A Responsibility of Privilege

There is a component to combating subtle or well-intentioned manifestations of prejudice--microaggressions--which doesn’t seem to come up in dialogue so often. Most of the conversations I’ve had about microaggressions--especially with my family, most of whom will never experience any kind of “ism” or microaggression stemming from it--end on a more sour note than I would appreciate, but it is these interactions that are crucial, in their way. Since microaggressions, as my brother points out, are micro, they are easier to dismiss as a sort of unfortunate but insignificant side effect of the bigger problems we should be spending our time on. Implicit in this analysis is the idea that dealing with microaggressions is the sole domain of the people at whom microaggressions are directed, and not really anyone else’s problem. But I would argue that it is the responsibility as well of allies and people whose identity is not questioned or misrepresented or misunderstood to stand up to even the small comments, the ones we think we can let slide.

Simply speaking, many microaggressions are not even addressed to the people whom they hurt and about whom they make assumptions. Many are spoken between members of privileged social groups, and if these people do not make an effort to call out prejudiced language when they hear it, they are quietly condoning the way of thinking for which microaggressions represent the tip of the iceberg. That in itself spawns more aggression, because if microaggressions aren’t challenged by anyone but the people they directly hurt, then the aggressor--even an unintentional and usually not bigoted one--may not be convinced that there is sufficient pushback to really examine their words and actions.

Privileged voices may be among the most powerful factors in swaying the behavior of other privileged people. And such activism, within circles of privilege, is critical for being more than a passive ally--being an accomplice instead, as Nakisha Lewis of New York City Black Lives Matter said at an assembly at my school recently (accomplices being more active and deeply invested than allies, who never put themselves on the line and have less of a stake in the struggle). To weed out bigotry, you must make the effort to extirpate wherever you can the attitudes that make life more difficult, restricted, and dangerous for people less privileged than you. Since privileged groups are the ones who commit microaggressions, by and large, it is up to the members of those groups to regulate their language and actions and be aware of others’, not only in direct interactions with people in a minority group but also in conversations in privileged spaces.

It can be hard to know what to say. It’s hard to criticize or call out or even gently nudge someone who has said something that you know is predicated on false assumptions, stereotypes, fear, or ignorance. There are times when I didn’t step in during situations when I could have--when I’ve overheard casual homophobia, for example, or when a girl I know described someone she knew as “ghetto.” Sometimes it’s just our own inertia or apathy standing in the way of speaking up; sometimes it’s other obstacles. It’s hard especially if you are not the person with the most authority or who stands to lose from pointing out their prejudice. For example, it’s harder to explain why my parents or my doctor or an adult has said something problematic than it is to do so with someone of my own age, in general.

But there are always conversations to have, always points to make, always awareness you can bring. When my mother mentioned to my doctor that I had been walking around Roxbury and Dorchester--largely working-class areas of greater Boston  inhabited by people of color--I cringed as she and the doctor expressed their incredulity and shock, laughed uncomfortably, and seemed to imply that I was either stupid or brave to have dared to walk in neighborhoods outside my privileged one. I didn’t know what to say to them, and I was deeply uncomfortable with the implications of their reactions. I could have said, “Wait, slow down. What are you implying? I think you’re operating on stereotypes and it’s not fair to the people who live in Roxbury and Dorchester to believe that I would be automatically be unsafe there…” or something to that effect. To not accuse, but to try to first understand what they really are saying and then guide the conversation towards less offensive territory.

Other times, I have tried to stand up. At a political event in Boston, one of my adult activist friends watched a woman walk by wearing both a hijab and niqab--only her eyes uncovered--and then said she was fine with the headscarf, but disapproved of Muslim women wearing the burqa or niqab. I took a breath and said that I supported any woman’s choice to wear what she wanted. I wasn’t sure my friend believed that wearing religious coverings was a choice--the all-Muslim-women-must-be-oppressed narrative--but she humphed and said, “Well, fine, but you wouldn’t catch me wearing one.” I said, “Well, no one’s asking you to.” It’s not her experience to ever live, so it’s not her place to criticize how others choose to live it.

The strange concept that other people’s choices with which we don’t agree somehow threaten us can be, often, the impetus behind prejudiced behavior. The corollary to that, of course, is that those of us whom society validates as correct and moral and superior may express that privilege--the privilege of being the default--as refusing to accept other backgrounds and ways of life, and feel that different lifestyles represent an attack on ours. It seems absurd, that my queerness could threaten your straightness, that women’s rights could subjugate men, or that someone’s religion could make you react defensively as if you were in danger of oppression. The irony, of course, is that people who are othered by the Western world and corporatist society are not the ones with the power to oppress those people who benefit from the status quo, yet some still fear its demise.

It’s hard to know if people with privilege calling out other people with privilege makes serious inroads into dismantling oppressive institutions. But we do know that if we aren’t willing to take up the mantle of activism everywhere we go, whether we are interacting with people of similar or different experiences, in places where we need to sit down and listen or places where we need to stand up and speak out--then it is akin to only cutting down a plant without trying to dig up the roots, which will keep producing new shoots of bigotry. Fighting racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, ableism, classism, etc. does not stop when you return to your privilege bubble. Indeed, it festers there deeply, perhaps with the veneer of progressive respectability, and it is there that it warrants a more concentrated attack than it usually receives. And that attack has to come from the privileged people. Because the microaggressions that look so small don’t affect them, they don’t feel they have to engage. But it’s not up to people who are victimized by prejudices to be the ones to call them out every single time. It must be part of the work of activists with privilege to identify and tackle bigotry--macroaggressive and microaggressive--in their own communities, relationships, and lives.