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
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