Book Review: Disloyal to Feminism
Disloyal to Feminism: Confronting the Abusive Power and Control within the Domestic Violence Industry by Emi Koyama
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
There is not very much literature on the dynamics of the domestic violence shelter system; or, as Emi Koyama puts it, the “domestic violence industrial complex.” Since the domestic violence (or “battered women’s”) movement has it’s roots in second-wave feminism back in the 1970′s, it should come as no surprise to those knowledgeable about the evolution of feminism in the United States that the early movement was not particularly interested in being inclusive of survivors of color, those in same-sex relationships, or survivors that did not identify as women. Fortunately, feminism itself has evolved quite a bit in the last thirty years, and intersectionality is a huge component of third-wave feminism. The domestic violence shelters have not exactly followed suit.
Koyama points out that many shelters operate similar to prisons; there are strict and oftentimes arbitrary rules on where you can go, when and where you can eat, and who you are allowed to talk to. The isolationist aspect of the shelters can be especially hard on survivors who are close with their community. (Not every “battered woman” is a [white] housewife from the suburbs, after all.) Koyama also shows that shelter staff can be especially judgmental of survivors that have been deemed “difficult” – queer folks (including trans survivors), sex workers, non-English speakers and/or immigrants, and those who use drugs or alcohol.
Book Review: Epileptic
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
I picked up this book purely for the title: Epileptic. As someone with epilepsy, diagnosed in my teens, I thought it would be interesting to read someone’s story about their experiences with it, as literature featuring epilepsy is hard to find. I was surprised to find out that the author did not have epilepsy, but it was in fact his brother.
My mixed feelings about this book are directly related to my own feelings as someone with epilepsy. The author’s brother is depicted as the eye of the storm that is the family. Everything they do is related to curing his disorder, and they really do try every quack idea I’ve ever heard of. Many times, Jean-Christophe is drawn as a monster that attacks the author in some way (either literally or metaphorically.) What the author truly lacks is compassion for his brother, especially as an adult. The feelings he has as a child are both realistic and understandable, but you can feel his rage and bitterness toward his brother as both of them grow older. Even as an adult he seems unable to produce any empathy for his brother, rejecting him when he attempts to get close (Jean-Christophe coming into the author’s room to watch him work) but then expressing anger, disappointment and confusion when his brother then turns to other avenues to forge connections, such as political ideologies and religion.
Near the end of the book, when the author is feeling particularly low, he claims that “I’m not sick but I’m almost as bad off as you are.” (319) Even as an adult, the author does not have the self-awareness to either recognize the ridiculousness of that statement, or at least adding a caveat to explain that yes, he feels terrible, but he realizes that no, he is not as bad off as his brother. Because feeling bad about how your sibling’s epilepsy affects you is not as bad as actually living with the epilepsy, complete with the knowledge that yes, you know that your family doesn’t like you very much for it.
I was able to empathize not with the author, but with his brother. During my teens and early twenties, I saw a lot of myself in that character; I was withdrawn, at times given to explosive rage; depressed; desperately seeking connections; and convinced that my family saw me as a burden (because they did.) It’s clear that the author sees his brother’s epilepsy as something he (the author) needs to somehow overcome, as if it’s an obstacle course. As if his brother’s disorder is holding the author back, and that breeds a lot of resentment. How does it feel to know that one is a burden because of something that one cannot control? We, the audience, never know that. The author never attempts to see things from his brother’s point of view, because he is too wrapped up in convincing himself that his brother has ruined his life. I understand the stress that caregivers and family members of those with chronic disorders feel, but those with at least a smidgen of self-awareness know that going on an extended pity-party only makes things worse.
Epileptic is an honest, realistic portrayal of one man’s experiences growing up with an epileptic brother in Europe during the mid-sixties. Epileptic is also an honest, realistic portral of a boy who has grown into a selfish, tunnel-visioned, resentful man with an adult epileptic brother that he shows no compassion for. Navel gazing at it’s very finest.
Learning while Privileged
Learning about oppression while being one of the privileged isn’t easy. It’s not easy to understand racism when one is white, or sexism when one is male, classism when one is wealthy, or ableism when one is able-bodied. Throughout the learning process, the privileged are usually the ones who make themselves look like jackasses.
“But why can’t I use the n-word? Black people use it all the time!!”
“Poor people need to take personal responsibility for their financial situation. Do you know how many poor people I’ve seen driving nice cars? They’re only poor because they have terrible money management skills!”
“You know, there are biological difference between men and women. See, there’s this scientific study that proves that men are smarter than women in no less than 12 ways…”
Hetero folks have trouble understanding homophobia, cis people are confused about transphobia, and thin people don’t have a firm grasp on fatphobia. One does not have to be a wealthy, white, straight, cis, Christian male in order to be privileged in this society. Men of color have male privilege, while white women have white privilege. Someone who is disabled and wealthy has class privilege. The fact is, everybody has some form of privilege that they are benefiting from.
Though privilege is a huge social benefit, in many ways it’s like a blinder. From the time you were born, there is a section of reality that does not exist to you. It’s not that you dislike this part of reality, or that you’re deliberately ignoring it, but rather you are completely unaware of it’s very existence. When reality does push it’s way into your vision, it’s not done with a cookie and pat on the head, but a kick in the gut and cold water in the face. It’s shocking, and who reacts to shocking events very well? Mostly no one.
I’m not trying to imply that all jackasses are simply in the learning stages of their future epiphany. But I know that when I was making those baby steps, I stuck my foot in my mouth more than a few times. Let’s face it – I was confused. I knew, intellectually, that things were wrong. I knew that racism was a real thing. But, being white, I had never experienced it. Sexism I was able to get down just fine, since I was raised female. I had little trouble with classism, either, since I was raised poor. But racism was harder for me to grasp, because I was never able to sift back through my own memories and declare “Yes! I understand that theory because I’ve experienced it!”
Privileged folks can’t get away from their privilege. It’s like a dirty window in your mind – everything you look at it just ever so slightly distorted because of the smudges. It’s hard for people with white privilege to understand that racism isn’t just about being called racial slurs or maybe not getting a job because of your skin color. It’s systemic, it’s institutional, and the 14th Amendment and the Civil Rights Act did not fix it.
But this post isn’t about slamming those with privilege. I’m writing this to give those with privilege a guideline for how to go about educating themselves. Because you will have to do this yourself; school, whether primary or college, will only take you so far, and the non-privileged were not put on this planet in order to teach you. So if you want to learn, you have to be proactive and do it yourself.
What’s been most effective for me is reading. I read books, I read blogs and I read news articles. It’s important to pay attention to the subject (obviously) but it’s just as important to pay attention to the author. Is the person writing about disability a disabled person? Is the person writing about queer issues a member of the queer community? I’m not saying that one needs to part of a community in order to have an opinion, or even to be considered knowledgeable on the subject, but if you’re trying to further your own education, stick to pieces that are written by members of the subject community.
A good example of this is Tim Wise. I’ve only read one of his books – White Like Me – , and it was years ago, but I found it very useful. It didn’t teach me anything about the experiences of racial oppression, but it did teach me about white privilege. So I appreciate Wise for writing a book like that. Unfortunately, Wise has turned into a sort of racial expert. He’s written several books so far, and at least one is about President Obama. He’s invited – and paid – to speak about race all over the country. And why? Well, he’s a good speaker. He’s also white, and we’re all conditioned to automatically see white persons as experts. Wise has risen very far as an “anti-racist expert,” and made good money on it, too. But Wise has the same privilege blinders that every other white person has, and though he may be more self-aware than some white people, his whiteness makes his “expert opinion” very, very limited. In fact, a casual search will turn up a lot of criticism of Wise, and most of it is caused by his “expert” status.
I find that the internet is a good first step. You don’t have to read a whole book, and sometimes you can even interact with the material by leaving comments. These are some of the better blogs that I regularly follow:
Racialicious: Excellent blog that primarily deals with issues of race, but those issues frequently intersect with gender, class and other spheres. It’s staffed completely by people of color, and they manage to knock out two or three posts every day.
Womanist Musings: I’ve been really glad that I discovered this blog. The author, Renee Martin, identifies as a Womanist and is not afraid to openly criticize feminism. She talks about race, gender, parenting and disability issues. She frequently has guest bloggers, who tend to focus on trans issues, sexuality and class.
Colorlines: This is more like an online magazine. They publish almost a dozen articles every day, and some of them are pretty short. Their focus is on race, immigration, the criminal justice system, and current events.
Muslimah Media Watch: Considering all of misinformation floating around about Islam, this site has proven valuable to me time and again. The authors focus on issues affecting Muslim women, and frequently discuss stereotypes that harm Muslim women (such as the “controversy” over headscarves and face veils) and cover stories both nationally and internationally.
Native Appropriations: The focus is on issues that affect Native Americans, and the author spends a lot of time discussing how Native culture has been appropriated in the larger culture.
Crunk Feminist Collective: A collective of black women feminists. They write about race, gender, and pop culture.
Trans Griot: Author Monica Roberts is a black transwoman who fills the gap that exists in the media by shining the spotlight on trans-people of color. She frequently highlights news stories about issues pertinent to transfolks, and manages to knock out three or four posts every day.
Tits and Sass: A blog by and about those in the sex industry. Sex workers are another population that are frequently misrepresented, used as political pawns or just simply ignored. This website is useful, because it talks about issues about the sex industry from the perspectives of the workers.
This is barely entering the fathomless maw of the collective internet, but it’s a good start. All of these blogs post regularly, and have active comment sections. And that’s another thing – the comment sections on these websites can either be your saving grace or your path to hell. I would recommend not commenting for a while. Just read the articles and let everything slowly digest. Don’t charge in there your first day and start demanding all these explanations, because that’s just going to get you a flip of the old bird from the author. This is about self-education, and consuming information that is already made public is the best way to educate yourself.
One last thing to remember – though privileged folks have blinders, those who are without privilege do not necessarily have all the answers. Be careful not to create your own magical negro situation. People of color, women, the poor, queer folk, the disabled…these people are not magical. They don’t have all the answers. If fact, some of them are assholes. It’s important to utilize all of the critical thinking skills you’ve learned over the years, and think for yourself. But, at the same time, keep an open mind, and recognize that your point of view is just that – yours. It’s not universal, and it never will be.
TransEnough
I came out as a lesbian in 2009. Not to the public, just to myself. And when I admitted that to myself, that my sexual desire for women was real, and the desire I felt for men had always been a bit forced, I felt a huge burden lift from me. I felt no shame or anxiety; it was like the feeling you get when you procrastinate doing your laundry for a couple of weeks, and then you finally do it, and you have clean underwear, and isn’t that just the best? I was finally wearing clean clothes (to stretch the metaphor) and I couldn’t be happier.
Now, I want to stress that I felt very little internalized shame over my orientation. The few family members I came out to didn’t share my pride, and that did bother me, but I never felt there was anything wrong or dirty about me or my desires.
…That is, until this whole transgender beast started hanging around. I was doing perfectly fine in Lesbo Land, drinking coffee and reading Beyond the Pale and Patience and Sarah (have you seen my reading list?) I went to a Pride parade, and bought one of those necklaces with the two female signs together. I started thinking about “lesbian feminism.”
One day, I was strolling through Lesbo Land when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I would turn my head, but by the time I looked, it would be gone. This went on for months. The little devil was always popping up whenever I least expected it; getting dressed in the morning, going to sleep at night, walking around campus and thinking “I’m a lesbian!” That’s when the beast would appear, and start whispering. It whispered in my ear, and I bought a whole bunch of t-shirts and buried my blouses in the back of my closet. It whispered again, and I stuffed all of my skirts and “girl-pants” in a bag and sent them off to Goodwill. More whispering, and off I went to Great Clips, where after a bit of perusing in a book of men’s hairstyles, I decided on a low fade, with much encouragement from the very kind hairstylist.
Lets take a step back. I’ve always struggled with clothes. As a teenager, I knew what I was supposed to wear, I just never wanted to wear it. I felt awkward and self-conscious in clothes that didn’t feel natural, but the pressure I received from my family insured that I wouldn’t be running around in jeans and t-shirts. To be clear, at that age I never felt unsure about my gender, I just found it profoundly unfair that I wasn’t allowed to perform it the way I wanted to. I went through phases where I would get myself worked up about makeup, or styling my hair, and I was able to jump off that for maybe a week, but I always sizzled down really fast and got bored. So I would stop wearing makeup, and I would tie my hair back with a scrunchie and nothing else. The harping from my friends and family for being “unkempt” and “lazy” soon followed, and the cycle would begin anew.
Flash forward about eight years, and I find myself with a dilemma. I’ve pared down my closet to two pairs of pants and an assortment of maybe six or seven t-shirts. Both pairs of pants are women-style cargo pants and thinner than paper. One day, a huge tear develops in the ass of one of the pants; I try and fix it, and the material keeps ripping through my stitches (why would someone make pants using this kind of material?) I’m reduced to wearing the same pair of pants everyday, which only reach about mid-calf, and it’s the dead of winter. I’m freezing my ass off in my stupid short thin pants, and I need to make a decision: where do I buy new pants?
See, I’m fat. So when it comes to women’s clothes, the vast majority of it is hyper-feminine. Pants, especially, tend to be more form-fitting and “styled,” eg, flare, boot cut, wide leg, etc. They also have smaller pockets, which has always annoyed the hell out of me. So was I going to go to my local plus-size women’s retail shop and buy pants, or was I going to do what I secretly wanted to do but was terrified of: go to a big and tall store/website and buy men’s pants?
To answer the question you never asked, I ended up going to a big and tall men’s retail website and bought several pairs of pants. Which all ended up about three sizes too small and about seven inches too long. After a second round, I received pants that all fit and were only about an inch or so too long, which I could deal with. I put them on and I just felt so…good. I put my hands in the pockets and marveled at how deep they were.
And then? I realized I had come to the point of no return. Here I was with my men’s clothes, and my men’s haircut, and my men’s wallet and my men’s watch…and I could finally see the beast. It was standing right in front of me and holy shit the beast was a man. The man inside me, so to speak. The man that had cunningly shaped my actions over the past months until I was standing in my bedroom and looking down at my chest and thinking “wouldn’t it be nice if those weren’t there?”
He’s a cunning little bastard, I’ll give him that. He knew just what to say to make me come around, and he knew exactly what I wouldn’t be able to resist. I have lived for over 20 years with hair that extended below my waist because everyone always told me my hair was my best feature. Now, I don’t think I could be paid enough to grow out my hair. The thought of wearing women’s clothing just makes me feel sad, while the thought of rocking a men’s suit gives me nervous-happy butterflies in my stomach. I fantasize about being perceived as a man in public, and referred to as “sir.”
So I surrendered. I waved a white flag, and invited the beast into my home. He promptly set up shop; there’s no getting him out now. But when he moved in, he also brought all of his baggage, including (but not limited to) Shame, Fear, Disgust, Confusion, and an oldie but a goodie – Internalized Hatred. Transitioning from straight to lesbian felt like finally getting to eat strawberry-rhubarb pie after a lifetime of eating apple pie; cause apple pie is okay I guess, but strawberry-rhubarb pie is awesome, and fuck apple pie it was never that good anyway. But transitioning from cis to trans is more like…well, it’s like admitting that after a lifetime of being a woman, maybe I’m not. It feels like a big embarrassing failure.
Should I get surgery? Testosterone? What should I do about my boobs? Do I pee standing up? Should I use men’s restrooms? Change my name? Try and deepen my voice? Was I being trans…enough?
And thus I come to the point for why I wrote this blog post in the first place. There is a YouTube community called TransEnough. There is no one user page or anything; it’s just random people posting videos with the title “transenough…” I learned about it through my school’s Queer Resource Center, and watching those videos filled me with peace. Yes, I know that sounds really melodramatic, but listening to person after person talk about their own insecurities and pressures around feeling trans enough validated every single one of my fears. I watched about fifteen or so videos, and I finally started to feel secure in my identity. Maybe I don’t have to bind my breasts, or get injected with hormones. Or maybe someday, if I’m ready, I can.
I embrace the identity label of transgender, while knowing that there are consequences to not conforming. It is unlikely that I will be labeled as “sir” while out in public. People will not address me with male pronouns unless/if I tell them to. Some might even be suspicious of my transgender label, and tell me I’m not trying hard enough to “pass.” Well, I failed pretty spectacularly at ladyhood, so lets see how dude country works out. When is that third gender coming out again?
Book Review: Wandering Son, Volume 2
So I finished volume 2 of the Wandering Son series. I’m really enjoying these books, and I can’t wait for the third volume to be released.
To get more of a background of the story, you can go ahead and read my review of Wandering Son, Vol. 1.
The first thing I noticed when I opened the book is that the first couple of pages, where we’re treated to full color spreads of the characters, along with character names and short bios, is that Shuichi and Yoshino are both drawn as their preferred gender. Shuichi has barrettes in her short hair, and is wearing a skirt. Yoshino is wearing slacks and a button up shirt and tie. The two characters are still referred to by their previous gender pronouns (Shuichi is referred to with male pronouns, and Yoshino is referred to with female.) However, I really do like that they are being presented as their preferred gender by their bios at the very beginning of the book. I think it demonstrates a willingness to trust these characters (who are only in the fifth grade, by the way) and to respect their transitional desires. This is why I’ve referred to both characters by their preferred gender pronouns, as a sign of respect for what they are going through.
The story begins with Shuichi and Maho (her older sister) receiving cash gifts from their grandmother. Shuichi promptly goes out and buys a long blonde wig. I like how supportive Saori and Yoshino are, posing with Shuichi while she wears the wig and taking pictures. An interesting subplot is Saori’s struggles with her spirituality, as she is attempting to convert to Christianity. She obviously is very supportive of both Shuichi and Yoshino, and often goes overboard in trying to show her support, like giving Shuichi a ton of her old clothes, and not quite understanding why Shuichi gives them back – the story makes it clear that Shuichi is just not ready to go that far, but Saori takes the blame on herself, and spends a lot of time moping around. However, an incident where Saori defends Shuichi from a truly obnoxious classmate brings the two characters closer, and we see that Saori truly cares about her friends, and has the best of intentions; she just gets a little overzealous in trying to communicate how much she cares.
A new character is introduced almost immediately. Yuki-san is an older woman (mid-20s, I’d guess) who befriends Yoshino and Shuichi while they are on the other side of town, passing as their preferred genders; Shuichi is even wearing her wig. From then on, Yuki-san becomes their “grown-up” friend, who they visit regularly. Eventually they meet her boyfriend, and in a pretty awesome twist, Yuki-san reveals that she is in fact transgender. There is even a full-page pinup of Yuki-san at her “coming of age ceremony” where she describes wanting to wear a kimono like all the other girls, but having to wear a suit and tie because she was a boy. More incredibly, Yuki-san’s boyfriend is completely open and accepting of this, and the two even crack a few jokes.
More people find out about Shuichi and Yoshino in this book, though not all in the same way. Maho, for instance, finds out about Shuichi preference for girls’ clothes, but initially treats it almost like a joke. You can see, though, throughout the story that Maho suspects something deeper, but doesn’t fully understand how much deeper it actually is. The people who find out about Shuichi tend to treat it as an “aw, how cute!” moment, including Maho and Saori’s mother. Though I’m glad they’re not being cruel or violent, they are a tad patronizing.
I don’t want to give too much more away. In conclusion, I really enjoyed all the developments in the book. This continues to be a very honest, but also very optimistic portrayal of two transgender adolescents. In Japan, there are already 11 volumes published, but only two so far have been translated to English and published in the U.S. According to Amazon, the third volume will be released in May. I hope to have discovered more transgender stories by then.
Book Review: Wandering Son, Volume 1
Wandering Son: Volume One is a graphic novel written and drawn by Shimura Takako, and published by Fantagraphic Books. The book is about two fifth graders, both who are exploring their respective gender identities. The Wandering Son series spans over 11 volumes (and counting) though only the first two volumes have been translated into English, with the third volume to be released soon (I couldn’t find an exact release date, though you can pre-order it on Amazon.)
First, this book is a manga. It was originally written in Japanese and then translated into English. So it reads right to left, and there are several Japanese honorifics used throughout the story. It was a little confusing at first, but it wasn’t too hard to figure it out as I read, and there’s a handy guide in the back to help you out.
So the story revolves around Nitori Shuichi and Takatsuki Yoshino. Since in Japan, the surname is pronounced before the first name, in the story the characters are referenced as Shuichi and Yoshino by family, or Nitori-kun and Takatsuki-san while in school.
This is a story about transgender youth. Shuichi is a transgirl who is still very secretive and confused about her gender identity. Within the first chapter, Shuichi dreams that she has long hair and is wearing a dress, laughing with her girlfriends. But she is exposed, her wig torn off, and she wakes up in terror. It’s heartbreaking, not only because of the longing that she has, but because she’s only in fifth grade, and she’s having to go through this basically alone, with not even the assistance of adulthood to help her through.
Shuichi quickly meets Yoshino in her class. Yoshino is a transboy, and a little more forceful about it than Shuichi, though he is still living as a girl, just as Shuichi is still living as a boy. Near the beginning of the book, Yoshino gives Shuichi a dress for Maho (Shuichi’s older sister) which sparks Shuichi’s dream about passing as a girl. Yoshino later reveals that he regularly dresses in boy’s clothes and takes the subway pretty far from his house, just so he can walk around and have people acknowledge him as a boy, an acknowledgment that he does not receive at home or at school.
The art is pretty minimal, with most of the emphasis on the people rather than backgrounds. It can sometimes be difficult to tell the characters apart, especially when there is no dialogue. But the story flows very nicely, often using black panels with only text to convey a dramatic moment. I feel that Shuichi is developed a little bit more than Yoshino, though this could only be because this is the first volume. There are many different things that are explored throughout this story, such as Yoshino going through puberty as a female-bodied person (hint: it’s about periods) and a supporting character’s spiritual journey as she explores Christianity.
Some of the most poignant parts in the story are demonstrations of the fear that Yoshino and Shuichi have of being “discovered.” Since they are able to share their secret with each other, there is a level of trust and openness that they have that you can tell is lacking when they interact individually with other people. But it’s when the two characters are shown alone, daydreaming or thinking, that their vulnerability and fear is put right there. A panel of Shuichi dreaming of a version of herself with long hair wearing a dress, or Yoshino gazing longingly at a men’s style jacket really encapsulates the pain and confusion that these characters are holding onto.
I don’t want to give too many plot points away. Suffice it to say, this book seems a sensitive but surprisingly realistic take on transgender youth. Being a huge comic and graphic novel fan, I’ve had problems finding stories about anyone on the queer spectrum. And no, Nightcrawler being gay does not make up for the dozens of other ways that The X-Men franchise fails to not be shitty. So I was pleasantly surprised to find this book. I’m going to start reading Volume Two, and waiting for baited breath for the rest of the volumes to be translated and released.
“The Magical Negro” – or – The Power of Privilege
Some of you may have heard about that whole debacle with Awkward Black Girl, where they threw out some transphobic, homophobic, and ableist words around in Episode 11. Racialicious actually has an excellent take-down of the whole thing here.
This whole incident really bothered me. I’m used to seeing problematic elements in my entertainment media, and I’ve learned to acknowledge them and move on. For example, I really like the show Eureka on SyFy. I just got into it recently, and I watched the full four seasons in a couple of weeks. But there are still problematic elements to the show. For example, a running theme since the beginning is for men to “fight” over women; Dr. Allison Blake had Dr. Nathan Stark and Jack Carter fighting over her for the first few seasons, and then later it was Dr. Trevor Grant and Carter for the first half of Season 4. During the present season, we also have Fargo and Dr. Isaac Parish fighting over Dr. Holly Marten (a guest spot played by Felicia Day.) It’s a sexist and very tired trope that treats the respective women as prizes for the male characters to “win.” And is anyone else bothered by the fact that Dr. Henry Deacon, being the only black man on the show, is always portrayed in overalls and works in a mechanics shop? Yes, he’s a brilliant scientist, just like everyone else in Eureka, but he’s also the only character that fixes everybody’s car and drives around in a tow truck.
I enjoy Eureka despite these problematic elements. Just like I love Fringe despite the fact that the main character, Olivia Dunham, a very strong female character, had a traumatic childhood (a common theme in creating strong female characters in dramas) and even experienced “The Mystical Pregnancy” trope.
But I digress. My point is that I love a lot of TV shows, and they all have their problematic elements, but I am able to recognize (not apologize for) them, and then move on and enjoy the show. But Awkward Black Girl was different. I think I had higher expectations of Awkward Black Girl, because it addressed a lot of issues having to do with race and gender, so I made an assumption that…well, I guess I just assumed that it would never make a mistake. Which certainly makes an ass out me, doesn’t it?
The fact that I set the bar higher for ABG says more about me than it does about the show. Did I think that because of the nature of the show, and it’s creation by two black women, that it would somehow be totally inclusive and not make any mistakes? I think I ended up digging my own hole, here. After watching ABG, and seeing it praised on various anti-racist or feminist blogs, I began to create my own Magical Negro out of Issa Rae and ABG. I think I saw the show as part of my path to anti-racist wisdom, or some shit like that.
I’m not trying to suggest that I, as a white person, should not enjoy ABG, or shouldn’t read or watch pieces by people of color about race. But I think I also let it go to my head – I saw myself as a white person watching ABG, thus doing a good deed (gross) and thus being able to claim the identity label of “anti-racist.” Instead of enjoying ABG for it’s entertainment value and social commentary, I started seeing it as something for me, or, as Renee from Womanist Musings would say, something created for the benefit of Whiteness (capitalized.) And that is me, not being able to let go of my own privilege.
I’m still going to watch ABG, because I think it’s still a really good show. But I don’t think I’m the only one who has set up this sort of dynamic between me (Whiteness) and people of color entertainers or writers, where I, as the privileged subject, expect – nay, demand! – wisdom from those with a “pure heart and folksy wisdom” (to quote the Magical Negro TV Tropes page.) This is not easy to write down, even in a blog in one of the far corners of the internet. It’s a lot easier to point out other people’s abuses of privilege and racism than it is to confront my own. It’s also a lot harder to confront my own racism now than it is to talk about some horrible racist joke I repeated as a teenager more than 10 years ago.
So in conclusion…well, I don’t really have much. I guess it just proves to me that there is a lot more to owning up to one’s own white privilege, and being truly anti-racist, than reading some Tim Wise and bell hooks and race blogs on the internet.
