Pri-pri-privilege!

Dear Big Sis,

Thanks for sharing that clip. And for all those out there reading in Bloggyland, please note that I was the original finder of that clip. So yes, I am the cooler one of the two of us.

You wrote a lot, and I'm kinda sleepy (staying up till 3am the previous night will do that to a person), so I cannot write too long a post. My first thought was in response to something you said, that I think needs to be clarified. You said:

So while I agree that privilege is largely about what we don't see, I'm not convinced that learning to open our eyes removes that privilege.

I'm not sure if you got this from my words or from the blog I linked to, but this is not at all what I intended to convey. Privilege, by definition, is not earned or deserved, but given based on inherent characteristics. Like being born white, or cisgender, or male. Things one cannot control. It is the aim of all anti-oppression activists to challenge their (and others') privilege. To bring into the light what is by nature invisible. But that unearthing does not suddenly sublimate the privilege into something less noxious, as the privilege has not been taken on by that person but has been granted. No, acknowledging privilege does not make it disappear, but it does weaken the systems that privilege supports. Tangential but related, this is often a complaint of 101 level anti-oppression activists who begin to challenge and address their own privileges. They ask (as I have myself in the past), "If I cannot remove my privilege, how am I supposed to make a change? What can I do to be an effective ally to those who are oppressed?" To this I answer, your responsibility is to be vigilant about your privileges, to not take advantage of said privileges, and to educate others about their privileges. To not get in the way of others who are trying to overcome being under-privileged. To listen. To being open to learning. That is a big part of being an anti-oppression activist.

I have thoughts on how you described the groom's crying. As a sociologist, I see most major character divisions we ascribe to people as socially constructed. This means that gender is not some inherent biological trait that is intrinsically connected with our genitals/chromosomes/whatever. Your gender is assigned to you, at birth ("it's a boy!" "sugar and spice and all things nice is what makes up a girl", etc.), and is rigidly enforced your whole life. This is why I find describing his crying as a womanly thing to do as problematic. Of course, I agree with you that there is nothing wrong with a man crying, or taking on typically feminine activities, but to call it womanly denies the wide spectrum of emotions that humans are capable of. I have guy friends who are very comfortable crying, and I have woman friends who are incapable of emoting sadness in any form. To call crying a woman-based trait is to reinforce those rigid gender roles, even if that is not your intent. By encouraging people to move past the gender binary, you are dismantling it. Sound familiar? (coughcoughprivilegecough)

Also, you said that by crying, the groom was letting go of his privilege. I also disagree with this sentiment. A major concept in feminist discourse is that the patriarchy does not just hurt women, but everyone. One way we can see this is in the intense pressure on men to not emote, to not cry, to be stoic and tough. I see this at the preschools I teach at, when the teachers admonish the little boys, telling them that "boys don't cry", and to "suck it up!". They almost never say this to the little girls. In this way, men are not privileged, because they are forced by a patriarchal, homophobic society to be NOTLIKEWOMEN, ie, to not cry. So he is not letting go of some male privilege to cry. He is challenging patriarchal ideas through a pretty radical act, which is great. Does that make sense? There is more to this idea, but as I said, I'm a shleepy motherfucker.

So, when I started this post, I was going to mention that I wanted to move away from social justice stuff for a while, because I spend most of my days reading about it on my own, and it tends to wipe me out. Let's talk about other stuff, ok?

Oh- before I forget- the new blog template you chose sucks cat titties. So tacky. (See for reference: me being the cooler sister)

What I do want to talk about is me. Shocker, that. Last Thursday was my 25th birthday. Being such a pretty, round number, it kind of hit me harder than the usual birthday. Which isn't to say that I didn't enjoy it, nay, I had a fabulous day. My housemate Tom gave me a get-one-free card he had filled up for this expensive smoothie shop down the road. That was yum. Then my other housemate, Chris, drove around Austin with me looking for free shit on my birthday. Apparently telling people it's your birthday isn't reason enough to be given swag. Maybe if I was 15 years younger. Then that evening my housemates + other close friends went to a great sushi restaurant up north. My housemates paid for my dinner (thanks Mike! And Sean!), and it was lovely. THEN, after that, I came home to find that Antonia (yet another housemate- did I mention to Bloggyland I live in an 18-person housing co-operative? More about that later.) had bought me a Bratz Doll pinata, which I promptly beat the living crap out of. Fun times! So yeah, it was a lovely day. I usually get disgruntled and antisocial on my birthday, for who-knows what reason, but this year was truly great. Thanks to all my friends/housemates for making it so stellar. I love you.

But still. I am 25. This past year has been kind of transformative. Come this Sunday it will be a whole year since I left Ithaca. I miss it terribly. I miss swimming in the gorges, the Chapter House (which will be my favorite bar from now until eternity), the smell of Ithaca in the autumn, autumn, the Commons, speeding around Cayuga Heights when I was feeling angry, swerving deer (no, not really), Grassroots Music Festival (which happened this past weekend- first one I've missed in probably 5 years), the rolling hills of upstate New York, and all the freaking WEIRDOS wandering around. The kind, fascinating weirdos. I have spent the past 6 years trying to figure out what it *is* about Ithaca that makes it so unique. I really haven't figured that out, and I don't know if I ever will. I do know that it would be close to impossible to replicate that magic anywhere else. Ithaca is my True North.

Except I'm not there anymore. I'm in Austin. And I love this city. It is not home to me, but I am enjoying the ride. It is a great place to be if you are young and curious. I'll write more about it another time. It is time for me to edit this post, then pass out. Tomorrow I get some big news, I hope, and I would like to be well rested to receive it. I guess I'm getting too old to stay up until 3am. Sigh.

Love,

(not so) Little Sis

Shark Eats Plane

Dear Little Sis,

I didn't say I liked Taylor Swift.  I just happen to drive a car that doesn't have a CD player so sometimes I have to play the radio just in order to stay awake.  And except for La Roux, radio music totally sucks.

I really like that definition of privilege.  I mean, for example, I think I mentioned my new data entry job at ACT in a previous post, and to me, the whole idea of working in corporate America, or as a coworker called it, "Cubeland," is cute, a novelty, kind of entertaining in a I-won't-have-to-do-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of way.  And it occurred to me at some point in the past day, that's my white upper-middle-class point of view, the POV of someone whose parents had the money to send her to an Ivy League college and support her through two graduate schools.  And it occurs to me now, it's also  the privileged point of view of a person with a high IQ, who has opportunities to move on to higher-paying jobs at some point by virtue of her education, skill set, and ability to be quick on the uptake.  So while I agree that privilege is largely about what we don't see, I'm not convinced that learning to open our eyes removes that privilege.

You know what I mean?  Even though I am starting to see myself as a smart, white girl from a wealthy upbringing, I still can't help but feel that working in a cubicle is kind of fun, only because it won't last.  To others, working in a cubicle might be a huge step up from what they're doing for so many reasons.  Higher pay, no physical labor, fewer hours, more interesting work...And yet, to others, working in a corporate environment, while still higher pay and all of those other things, is not preferable to their current position as a construction worker, garbage collector, dog catcher, whatever, because they enjoy what they do or get some satisfaction out of doing it, or are simply repelled by Cubeland, like so many richer people are.

Back to men, and their entitled ways.  I went to my friend's wedding tonight, and I have to say that it was stunning, as a side comment.  One of the most moving, beautiful things I've ever been a witness to.  It was at this very old octagonal barn out in Iowa country, surrounded by rolling hills of corn and whatnot, and the ceremony was outside.  When the sun set, the sky lit up in a way that made me think of the kindness of the Universe.  But my point is, the groom, who happens to be one of the few men I really admire and appreciate, wept in this touching, dare I say it?--womanly way as he said his vows.  Of course, lots of people will think I mean this disparagingly, but that's part of the problem.  What is so disparaging about saying someone reflects elements of a gender that is not theirs?  Did you know that to be resilient, a psychological term that reflects one's ability to recover from stress or trauma, one would do well to be androgynous, among other things?  Meaning, possessing characteristics from male and female genders.  Do you see what I'm saying?  I thought it was wonderful that the groom was so overcome by emotion; it showed how much he cared for the sweet bride and how important their marriage was to him.  Those two will definitely be together forever.  I bring all of this up because in that moment, the groom let go of his privilege (though not in every way, the beautiful wedding being an example) to embrace his true feelings, to not be afraid of what judgments some people might have made, (although I doubt in that gorgeous moment anyone was making any) and to be honest to himself and to the bride.  If men could do that more often, it would be a better world.

You had me read The Invisible Knapsack (pdf) some years ago, and I'm glad you linked to it here.  In particular, I find the list of advantages to being a racial majority very compelling and true.  Thank you for the other links as well, which I will try to respond to in a later post, especially the lolcat, of course.

Let me also link to something: Greatest clip ever.


Love,

Big Sis

I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes...

Well. I'm glad we got that out of the way.












Let me begin by saying that I'm actually offended you even know what a Taylor Swift tune should sound like. Offended, I say! (This coming from someone who regularly blasts Ace of Base out her car stereo while driving around town...One of these days I'm going to get a DWD ticket- Driving While Dancing.)

Onto real things. You wanted to talk about men- their role in society, the way Patriarchy benefits them, the way they abuse their privilege. I obviously have a lot of thoughts on the matter; I wasn't a Gender Studies concentration in college for no reason.

The first thing I would say on this is that the word privilege is being used a very specific way here. I like to go by the definition laid out in this Livejournal entry:

Privilege is: About how society accommodates you. It's about advantages you have that you think are normal. It's about you being normal, and others being the deviation from normal. It's about fate dealing from the bottom of the deck on your behalf.

I highly suggest you go read the rest of the post; Betty manages to explain privilege, which is a pretty convoluted concept, in a clear, concise manner. Yay for that!

I would also suggest reading The Invisible Knapsack (pdf), which was written by Peggy McIntosh in '88 about the ways privilege blinds us to having those exact privileges, in order to be a self-propagating system. Or, you could just look at this lolcat which sums up the idea of invisible privilege equally well.















You ask if men being aware of their privilege would help. I say yes, to a degree. If the two of us- who you should remember, have a bucketload of privilege, being raised in an upper middle class family, in the US, with stellar educations, white skin, and glorious good looks- can challenge our privileges and come as far as we have, then so can men. Especially because not all men are completely privileged. There are men of color, differently abled men, impoverished men, queer men, etc etc etc. This is where the concept of intersectional politics comes in. The idea that we are not static identities- I am not just a woman, I am a queer, fat, differently abled Jewish woman- you cannot separate those identities from each other when looking at my place in society, as the different levels of oppression do not see me as one single identity but a composite.

So, yes, men can theoretically become feminist, patriarchy-busting allies once they challenge their privilege. In some ways they will never be able to eradicate that privilege, as it is not something they willingly took on but were given due to their inherent characteristics. But, in the act of challenging it, and forcing oneself to become aware of it, they are helping to weaken it. This is why I am SO outspoken with my feminism/womanism. Because it is only through constant education, and challenging of the status quo, that change comes about. Which, conveniently, is how I choose my male friends. If they are receptive to my beliefs, to taking on the challenge of hearing me and learning from me, I let them in. If they don't, I walk away. Easy peasy.

Further reading, from Shakesville:

(Trigger Warning) The Terrible Bargain We Have Regretfully Struck

and

Feminism 101: Sexism is Matter of Opinion


-Little Sis

It's ONNNNNN.

Dear Little Sis:

Let me begin by saying, it's 1 am and I'm still awake (this is starting to sound like a Taylor Swift tune), and I have to be up early just in case my job calls to inform me that my background check finally came through and I'm cleared to start work.  My data entry job.  Woooot.  So, let's talk about...the oil spill in the Gulf.  No, just kidding.  I have nothing to say about that, except to mirror the Facebook sentiment that it should be plugged with Sarah Palin (aaaand the conservatives click on to another blog.  Good, they're gone.) 

What I really do want to talk about is men.  I don't know exactly what to say, Sis, but I want to talk about my vet who calls his technicians "the girls," or the construction workers who used to whistle at me before I got fat, or the way any number of guys have a)paused our conversations to explain simple concepts at to me and b)tried to forcefully win arguments by intimidating me.  Men reading this, I don't hate you.  I don't want to vaporize the lot of you.  I just wish all of you could acknowledge your privilege and power!  But Sis, would it even help?  Would knowing their role in society, the social constructions that have led them to be so...patriarchal, even make a difference?  I know I have more privilege than many racial minorities, but it doesn't stop me from referring to white people as "we" when I teach a class, as if everyone in the room were white, like we were all members of an elite club.

I know I'm basically rehashing stale sociological commentary, but I'm just a layperson with a bone to pick, and it seemed like a good place to jump in.  Sis, if you want to enlighten me and the readers, that would be coo'.  Throw in some words like hegemonic and anomie and institutional racism and we're good to go.


Love,

Big Sister

PS--Have any stupid/funny pics to share?  I've got one:

hehe.

If You Insist.

Dear Big Sis,

Ok, first of all. Photostream is not useless. How else are we going to post pictures of Chopper sitting up like some lumpy stack of furry pancakes, attempting in vain to lick her inner thigh? Or Lux, a white blur mid-pirouette? These will be INTRINSIC elements to this blog, if it is to survive.

I must say, this post will not be long. I took my meds (psyllium husks, naturally.) (kidding), and I am getting sleepy and woozy. Not conducive to writing much of anything. But I will say that this blogging idea absolutely terrifies me. Writing, anything at all? Check. Writing, that other people can read? Check. Writing, that my profoundly talented (and published) sister can read herself? Check. And last- writing, that will be archived next to my super-duper talented sister's work? Check check checkity check. But I love you. And I love this idea. And I will try, despite the terror and insecurity and drugs that make it hard to keep my eyes open at this juncture.

And with that, I go pass out.
-Little Sis

Let's make a blog!

Dear Little Sis:

Let's make a blog!  We can fill it with a rainbow background and lots of useless gadgets, like a Photostream.  We can write silly letters to each other about really, really, really important stuff.  Like dogs with tongues that hang out or how there should be a ten-man march for Mullet Equality.  We can keep in touch, even though we are no longer in the split-level in New York, fighting over who should get the big attic bedroom.  We can share pics of our cats slumped over lazily, their fat bulging out in every direction.  We can marvel over the fact that two New Yorkers have come as far as we have, in terms of miles at least.  Iowa and Texas?  Who woulda thunk?  We can commiserate as we try to figure out what our careers are and start them.  If any poor souls will read this blog, we can try to teach them all the fake words we know, like bops, and okshrean, and meebow.  We'll start a movement of nonsense talk.  Are you with me?

Love,

Big Sis