Another Isolated Incident – That is what I decided to call this newsletter as I hear this phrase so often as a dismissal for oppression. Each month, I listen for the perfect example, and this month has been ripe with examples. A World Food Bank truck that left without dropping off its food and supplies was labeled an isolated incident. It turns out that this truck backed up into an unloading area with 600+ Haitians, had a few of the men help unload the truck and then out of worry of a riot, the Haitian volunteers were asked to reload the supplies back on the truck and then it drove away. I recognize that there are VERY complicated decisions that have to be made to safely deliver much needed food and supplies without causing more harm. I also recognize that this physical and emotional work isn't something I would want to do. However, this isolated incident didn't feed the Haitian people and the World Food Bank employees and volunteers probably got to eat that day. This isn't an isolated incident, as there is an overwhelming pattern of excuses that veil the real paradox of oppression.
Jess
Reflections from the Road: Privilege
As I travel around the country speaking and doing social justice trainings, I am struck by a new trend regarding privilege. It seems to me that privilege is the new "whiteness" that is at the end of a wielded spear. Person A can take jabs at others for their privilege and add an upper cut to get at unchecked privilege. This leaves Person B feeling blamed, guilty, angry, defensive, vulnerable, etc. I found this to be very similar to how some trainers used to talk about whiteness. Then, and now, I think it is important to differentiate between something faulty or blameworthy and responsibility. I am certain that most whites didn't choose to be white and that they (and I) benefit from a socially constructed system designed for me and those who are perceived as white to inherit a sense of ease and entitlement without claiming the responsibility that matches. What I want to explore today is the connection between a sense of entitlement that seems to fuel the blame and judgment of others and the responsibility that gets lost along the way.
A few weeks ago, I was pointed in the direction of Buffalo, New York. While there, I thought I would pop over the border to visit a couple of friends that just had a new baby. The privilege I have that allows me to travel for a living, owning my own business, and weaving in personal visits while on business trips should not be overlooked. I forgot that you need a passport to go into Canada now as I am used to being able to go to lots of places as an American. I called my husband (we are legally married and there are lots of relationships that can't) and asked him to super overnight my passport to me on his way to work. I don't think I had really grasped the privilege of having my own back up crew on call — until this moment. Upon landing in Buffalo, I got my cheap rental car, a Kia Forte, paid for a GPS, and checked into my downtown hotel in time to catch the State of the Union address. Later that night, I agreed to help my Canadian friends by picking up the rabbi and taking him 30 minutes north to the border crossing where another friend without a valid Canadian passport would pick him up so that he could facilitate a ceremony for the newborn the following morning.
I leave my hotel in converse sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt to find 3 feet of snow covering my car. I locate my car, brush off the snow, and head to the airport. I figure it is only a 30 minute drive, and how bad could snow be? (says the native Texan who has NEVER driven in snow). I begin to return phone calls and talk to friends on the west coast as I drive to the airport. I eventually hang up as it seems that the snow is falling faster and I can't see the street very well. The GPS will lead the way, right? I experience what I later learn is called a white out. I arrive at the airport almost an hour later to pick up the rabbi. The snow is coming down even harder and we both debate going to the hotel or going to the border. At the first exit from the airport to get to the highway, my Kia (not known for driving in snow) drifts (I am uncertain of the verb to use here since I was driving about 5 miles an hour) into a snow bank. The rabbi rides a bicycle in Boston and I have never and I mean NEVER driven in snow, so the snow bank shouldn't be too much of a shock. I decide to make this a delightful experience as I have no control over it, and pull out my AAA card and credit card. Many funny stories and failed attempts to push the car out of deep mud later, a Mel Gibson look alike "wench driver" (I learned so many new words on this adventure) pulled the Kia out and we were on our way to the border again — at 5 miles an hour. While I drove, I asked the rabbi to file the accident report with my Platinum American Express Card since as a member, the bumper damage to the Kia would be covered without me having to pay a dime. The privilege here is almost deafening.
The snow lifted as we got closer to the border. I pulled in to a toll booth around 2am and was asked to proceed ahead to the building on the left. As we got out of our mud covered Kia an officer opened the door with at least eight others lined up behind a counter. The officer began asking questions, and I responded by asking him if I could use the restroom first. He smiled and gave me directions and upon my return he had joined the other officers and my new friend was inside at the counter. I pointed to the door handle to request permission to enter (there was a big sign that said staff only) and was waived inside. The officers seemed to ask very few questions of us. Eventually, I was able to understand that they were speaking loudly and slowly to explain that I was already inside Canada. My friend couldn't walk across the border to meet up with the other friend and I didn't need to turn around and go back to Buffalo - we were already inside of Canada. I stated that I didn't have my passport and never had my identification asked for or checked. I was told that I might have a hard time getting back into the US so I "mineaswell stay in Canada, eh?" Really? Baffled, we drove to the duty free shop, got directions to our friend's house, dismissed the shuttle driving friend on the Canadian side, and got to the house around 4:30am.
Two hours later, we awoke to first time grandparents (all four of them), friends, and community members with loads of gifts and food to celebrate the birth. There was so much love, tradition, and joy in the room, I barely even noticed how exhausted I was. As the ceremony came to a close, I poured myself into the Kia preparing myself for what would have to be a really difficult US re-entry. The agreed plan to get back into the US, without my passport (although it had by now arrived at my hotel in Buffalo) was to blame the "incompetent Canadian border patrol officers." My GPS pointed me in the direction of the Peace Bridge full of hope that I would see Niagara Falls before possibly going to jail. I missed the falls somehow, and found myself at another border patrol booth. The border officer asked me where I live. I responded, "I live in California and might have a zinger of a story that tops off the rest of your work week. I am prepared for this to be challenging." He said, "Go ahead with your story." I began, "I'm a professional speaker and I have a contract tonight in Buffalo, I picked up a Rabbi at the airport last night..." The officer asked me if this was a joke, laughed, and then waived me through. I arrived back at my Buffalo hotel in 30 minutes thanks to better weather. I was greeted by the hotel staff which promptly handed me my package containing my passport. A former student contacted me via facebook that she was going to attend my keynote, so I asked if she would mind driving. We had buffalo wings, I spoke to a full room, and was dropped off safely in another white out that night.
If I didn't take a moment to really see how being charming, upper class, white, wedding ring wearing, cisgendered, American, even google-able (this was my fallback plan — yes, I was going to ask a border guard to google me), etc., this story wouldn't have happened. It is my privilege that allows me to not really even know what would or could have happened to me. I find myself talking about how I was doing friends a favor. I am not dangerous. I am a good person. I am entitled to have things turn in my favor.
This brings me to the missionaries in Haiti that maybe charged with kidnapping. I understand that the missionaries really believe they were helping the Haitian orphans by smuggling them into the Dominican Republic for American adoption. They had, if not have, the best intentions for these children. They worked hard to get the proper arrangements to take these children to a better place. I can even argue that the American families looking to adopt the Haitian orphans would provide love, safety, and security, that the children may not have ever experienced in Haiti even before the earthquake. The missionaries, I would assume, didn't think they would get in trouble, arrests, or what now looks possible, tried in criminal courts. They are good. They are doing good. They are entitled to have things turn in their favor.
It was this story that pulled my own privilege and sense of entitlement into focus. I can stab, jab, or upper cut myself or I can sit with this truth. I expect things to turn in my favor. I can attack others and judge those less fortunate than me or I can dissect my own lash outs and uncover the roots of the need for validation. I expect my insecurities to be present as part of my authentic self. Weapons down, entitlement in firm grasp, and my authentic self in foreground focus — that's the real privilege.
Top 10 Issues I Get To Address While Holding A Microphone… That You Might Regret Asking Me
One of the scariest truths is that once I am given a microphone, I can and am often encouraged to "speak my truth with care." This section highlights some of my most passionate thoughts about some of the toughest questions I get asked. Enjoy.
Ah yes, the poor white straight guy. Usually the questioner here assumes straight (not to mention American, English speaking, able bodied, Christian/Protestant, etc.) but I add it here for emphasis. As a white woman, I understand the knee jerk reaction to point my finger to white men. What is exciting about how oppression works is that if I can focus on men being at fault, then I don’t have to acknowledge my complicity as a white person. Oppression is and isn’t a blameworthy element of our lives. Most white men (insert other dominant identities here) didn’t chose to be any of these identities, they were and are inherited and socially constructed realities. Sure these privileges come with a serious dose of responsibility as do my dominant identities and the privilege benefits that come along with them. It is interesting to me as campuses increase the number of Women’s Studies programs and courses that the term “feminist” still conjures up a white woman if not a white radical lesbian. How much progress are we making against patriarchy if a male feminist can’t ever be pictured? When I get asked about a “man feminist” I respond by asking, “What does a woman dentist look like.” Dentists still are male in our collective memory. Instead of fighting for sex or gender equality from our (as women) need to work from our dominant identities (be it cissgendered, or other categories entirely).
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Next call: March 8
February's call: Validation! Our conversation linked the motivation behind hazing to our own need to judge other people to validate our own standing as a social justice change agent. Perhaps, we agreed, we should take a moment to really notice who we abuse until we think they measure up to our own fragile self perception as someone who "gets it." It was really powerful and motivating — and no paddles were involved.
Join in for the next Go There! call March 8 at 12pm PST, 1pm MST, 2pm CST, and 3pm EST, as a jump start, renewal, or as part of your on-going self work towards authenticity.
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