Privilege

The following story recently cropped up on my Facebook feed (see the full comic):

The Pencilsword: On a plate

I do appreciate the point that the comic makes, but there are two problems that I think are important (enough to compel me to blog about it).

Firstly, it's a work of art with an agenda to express and inspire a particular emotion/reaction. It has a clear protagonist, and focuses on detailing her life experience to the exclusion of the other life experiences in the story.  This isn't to say that the message is unimportant—but it's not the whole story. The 'antagonist' is, quite frankly, monstrous; his own humanity and feelings have been removed from him. The comic is highlighting a particular inequality between the two characters, but relies on equivocation/elision to do so. The situation it depicts does not objectively exist in the real world; there is no such thing as an antagonist, and there is no such thing as an uncomplicated or single-faceted human. Manufacturing one certainly strengthens the artist's argument, but it also strengthens a culture of comparison and disrespect for the Other. And, it's the kind of artificial tug-at-your-empathy story that feels morally right, and as such becomes cultural currency that informs how we feel it's appropriate to treat others.

Secondly, the comic's side-by-side comparative depiction goes against every anti-inequality fiber inside me, and upsets me on a fundamental level. The insinuation is that people's feelings matter in comparison to other people's feelings (or are irrelevant/unimportant by the same token). That some people's lives, troubles, triumphs, experiences, paths, and feelings are more precious and worthy than those of others. Why can't they matter in their own right, on their own merit? Why create antagonism and resentment? And why, for god's sake, are the antagonist's feelings and hard work illegitimate? (And don't make the mistake of believing the one-dimensional portrayal of his life as perfect and free of hardship.) It's nothing short of a fallacy.

Privilege is an ugly thing when it comes into focus. Nobody likes a privileged person if they flaunt that privilege gracelessly. But how often do we even realize how visible our privileges are to others?

White privilege. Thin privilege. Pretty privilege. Rich privilege. Gender privilege. Maternal privilege. Age privilege. Social privilege. Popular privilege. Academic privilege. Athletic privilege. Opportunity privilege. Language privilege. Emotional privilege. Peace privilege. Religious privilege. Connection privilege. Relationship privilege. Health privilege. Geographic privilege. Occupation privilege. Privileges we don't even think of as privileges unless we don't have them.

Nobody has a monopoly on privilege, or on hardship, or on virtue. There's not some limited reservoir of compassion, where it's necessary to divert the flow of compassion away from one person in order to receive a portion for yourself.  Compassion can only come by recognizing how very similar we are to each other, and how every struggle is real in its own right. Carving out victims and antagonists is destructive rather than productive.

Holding a person's privileges against them is akin to the thin-bashing that undermined Dove's Real Beauty movement, which manufactured its own curvy-love legitimacy by belittling skinny women as unattractive. Isn't this the nature of bullying? To gain your own sense of worth through diminishing someone else's? To measure something via comparison and establishing a hierarchy or spectrum?

The truth is, we all have some kind of privilege, and privilege by its very nature sits in our blind spot when we possess it. It's easy to see other people's privileges, and difficult to recognize our own, or its impact on our lives. We resent people who have certain things—things we want—"handed to them on a silver platter." But we don't acknowledge the things we ourselves have had handed to us, and these can take many forms (see my examples of privileges above, which excludes the ones I'm blind to myself). None of us is an island, and we are all who we are through the actions and help of other people: family, friends, strangers, predecessors, ancestors, passersby.

We all exist in our own bubbles of world-view and experience that begin to grow from the moment we're born. A lot goes into the bubble, and it informs the way we relate to the world outside for the rest of our lives. It's hard to see outside the bubble, and harder to see that other people have bubbles of their own—but they're there nonetheless. Like everyone else, I'm woefully inadequate in this respect. But human experience is one of few true passions in my life, and reading the world as if it were a textual artifact is the most important thing I gained from my brief years in academia.

What's the solution? You can change your own reactions, but you can't really change other people. It's demoralizing to cling to ideas of emotional equality when the world loves to pick sides. Ask yourself: what are my privileges? Those are the areas where you should be particularly compassionate towards others. Toward the people you resent: realize that they are human at the core, that they are just like you, that they have fears and troubles and dreams and triumphs, and that those are just as beautiful and mysterious as your own. Don't measure yourself against others; and don't measure others against yourself. Yes, recognize privilege and talk about how it affects others; but don't deny the humanity inside every person.

Dear Title

In my line of work, I get a lot of generic info-seeking emails from people around the globe. Most of them start off with the type of comical greeting that is likely perpetuated due to its not being worth the effort of correcting:

• Hello Dear
• Dear Sir
• Respected Doctor
• Most revered Professor

Salutations like these arise from the disconnect between different cultures, and carry about as much sincerity as your average "how are you." Given the choice, I forego titles altogether, though "Miss" will do in a pinch. But the one rampant appellation that bothers me is "Ms." I even hate the very sound of it, Mizz, like some lazy-tongued utterance that inevitably devours the following syllable like a frankenmoniker.

When I was growing up, "Ms" was reserved for matronly women like widows and divorcées. It was an almost pitiable label that spawned gossipy glances and hushed speculations. Although times have changed, it still seems to me to define a woman in terms of one specific prior relationship, and I would be happy to see the title diminish into the past along with the assumptions and values it represents. These days, it seems to be applied indiscriminately to any woman whose marital status is uncertain.

Sure, courtesy is admirable, and objective titles like "Dr" are another matter entirely. But in today's world where gender no longer defines worth, it seems to me that titles like Mr, Mrs, Miss, and Ms have no place. I would argue that there's much more value in stripping language of this kind of superfluity that has nothing productive to offer, in removing the rigid constructs that create division.

Titles tied to gender and relationships serve only to call attention to non-issues, and bring those non-issues into areas of life—like workplaces—where they have no place. They promote particular treatment of a person, affect interactions, and (intentionally or otherwise) establish hierarchies.

Book vs. Movie: The Eternal Struggle

This is something I've touched on before, but I wanted to devote a bit more time to rounding out my thoughts on media elitism. It also lets me foray into non-issues unrelated to relationship status, which is something I had intended for this blog right from the start.

The other day I met a book-loving friend for coffee, and conversation turned to what we were currently reading. I spent many years following my graduate degree in an anti-reading stupor, largely fueled by my graduate work on the multimedia experiences that I strongly feel constitute a modern sense of "reading." It's all about the way we consume stories and culture, after all, and the frustrating focus on beating dead books served only to alienate me from the medium. But I've recently rekindled (heh heh) my reading through the acquisition of an eReader, and happened to have cracked open The Road the morning of our coffee meeting.

"I saw the movie... I'm not so sure about the book yet," I began.

"Oh, the book is way better. The movie was pretty bad."

"Huh," I replied. "I consider movies and books to be separate textual experiences, separate textual artifacts. I really liked the movie." It was my polite way of saying that I discounted his opinion.

"Oh, well put,"—trying to recover his credibility here—"I think I just don't get film."

But the conversation continued to other "failed" movie adaptations of books. I listened as he expounded on how specific adaptations were not well done, all related in a tone of complete objectivity. I didn't bother to argue; in fact, I didn't bother to say anything, just let him ramble on while I tried to keep most of the smirk out of my smile. Yes. You do not "get" film. Your mistake is in trying to do so.

On the one hand, this is the type of unattractive attitude that reinforces my single lifestyle—but that's not what this is about. This is about that frustratingly nonsensical spectrum of enjoyability that people place things upon. The need to compare, to create a hierarchy, to weigh apples and oranges against each other and determine which is better. It is all pure illogic; that is the only objectivity that can be determined.

I love film as a medium because it plays on many senses to tell a story. A good soundtrack can manipulate my emotions like nothing else, to name just one aspect. And it does all this in a convenient allotment of time. Seeing a movie in the theatre adds the fantastic dimension of being part of a collective readership, a shared experience. What's not to love?

Let's take an example that my book-loving friend might understand. Say there's a book written in another language, and translated to English. A literal translation is not going to be enjoyable; the story has to be retold using different language conventions. In this example, we're only translating from words to other words. What can you possibly expect for a translation from written page to silver screen?

I'm not saying that movies are better, or that books are less multidimensional. I'm saying it's not a matter for comparison, and each should be considered on its own merit.

Creating Inequality

One of the things that bothers me most about single life is how accommodating you are expected to be. People don't seem to think your time is worth as much as theirs; they think that they can throw you a pittance of their time when and if they feel like it, and you should be grateful.

And you are. You're so starved for quality contact that you start to give less respect to your own time as well. You value your enjoyable moments with good friends so much that you gather the tiniest scraps of them eagerly. You keep your schedule open like a doctor on call, ready to drop your own solitary activities the moment someone can spare you a moment.

And it's not just time. You get shuffled around on flights so that couples who didn't bother to check in until the last minute can sit together. You fit yourself awkwardly at the corner of the pub table because you aren't attached to someone specific. You're served much more solemnly by waiters who cheerfully make nearby groups' experiences more enjoyable. And frustratingly, people handle you with patronizing protectiveness in a tacit assumption that you can't take care of yourself.

You feel obliged to defer to everyone around you: couples, seniors, single mothers, children. Unless you're career-driven, you probably defer to anyone you interpret as being professionally above you.

But at some point (after years of this treatment and observation of human nature), you realize that treatment is largely a matter of image. You can command more respect than society deems appropriate for your class. The catch is that you have to give up a piece of your identity to do so, but identity is evolutionary and fluid—and the happy truth is that you can stick up for your lifestyle these days.

What's an Age Worth?

My first long-term job was on the front desk of an administrative office. It was a stepping-stone kind of job, which in a perfect world I would have moved up from almost immediately. It was a good place and I didn't want more than part-time work, as I was in the middle of working on my master's degree and simultaneously trying to knock off exams for my composition ARCT.

One day the watercooler conversation turned its attention on me, and the accounting assistant learned for the first time that I was in graduate school.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were in university," she said with a superior laugh. "I was thinking high school, maybe." I knew exactly what the comment implied: I've always been on the gangly side of willowy, small-chested, deferential, quick to smile, eager to complete directives, and sporting a kind of aged-emo style. In our largely big-boned office, I was like the runt of the litter.

But I'm in the camp that wants my years in this world respected.

People seem to think they are paying you a compliment by grossly underestimating your age. The implication is that you lack life experience, that you don't have adult responsibilities or worries, that you're not independent or successful by their measure. Look a little closer. Take a look at my eyes and you'll see a world of aged pain and wisdom. Really look at my smile, and you'll see how it has etched my skin. Look at my work, and you'll see years of higher education and adult common sense.

If you really want to compliment someone, think about what you actually mean. What is it about the person that looks youthful? Pick a feature—maybe it's their smile, or the sparkle in their eyes, or (and you're walking on eggshells) their physical build—and if you still feel the need to verbalize your thoughts, try to spin it in a non-offensive way.

Lifer

Only one hairdresser ever inspired the loyalty in me to return time after time for over five years. She was a single mother of a teenaged son, a multitalented artist, and a downright beautiful and genuine human.

During one appointment, we chatted about Las Vegas, as I was looking forward to my first Vegas trip. She told me I would have a blast. "There's nothing as fun as girlfriends," she said. I didn't mention that I was traveling alone and meeting up with some people I had never met before. "One of my girlfriends is a lifer, like me," she said. "We went to Vegas and joked that we should get married. I really think platonic marriage should be a thing."

Not being very well informed on her personal life, I had to turn her words over in my mind long after I had left the salon. I was stuck on the word "lifer"—what did it mean? What former circumstances would have prompted this attitude?

Her idea of platonic marriage also intrigued me. It shouldn't be a foreign idea, but it is. You don't realize how hyper-sexualized the world is until you spend time as a single. Everything seems to be focused on romantic relationships and families: advertising, media, social activities, conversations, tv and music and art. Anything that doesn't elevate romance is only the more conspicuous for the steadfast avoidance, and comes across as the resentful thought-child of some spurned being. As a single, you feel out of place, unnatural, terribly visible, like a bright red actor in a black and white film. All this fixation on relationships and romance creates an issue in your life, where a nonissue once stood.

Maybe that's one facet of what some of us singles are—spurned beings. But if so, it's a small facet. To think that a person's life experiences doesn't make them evolve to be larger than any label or category is a rookie mistake. Experience and time will teach you otherwise. More and more, I'm getting to understand what being a 'lifer' means to me, and how it is isn't an oppressive label. Rather, it's an open door of life opportunities, and emotional and physical freedom, and optimism.

Last year, she went on sick leave and never returned. I haven't found a stylist since then who can measure up, and more importantly haven't found one with such genuine wisdom.

Elitist Garbage

My childhood best friend lived on a farm a couple miles down the road from mine. We were born during the same summer, and were friends through thick and thin right up through highschool graduation, after which we largely went our own ways in the world.

She was also good friends with a slightly younger girl even further down the road, on a farm with a few horses. They would occasionally go horseback riding together.

One year she kept a horse as well; I can't recall who it belonged to, but it was a fairly short venture. They went riding more often, and I—knowing that there must be an extra horse now that my friend had her own—asked if I could come along some time.

"You don't have a horse," she said.

Young Me was confused and hurt. We were all in the same general social circle, so the awkwardness of overlapping friend groups didn't seem to be an issue. A long-germinating seed of resentment was planted in me—not toward any person, but toward the very idea of elitism that causes some people to be excluded. The Horse Incident was just one instance in a long childhood full of brushes with exclusivity.

With the optimism of the terminally bullied, I was sure that the adult world was a place where I could find belonging. Children are ignorantly cruel, but surely that behavior wouldn't follow me past the school that spawned it.

Surprisingly, the seed has taken well over a decade to bloom into a useful fruit. The adult world has its own guidelines by which The Other is excluded. It's tough to break into any circle, even as an adult. And don't let the image fool you: circles do indeed have a hierarchy, and someone is usually only loosely attached and easily overlooked. Even the most welcoming of communities will unknowingly make somebody feel unwanted, uncomfortable, and reluctant to return.

But when you can overcome your own anxieties and accumulation of bad experiences, and actually break into a new community—well, that's one of life's triumphs. Just keep an eye toward the periphery; and if you recognize yourself in anyone lingering there, be a champion and welcome them in.