the meanest i ever was

November 12, 2016

 

The meanest I’ve ever been.

there are two incidents that come to mind, and i think both of them are significant for me.

the first was when two older girls who lived up the street from my childhood home bullied a new neighbor who had moved in across the street. he was younger than them, younger than i was, and i stood there and watched, confused, paralyzed, as they made him feel unwelcome, unworthy, small. it makes my heart ache thinking about it now. i said nothing. i did nothing. and moments later, after the little boy had run home, and his mother stuck her head out of the window shaming us for making a little boy cry, my confusion and misunderstanding simply gave way to guilt. knowing that i had stood by while the girls were mean to this boy who had done nothing to deserve their maltreatment made me just as guilty as they were.

the other was when i was in sixth grade. there was a girl on my bus who seemed to thrive on making fun of people. she didn’t gossip, necessarily, she just seemed to talk about everybody else. she seemed mean. she seemed obnoxious, making so much noise all the time from the back of the short bus. before the days when i had a walkman, i had no way of drowning her out, of just ignoring her. and i would sit there, morning after morning, having to listen to her incessant, annoying comments. so one day i decided i would write a letter. now, i can’t tell you what all i said in the letter. i’m pretty sure i made comments about her mother not loving her because she was so fucking annoying. later, at school, we had to go to the principle’s office and once i saw the girl’s face, how deeply i had wounded her, i did not feel good. the principle, or whomever, conducted a mediation, and at the end of it we were supposed to feel reconciled, like everything had been smoothed over. i don’t remember if i felt that everything had been smoothed. and years later, looking back and thinking about the hurtful things people said to me (including my own mother), i regretted using words in that capacity. so that tops my list of the meanest i have ever been.

when i think about my experiences in elementary school, i remember being friends with both the bullied and the bullies, who didn’t seem to bully me the way they did others. i didn’t understand what it was about me that i seemed to get along with everyone without too much effort. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t appreciate the fact that i wasn’t one of the targets. i have had a hard time deciding on how i feel about someone when they haven’t done wrong to me. i reserve my judgment of them until i can feel them out for myself. but i think when i was younger, i didn’t really understand what it was like to be the butt of jokes. to be the person people made fun of because they were just a little too nerdy, dressed a little too differently, spoke a little oddly, or had some type of otherness that wasn’t cool enough for the trends of the time. if people make fun of me as an adult, i can brush aside their comments, but sometimes not without pause. and i can’t imagine having to be victimized in that way when i was even more sensitive, or during my adolescence when i had somehow internalized so much self-doubt and hatred that i didn’t need anyone else to make me feel worse, because i felt as bad as i thought i could.

as a white woman, i have one foot in each of the doors of privilege and oppressed. as a queer, white woman, i have a hand in another door as well. and with my ethnic background, being the second generation of half my family's american-born family, i have an arm in yet another. and i can name a number of other aspects of my identity that complicate my identity and understanding of myself as an individual. artist. formally educated. middle class. mental health professional and survivor. all these categories are signficant to me. they have all shaped me and influenced my understanding of myself. but as a true ally, i have to stand up for the rights of all people. equally. that’s feminism. or at least the brand i subscribe to.

with the understanding i have now, i suspect things weren’t so great at home for the girl on the bus who i wrote the scathing letter to. and i feel nauseous thinking about how that memory affected that little boy in his development. it makes me well up with tears. because i am so sorry that i hurt them. one very directly with the weapon of words, and the other through my inaction. i don’t ever want to repeat those mistakes.

so now, as all sides of the political arena fume and complain and yell and emote, i have to wonder how best to approach the situation.

i have no way of knowing what would have happened had i stood up for that little boy. and i wish i had the insight to speak privately to that girl on the bus, and ask her politely if she could just be a little more considerate of the other people who had to listen to her, and to talk about things that helped the rest of us feel included instead of scared to be the butt of her jokes. would she have just tried to make me feel stupid? would she have ignored me? i can hypothesize. but my approach to the situation made me just as guilty of the meanness i found to be the root of her fault.

people who degrade, who pick apart others based upon differences, in my experience, are upset. they’re finding some way to feel better about their own situation. what is that idea—that people who are hypercritical are just projecting their own insecurities? no one should feel unheard. worthless. invisible. disrespected. but then people who suffer from those same feelings perpetuate them in other people. the cycle of vicitimization continues.

and interrupting cycles is a difficult task. perturbing the systems requires vigilance and commitment.

this morning, a friend had posted a story on facebook about an encounter he’d had with a friend. it started off as him discussing how he is an ally. then went into having a conversation (with a woman) about mansplaining, and the woman got so fed up with how he was approaching it that she shut down and walked away. and he was upset because they couldn’t finish the conversation, upset because he felt misunderstood. upset because he perhaps felt his position was being excluded just because of the fact that he was a white, cis, hetero male. and he did recognize the irony of it all. i pointed out to him that what a lot of oppressed people want is simply to be listened to. heard. not engaged with. because the subordinate voices are the ones who need more space. even an ally, in situations involving discussion amongst the oppressed, needs to know when to just stop talking and take some time to listen. because the oppressed already know their side. we already understand that there are plenty of allies who want to help make things better for all of us. and there is a power in privilege that can be used for that good. but to me, his own ego regarding the value of his own voice, his own place in the conversation overshadowed his ability to just listen. and when his feelings were hurt because he didn’t feel he was being allowed to participate, he can use that as some inkling into what it’s like to have to be dismissed, ignored, degraded, and so on for one’s entire life. within the sense of frustration he experienced, there is some path deeper into empathy. and therefore understanding. and yes, there has to be room for engaging. there has to be debate. there has to be argumentation. but the key is in the approach. the context. in a room full of people discussing issues pertaining to oppression, it isn’t the dominant representative who should be taking up the floor. his comments should come after. because we do need to break that pattern. but even if he does speak up, even if he interrupts while other people are speaking. even if he is right about his voice mattering too, to begin to shift the paradigm toward a more inclusive dialogue, people in positions of power need to really essentially relinquish their power within the public arena. no one is saying that the white, cis, hetero male voice needs to be eliminated. well—not the true feminists anyhow. but if we’re going to work against systemic oppression, then even on the level of personal exchange, those men need to consciously make an effort to LISTEN more. the points made by the oppressed are not valid coming from the mouth of another white man. they are valid because they are the experiences of people who have historically been ignored, devalued, excluded, and marginalized.

everyone is angry. everyone is pissed off about something, because the state of affairs in our country is not, never has been, never will be perfect. people are entitled to their anger. it's not irrational. what people are not entitled to is using that anger in ways that perpetuate the same fucking issues, the same fucking patterns. because there are those of us who truly want to move forward, even if that means we have to adjust our way of living and thinking, and there are those of us too comfortable with how we perceive the world, even if it is realistic, to accept that we have to change too. and that old adage about looking within applies. we can’t change anyone’s mind. we can educate, when someone is open to learning. we can share, when someone is open to listening. but when someone is too caught up in their own ideas about how things are to hear another side, then there is no use trying to engage. and when two people have fundamentally different opinions on equality, on what it means to be an American, on what rights all people deserve, then how can a real conversation happen? i can’t count the number of times i have chosen not to try to engage because i see that it is useless. the other person is simply going to attempt to maintain their position. at best, agree to disagree. and i have no right to say, “this is how you must think. this is how you must see the situation, because i am right and you are wrong.” so then, i have to wonder, how we unite. how we find that common ground. it isn’t through voting. because the representatives chosen to represent us don’t. they still represent the majority. the conventions. the trends. i was thinking the other day about how gay marriage passed, but we still have issues with lgbt victimization. it was like everyone was so happy this passed and a lot of people just used it as another way to be like, “yay, our country is so awesome.” marci was talking about how one of her coworkers had no idea that there were women leaders of other countries. we just passed gay marriage while other places have had women presidents, universal healthcare, and paternity leave. it was like that victory distracted a bunch of people from still being critical. or reinforced for others the idea that the country is just on a steady slope into hell. and i have to laugh. i have to shake my head at the absurdity of it all. and i have to focus on my own actions, and the ways i do engage with others, and the times i can benefit from shutting my own mouth and just listening. because i recognize it isn’t just about me, but i also have no control over how others behave. only my portion of the conversation. my actions. my role. i have a hard time believing that violence solves anything. even though it gets results. it requires using the same methods of the oppressor. and i don’t think that’s natural. i think it’s conditioned. in the same way our soldiers are. in the same way so many men are. in the same way so many women are. i think we have to question the ways we’ve been taught to handle things. the ways we have learned how to cope, how to speak, how to interact. we are social creatures. our experiences, our understanding is all shaped by the relationships we have had throughout our lives. and we have to look for every opportunity to be heard, to educate, to share, to speak the fuck up while maintaining a level of compassion and understanding that i don’t think is possible if we get to the point of wanting to force people to hear us. we can’t force it. but we can teach by example. we can live the changes we want to see. we can use our consumerism wisely. we can exercise our freedom of speech respectfully. that is possible. that is something we can do on an individual level. and the more people who do that, the stronger the voices that for so long were left out of the national dialogue.