Why This White Woman Will March Today
I am not scared of Donald Trump on a personal level. Not really. I am a Canadian living in the US, and in my heart of hearts I know I can flee north to safer waters if things ever get too crazy. I am also white, middle class, married and old enough that if I did get pregnant, I would be excited and would want to carry the baby to term. Many of the freedoms he threatens to revoke will not truly touch my own life, which makes me a very privileged person indeed.
Of course he is a complete loose cannon, poised to wreak havoc on the entire planet in every conceivable way, so there is that.
Donald Trump represents the absolute worst of this country, the world at large, and also the legacy of patriarchy and white supremacy. These things depress and terrify me deeply. It is disheartening and incredibly scary that all the hatred, ignorance, bigotry, and complete absence of compassion in the hearts of so many have reached critical mass and pushed this monster into office.
Perhaps most alarming is the way racists and bigots of all stripes have been emboldened by one of their kind taking hold of the highest office in the world. That this shadow world now feels (more) entitled to wear their hatred with pride is truly bone-chilling, and we have most certainly not seen the end of the horrors that will be committed as a result.
It is for these reasons and many more than I will be joining in the Women’s March in San Francisco this afternoon.
Similar to the Black Lives Matter movement, my awareness of these issues hasn’t been as acute as it would be if I were born into less privilege. I’ve never been scared for my life during a routine traffic stop and haven’t faced daily hostility and degradation because of the colour of my skin or my religious orientation. I haven’t had to hide my love for my partner out of fear of violent retaliation. There are countless injustices I have been spared from, and my protection against these types of discrimination has also rendered them invisible to me in many ways.
The things that Trump represents have long been brewing in this country, and I have been protected from understanding the depth of these problems by my privilege, specifically my whiteness. I get that.
But I am here now. I am here now because I have been made aware of how bad it really is. Yes, that is a mark of privilege that only in the last few years I’ve become aware of how prevalent police discrimination and brutality still is. Another mark of privilege to only truly realize on November 8th, 2016 that basically 50% of the American population is either actively racist, or at least unconcerned enough with the sufferings of others to accept a racist President. I didn’t know it was this bad, and I am very aware it is a mark of privilege that I have been able to be blind to these truths for so long.
My own privilege is something I am acutely aware of. It would be very hard to be a feminist of any variety at this point and not be aware of one’s own privilege. That’s kind of the whole deal.
One of my friends who took charge of organizing our group of (mostly white) women participating in today’s march sent along an article, What Every White Woman Attending the Women’s March Needs to Know, as part of the invite.
Since I’m a white woman who plans on attending, I read it. Perhaps by virtue of choosing to read this article, or being friends with those who think the message is important, I am not the white woman that ShiShi Rose and the author speak of. Perhaps what is obvious to me is not obvious to many of the white women planning to attend, and this article intended to address that lack of awareness.
In any case, the article schooled me about where I, as a white feminist, fit into the movement, how guilty my kind has historically been of failing to incorporate the voices of the less privileged, and generally sent the message that my participation in this event, especially if this is my first time protesting, is suspect.
She reminds us that in 1913 “Black activist Ida B. Wells…was told by white feminist leaders to march in the back with the other Black women.” It’s disgusting to think about that happening, and it helps me understand the hesitation of many women of colour to identify as feminists, but surely I am not held in suspicion because of something some other white women did more than one hundred years ago?
Obviously that situation, and countless others like it, are really screwed up. Obviously. The legacy of that attitude has been a problem with mainstream feminism all along, and it needs to be addressed. I get that too.
But is being so dismissive of white women who intend to march today really fair? Scratch that. What is fair has never been the point where race is concerned, something I’ve benefited from immensely, I am all too aware.
My real question is “Is this productive?”
When we have a common enemy to be fighting, is it really productive to spend our time and energy pointing fingers at one another?
I do not expect women of colour to view me as some sort of saviour, or to be grateful for my presence at the march. At the same time, it’s rather discouraging to be made aware that my participation will be viewed with scorn, and that my motives for participating are automatically suspect by virtue of my skin colour. As though it’s finally gotten scary enough for privileged white girls like me, and that’s the only reason I’m here.
The patronizing nature of that belief, that simplistic and unfair view of me and my participation makes me want to stay home. I feel unwelcome by the very people I had hoped to stand beside.
I am not attending this event to make myself feel good. I am certain that will be a by-product, but that is not my intention in going. My intention is to stand up and be counted for. To say that everything Donald Trump represents is wrong. All of it. To say to those less privileged than I am, that I stand with them.
To say that not all white people are racist pieces of sh*t who want to deport Mexicans and persecute Muslims. To say that even if Trump is a hateful monster, that millions of us are not, and we want the world to know and to have faith that true equality will eventually prevail.
I am marching because Donald Trump is the antithesis of ALL the values I hold dear, and I can’t sit home and keep quiet about him becoming the leader of the ‘free world’. I know I am privileged that it’s taken me longer than some to realize how truly messed up this country is, but does that privilege render my participation less valid?
While clearly I can’t truly understand the myriad ways in which race and class and gender and sexual orientation, etc., compound on one another to create unique experiences of discrimination and violence, I still care that they do. Even if I cannot relate, I still care, and I’m still here.
Feminism, flawed as it may be, is at the core of my values and orientation toward the world. As a result, I know I have been guilty at times of alienating men by painting them all with the same brush. I stand firmly on the side of #yesallwomen and always will, but this urge to defend myself and to be properly understood as a white woman, gives me a glimmer of understanding of the potential intention behind #notallmen.
Obviously not all men are predators, but that’s not particularly helpful to the discussion of rape culture. Similarly, obviously all lives do matter, but again that is not a relevant or necessary rallying cry when it is specifically black lives that are so at risk at the hands of the very people charged with protecting public safety.
Perhaps I am as guilty in this post as I perceive #notallmen and #alllivesmatter types to be. I hope not. Perhaps I’m simply clueless, and this very post is a perfect example of why the last thing feminism needs is another white woman talking about her experience. I truly hope not. My intentions are toward solidarity, not division, and it would be disappointing if people chose to use my words for the opposite of their intended purpose.
I guess all I’m really trying to say is when any allies join us in our fight for justice, simply saying “welcome, good to have you with us” strikes me as much more productive in building solidarity than “what took you so long?”
I hope I am able to grant male allies this generosity when they begin to see things that have long been obvious from where I stand, because anything less risks putting up the very walls we hope to tear down.
