsibility for that journey that doesn’t fall on my shoulders would blow your tiny, boxy minds. So, instead, I will just tell you that I’m physically unable to work, according to several neurologists, and the federal government. No one would hire me. I’m an insurance liability. And you know what else? I shouldn’t have to even justify myself like that to you, or anyone else. Not in a country where about a fifth of the inhabitants live at or below the poverty line. If you can’t see that the problem is NOT with the people, you’re as dense as a dudebro’s neckbeard.

The point is, you don’t know what it’s like to be poor in this country, in this time, unless you are or have been. And what seems easy, from the outside, isn’t so easy from down here in the depths of it.

And it doesn’t matter one bit, in this context, what other oppression you’ve experienced, if you’re going to be a douchebag about poverty. If you do it, I’m calling you on it. Just like I’d call you on misogyny, homophobia, racism, transphobia, or any other discriminatory behavior.

Do some research. Talk to people who actually live it. LISTEN to what they have to say, instead of discounting everything as an excuse. Excuses and reasons aren’t the same thing, and you asshats need to learn the difference.

You want to get angry about something? Get angry at the way the deck gets stacked against so many people. Get angry about the way healthcare in this country is one of its most profitable industries, instead of a public service, like it is in most other first-world nations… and even many which aren’t.

Poor people aren’t the enemy. Stop acting like they are, or fuck off.