Chapter 9: What Can We Do? - PDF

CHAPTER 9 ‐ What Can We Do? I began this book by pointing out that we can’t avoid being part of the problem, and now we’ve come to the question of how to make ourselves part of the solution. “We,” of course, are anything but a homogeneous group, coming from points of view defined b...

CHAPTER 9 ‐ What Can We Do? I began this book by pointing out that we can’t avoid being part of the problem, and now we’ve come to the question of how to make ourselves part of the solution. “We,” of course, are anything but a homogeneous group, coming from points of view defined by intersections of gender, race, sexual orientation, disability status, and social class, to name a few. Does a straight white woman, for example, hear the question as a woman struggling against male privilege, or as a white person or heterosexual or nondisabled in a system that advantages her at the expense of others? What difference does it make if she is a corporate manager or works nights at Walmart while putting herself through college? And how will her perspective and options differ from those of a gay black teenager or a Latino lawyer who uses a wheelchair or a Native‐American woman teaching school on a reservation or a working‐class white man who can’t find a job or a Muslim woman running for a seat on the local school board? We hear the question differently because our social characteristics locate us differently in relation to it, and differences in location bring with them differences in worldviews and resources, and in power, vulnerability, and risk. My choice to speak out on issues of privilege, for example, is not free of risk, but it is also aided by how I am identified in the world, including the enhanced credibility that comes with various forms of privilege. If I were differently located, I might still speak out, but the road by which I came to that would be very different. There may be times, then, in the pages that follow, when you find yourself wondering, “Who is he talking about? Not me.” Which may be true, although it would be worth considering what happens if you shift your point of view to some other aspect of your identity to see how it changes how you hear what I’m asking you to consider, how it might be about you after all. Our different locations in the world can also affect our reasons for asking the question, or whether we ask at all. I sometimes find, for example, that people in dominant groups who are painfully aware of the oppressive effects of privilege, are looking for a way to escape feeling bad so they can get on with their lives. This is especially true of men and whites, who have the option of insulating themselves from many of the consequences of gender and race. Regardless of who we are in relation to systems of privilege, working for change can be daunting when it comes to systems that have been around for hundreds or, in the case of gender, thousands of years. And so it’s not uncommon to feel overwhelmed, as if changing the world is up to us as lone individuals, defeated before we start. We may feel afraid—of failing, of what people will think of us, of what we’ll discover about ourselves, of losing a job, of being attacked or ostracized. Or we think it’s all we can do to just keep up with everything else in our lives, whether it’s school or work or taking care of kids or aging parents. Still, many feel compelled to find a way to do something that makes a difference, however small, and this chapter is written with them in mind. Much of this book has been about understanding how the world works and how we participate to make it happen. Now it’s time to look at how this positions us to be part of changing both systems and ourselves, a process that begins with some powerful myths about how change happens and what that has to do with us. 80 The Myth That It's Always Been This Way, and Always Will If we don’t make a point of studying history, it’s easy to believe that things have always been the way we’ve known them to be. But when we look back, we find, for example, that white privilege has been a feature of human life for only a matter of centuries, and there is abundant evidence that male privilege has been around for only seven thousand years or so, which isn’t very long when you consider that human beings have been on the earth for hundreds of thousands of years. And history provides many examples of people coming together to make change happen. So, the smart money should be on nothing always being one way or any other—instead, we should bet on the fact that reality is always in flux and the only thing we can count on is change. Things only appear to stand still because we have such a short attention span, limited by the brevity of our lives. From the long view—the really long view—everything is in process all the time, including systems of privilege. We can make change by choosing paths of greater resistance, as when men choose not to seek control, or choose to intervene when other men do, or when women refuse their own subordination. Since we can always choose paths of greater resistance, systems can only be as stable as the flow of human choice, consent, resistance, and creativity, all of which makes permanence impossible. An oppressive system often seems stable only because it limits our lives and imaginations so thoroughly that we can’t see anything else. This is especially true when a system has existed for so long that its past extends beyond the collective memory of what came before, making it easy to confuse the terms and conditions of life within that system with a normal and inevitable human condition. But the illusion of permanence masks a fundamental belief in the inevitability of social change. Over the last two centuries, feminist thought and action have challenged men’s dominance and violence, and patriarchy has become increasingly vulnerable as a result. This is one reason that male resistance, backlash, and defensiveness are so intense, with so many men complaining about their lot, especially their inability to meet the cultural standards for masculinity and manhood that would have them controlling not only their own lives, but those of women and other men. Fear of and resentment toward women are pervasive—from worrying about being accused of sexual harassment or rape, to railing against affirmative action and custody decisions in divorce court. No system lasts forever. This is especially true of privilege. We cannot know what will replace it, but we can be confident that it will go, that it is going at every moment—it only being a matter of how quickly, by what means, and what is coming next. And whether we do our part to make it happen sooner rather than later, and with less, rather than more, destruction and suffering in the process. The Myth of No Effect The first thing in the way of acting for change is the belief that nothing we do will make a difference, that the system is too big and powerful for us to affect. The complaint is valid if we look at society as a whole and in the short run, but if that is what it means to do something, then we’ve set ourselves up to fail. To shake off the paralyzing myth that we cannot make a difference, we have to shift how we see ourselves in relation to a long term, complex process of change. This begins with how we relate to time. Many changes can come about quickly enough for us to see them happen, such as the legalization of 81 same‐sex marriage or the election of a person of color or a woman (or both) as president of the United States. But systems of privilege are larger and more complicated than that, and take longer to change than our short lives can encompass. For that kind of change, we cannot use the human life span as a standard against which to measure effect. What we need instead is what might be called “time constancy,” analogous to object constancy. Very young children lack object constancy, which is to say, if you hold out a cookie or a toy and then put it behind your back, they will not go after it, because they’re unable to hold on to the image of where it went. If they cannot see it, it might as well not exist. After a while, they develop the mental ability to know that things exist even when they’re out of sight. In thinking about change, we need a similar ability in relation to time, so that we can hold on to the knowledge and the faith that systemic change can happen even if we’re not around to see it. We also need to be clear about how our choices matter and how they don’t. Gandhi once said that nothing we do as individuals matters, but that it’s vitally important that we do it anyway. This touches on a powerful paradox in the relationship between society and individuals. When we dare to question who we are and how the world works, things happen that we can’t foresee. But they do not happen unless we move, if only in our minds. As pioneers, we discover what is possible only by putting ourselves in motion, because we have to move in order to change our position—and hence our perspective—on where we are, where we’ve been, and where we might go. This is how alternatives begin to appear. The myth of no effect not only obscures the role we might play in the long‐term transformation of society, but it also blinds us to our power in relation to other people. We may cling to the belief that there is nothing we can do, precisely because we know how much power we do have and are afraid to use because people may not like it. In other words, denying our power can be a way to let ourselves off the hook. The reluctance to acknowledge and use our power comes up in all kinds of situations, such as when a committee is making hiring decisions and an applicant comes up for discussion and someone says “it’s not a good fit” and everyone is silent or murmurs their assent. And then there is a critical moment when someone in the room—or several, but each imagining that they are the only one— cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong, that “not a good fit” is code for not‐male, not‐white, not‐heterosexual, not‐nondisabled—it being perfectly clear that the applicant is qualified. Do they say something, or do they not? It is just one moment among countless such moments woven into the fabric of everyday life, but it is a crucial moment, because the seamless response of the group to what is happening affirms the normalcy of that response and its unproblematic appearance in a system of privilege. It takes only one person to tear the fabric of collusion and apparent consensus. We can change the course of that moment with something as simple as a question (“In what specific way is this not a good fit?”), and we know how uncomfortable this can make people feel and how they may ward off their discomfort by dismissing, excluding, or even attacking the bearer of bad news. Our silence is our not daring to matter. The power to affect other people is more than the ability to provoke discomfort. Just as paths of least resistance shape our choices, choosing a different path makes it possible for others to question their own. In this way, we affect one another all the time without knowing it. 82  It is important to see that to be effective, we are not required to change people’s minds. In fact, changing minds may play a relatively small part in systemic change. We will not succeed in turning diehard misogynists into practicing feminists, for example, or overt racists into civil rights activists. But we can shift the odds in favor of new paths that contradict core values on which systems of privilege depend. We can add our choices and our lives to tip the scales, toward new ways of organizing social life, ones that don’t revolve around privilege and oppression. We cannot tip the scales overnight or by ourselves, and in that sense, we do not amount to much. But, as Gandhi noted, it is crucial where we choose to place what the poet Bonaro Overstreet called “the stubborn ounces of my weight.” It is in our small and humble choices that privilege, oppression, and the movement toward something better have happened many times in the past and will happen again. Stubborn Ounces: What Can We Do? There are no easy answers to the question of what can we do, no twelve‐step program, no manual of instructions. Most important, there is no way around or over it: the only way out of it is through. We will not end oppression by pretending it isn’t there or will somehow go away on its own. Some will complain that those who work for change are being divisive when they draw attention to privilege and oppression. But when members of dominant groups mark differences by excluding or discriminating against subordinate groups and treating them as other, they are not accused of being divisive. Usually it’s only when someone calls attention to how difference is used as a basis for privilege that accusations of divisiveness come up. In a sense, it is divisive to say that privilege is real, but only insofar as it heightens our awareness of divisions that already exist, and challenges the perception that the status quo is normal and unremarkable. Privilege promotes the worst kind of divisiveness by cutting us off from one another and, by silencing the truth, cutting us off from ourselves and what we know. What can we do to make a difference? 1. Acknowledge That Privilege and Oppression Exist A key to the continued existence of every system of privilege is for most people to act as if it isn’t there. Acknowledge that it is “there.” 2. Pay Attention Understanding how privilege and oppression operate and how you participate in it is where working for change begins. It is easy to have opinions, but it takes work to know what you’re talking about. The simplest way to begin is to make reading about privilege a part of your life. 83  3. Learn to Listen Attentive listening is especially difficult for members of dominant groups because the path of least resistance is to put themselves at the center of attention, including their own. If someone confronts you with your behavior that supports privilege, de‐center yourself and resist the pull to defend and deny. Don’t tell them they’re too sensitive or need a better sense of humor, and don’t try to explain away what you did as something else than what they’re telling you it was. Don’t say you didn’t mean it or that you were only kidding. Don’t tell them what a champion of equity and justice you are or how hurt you feel by what they’re telling you. Don’t make jokes or try to be cute or charming, since only privilege can lead someone to believe these are acceptable responses to something as serious as this. Listen to what is being said. Take it seriously. Assume for the time being that it’s true, because given the paths of least resistance, it probably is, at least enough to be heard. And then take responsibility to do something about it, beginning with understanding what it has to do with you. 4. Little Risks: Do Something The more you pay attention to privilege and oppression, the more opportunities you’ll see to do something about it. You don’t have to mount an expedition to seek them out. They’re everywhere, beginning with ourselves. Dare to matter: Make noise, be seen. Stand up, volunteer, speak out, sit in, demonstrate, protest, write letters, sign petitions, march, show up. If there’s a rally, community forum, die‐ in, public testimony, teach‐in—go and add your presence. Every oppressive system feeds on silence and people staying home as a form of consent. Actively promote change in how systems are organized around privilege. The possibilities here are almost endless, because social life is complicated and privilege is everywhere. No one knows enough to be either a pessimist or an optimist, to be able to tell whether we are having an effect or not. What we can have is faith, by which I mean our capacity to not become the fear we will encounter along the way, to never doubt our potential to join with others in ways that make a difference. It is all we have. And it is enough. Keep going. 84