Years ago, I loved a boy. As with all stories that begin thusly, it is a very long tale. The long and short of it was he didn't love me. And I went through a few months of deep, bottomless despair during which I would often find myself lying prostrate on the floor of my room, wondering what the hell was happening to me. He's gone now, thank the universe.
But lately I have found myself stuck on the same emotional Mobius Strip I was on back when he was around. I lie awake in the moments before I fall asleep asking myself why my life is where it is, and if there is anything I could have done differently. The focus of my angst is not some guy, but my job, and its implications for my activist identity, and the person I am trying to be in the world. I tell my friends and my partner that one day out of the five days a week I am at work, I have a hoot laughing at some of the truly ridiculous things that happen when a group of people decide that they know how to best define activist conversation on a particular issue. The other four days, I just want to cry. I want to cry because I am actively participating in something that I feel will end up doing more harm than good. I am spending my days, 9 to 5, aiding and abetting acts of 'social change' I don't believe in. I am actively helping people who I believe are perpetuating the racist, sexist assumptions that got this country to where it is in the first place.
I want to cry because I am afraid of what this job is doing to my voice. One of my colleagues wrote a moving essay about how she has had her voice taken from her during the time she has spent at this place. I told her that I believed that even in our measured, carefully regulated silences (that are broken only on anonymous blogs and in private conversations) there is voice. Silence is resistance. I absolutely believed that when I said it to her a few days ago. But there are days like today, where I'm not so sure anymore. It took every ounce of strength I have to muster the courage to make a point (not a controversial or original one, mind you) in a staff seminar the other day. The minute I opened my mouth, I started shaking, and I was sure I would not be able to finish a single sentence, let alone a thought. But I did it. And, man, was it liberating! It hit me this morning that surely I should be able to speak without shaking, surely I should take for granted my freedom to interpret data and report it without fear that I am not towing a particular line? If I do not exercise my voice, in spite of the restrictions placed on it, where will it go? If you are in an environment where your voice is subsumed, and you can only ever use it on anonymous blogs, and in private conversations with your friends, or yourself, does it disappear? Are you guilty of not using it?
The only immediate answer available is to be silent in loud ways. I have decided that, no matter what it looks like on my CV, no matter how scary it is going to be to literally halve my salary as I am on the cusp of starting a life with my partner, I am going to leave my job at the end of next month. It's not the loudest of protest; in fact, it is tantamount to silence. But I expect that it is silence that will be loud enough to restore my voice.
Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
On white maleness
I have been away for a few weeks. It's a very long story - one which I am hesitant about telling - but it needs to be told. At the end of last year, I got a new job. Dear reader, this was a partly maginificent ego boost for me, but mostly, it was a veritable lifeline. Hitherto, all my work experience had been gained within the restrictive walls of the university world, and for the last part of that journey, I laboured under a fairly abusive boss. Add to that the terrible job market (forty plus job applications submitted, three rejections (not counting the people from whom you never hear back - where do unread CVs go to die, I wonder), only three call backs) and you can see why by December, I was quite near nervous exhaustion. The new job was an oasis in a desert of self-doubt, self-loathing and deep despair.
And so, with such promise, it began this year. Less oasis-like than I thought. There are several things making my work life difficult; some of which I remember claerly but cannot share for fear of reprisal if my anonymity were ever compromised, others that are minor irritations, exercises in the absurd that are easily laughed off. But then there are those which make my skin crawl, they are so dangerous and evil. The place where I work is a civil society organisation, aimed at addressing a key social issue facing South Africa's young, fledgling democracy. I work with many young people who come from working class and poor communities. I also work with many young people who come from middle class communities. We are all united by a need to change what we see happening in this country; we are all united by our love for this country, and this continent.
Here's what I object to. Over the last few weeks, I have noticed, and it has been confirmed in conversations with some colleagues, that there's a certain pecking order that permeates the life and the operations of the organisation. At the proverbial 'top' of the organisation (civil society does not like to admit its hierarchies are formal, hence the quotation marks), you have mostly middle class, and, yes, mostly white people. In the 'middle', and at the (regrettably) 'bottom', you have mostly working class, black people. Now, I hear you: I myself am middle class. But by virtue of my 'newness', and, my disillusion, I am not at the 'top'. I am (regrettably) one of the many 'not at the top' middle class people recruited by the top, because they 'need' our skills and our middle class educations. Here's the thing though. The people who I refer to as the 'top' are not evil, and overtly racist. They are not even subtly racist. I believe, with much respect, that they love their country, they see injustice, they are determined to act.
But here's where true colours show for me: what kind of action is needed? The 'top' believes in raising awareness: getting their constituents together, educating them about the problems they (constituents, mind you) are facing, and organising them into awareness-raising action, largely conceptualised by them (executed, of course, by the 'not at the top', and the 'middle' and 'bottom' folk). The results of this are constituents who are called in to meetings to be told of their problems, and of the solutions someone else has worked out for them. I attended an awareness-rasing meeting (in lieu of a planned action) where one of the constituents asked me to explain something she was painting on a placard to be used in the aforementioned planned action. Neither the placard, nor the action are her idea, neither involved any substantive input from her. So, what really are we doing? Going into communities that have been disempowered and victimised countless times over and doing...what exactly? Telling people what their problems are, and what has been decided for them? How is that any different from the disempowerment and victimisation experienced during Apartheid, experienced at the hands of the new administration?
Why is this happening, though? As I said earlier, I do not believe the intent of my bosses is malicious. But here's the thing about white maleness (and note, dear reader, I use white maleness here as a proxy for privilege - not everyone at the 'top' is white or male): it cannot be evaded, it cannot be shrugged off. In spaces where liberal, progressive, anti-racist white maleness takes up residence, it still operates from the assumption that it knows best. I watch it at work, telling people what they need to care about (in the midst of a myriad of social problems), and precisely how to care about it. It's why I got my job, even though there are many people in the organisation far more qualified to speak and research and write with authority about the problems facing their communities. White maleness, even when it is well-meaning, is still white maleness. It cannot recognise the value in world views that have not benefitted from the feeling of being central and normative all their lives. How can it? It has been central and normative for time immemorial.
I am not saying that because of white maleness, or, more broadly, privilege, the people at the 'top' and the countless other people like them cannot work in civil society, or make a difference in their country. What I am suggesting is that in order to do the work they want to do, the work that needs to be done, it is necessary for them - for me - to stare the ugliest parts of our privilege in the face every single moment. What are the things we take for granted in our engagements with people who are not privileged? What are we assuming about what they understand, and what they need 'help' with? How are we implicit in the constant - nay, daily disempowerment of people whose identities are not normative or centred?
If we go into change work thinking that we have these answers - or worse, not even asking these questions - we run the risk of not only reproducing the problems that brought us to this work, but of becoming a worse evil than that which we assume we are fighting against.
*Gratitude and love to a friend whose insight and bravery I have borrowed heavily from to write this post.
And so, with such promise, it began this year. Less oasis-like than I thought. There are several things making my work life difficult; some of which I remember claerly but cannot share for fear of reprisal if my anonymity were ever compromised, others that are minor irritations, exercises in the absurd that are easily laughed off. But then there are those which make my skin crawl, they are so dangerous and evil. The place where I work is a civil society organisation, aimed at addressing a key social issue facing South Africa's young, fledgling democracy. I work with many young people who come from working class and poor communities. I also work with many young people who come from middle class communities. We are all united by a need to change what we see happening in this country; we are all united by our love for this country, and this continent.
Here's what I object to. Over the last few weeks, I have noticed, and it has been confirmed in conversations with some colleagues, that there's a certain pecking order that permeates the life and the operations of the organisation. At the proverbial 'top' of the organisation (civil society does not like to admit its hierarchies are formal, hence the quotation marks), you have mostly middle class, and, yes, mostly white people. In the 'middle', and at the (regrettably) 'bottom', you have mostly working class, black people. Now, I hear you: I myself am middle class. But by virtue of my 'newness', and, my disillusion, I am not at the 'top'. I am (regrettably) one of the many 'not at the top' middle class people recruited by the top, because they 'need' our skills and our middle class educations. Here's the thing though. The people who I refer to as the 'top' are not evil, and overtly racist. They are not even subtly racist. I believe, with much respect, that they love their country, they see injustice, they are determined to act.
But here's where true colours show for me: what kind of action is needed? The 'top' believes in raising awareness: getting their constituents together, educating them about the problems they (constituents, mind you) are facing, and organising them into awareness-raising action, largely conceptualised by them (executed, of course, by the 'not at the top', and the 'middle' and 'bottom' folk). The results of this are constituents who are called in to meetings to be told of their problems, and of the solutions someone else has worked out for them. I attended an awareness-rasing meeting (in lieu of a planned action) where one of the constituents asked me to explain something she was painting on a placard to be used in the aforementioned planned action. Neither the placard, nor the action are her idea, neither involved any substantive input from her. So, what really are we doing? Going into communities that have been disempowered and victimised countless times over and doing...what exactly? Telling people what their problems are, and what has been decided for them? How is that any different from the disempowerment and victimisation experienced during Apartheid, experienced at the hands of the new administration?
Why is this happening, though? As I said earlier, I do not believe the intent of my bosses is malicious. But here's the thing about white maleness (and note, dear reader, I use white maleness here as a proxy for privilege - not everyone at the 'top' is white or male): it cannot be evaded, it cannot be shrugged off. In spaces where liberal, progressive, anti-racist white maleness takes up residence, it still operates from the assumption that it knows best. I watch it at work, telling people what they need to care about (in the midst of a myriad of social problems), and precisely how to care about it. It's why I got my job, even though there are many people in the organisation far more qualified to speak and research and write with authority about the problems facing their communities. White maleness, even when it is well-meaning, is still white maleness. It cannot recognise the value in world views that have not benefitted from the feeling of being central and normative all their lives. How can it? It has been central and normative for time immemorial.
I am not saying that because of white maleness, or, more broadly, privilege, the people at the 'top' and the countless other people like them cannot work in civil society, or make a difference in their country. What I am suggesting is that in order to do the work they want to do, the work that needs to be done, it is necessary for them - for me - to stare the ugliest parts of our privilege in the face every single moment. What are the things we take for granted in our engagements with people who are not privileged? What are we assuming about what they understand, and what they need 'help' with? How are we implicit in the constant - nay, daily disempowerment of people whose identities are not normative or centred?
If we go into change work thinking that we have these answers - or worse, not even asking these questions - we run the risk of not only reproducing the problems that brought us to this work, but of becoming a worse evil than that which we assume we are fighting against.
*Gratitude and love to a friend whose insight and bravery I have borrowed heavily from to write this post.
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