On Legitimacy and What It Means for Marginalized People to Resist
Last night millions of people across America participated in protests against Donald Trump being elected president. From Los Angeles in the west coast to New York in the east cost, people protested and gave life to our collective frustrations with the United States. I was one of them. The past couple of days have been… dystopian in the sense that I leave my house to go to school or work and I’m not sure if I’ll ever make it back. I hug my queer and trans friends like it’s the last time we’ll see each other; I flinch when non people of color reach out towards me. I feel like the target on my queer and brown and trans body has been magnified. Much of the discourse on social media, especially Twitter, is about what we should all do in these next coming months in terms of resistance, protests, and protecting each other in the face of fascism. However, in life outside of social media, I’ve heard a lot of students and especially people with positions of (some kind of) power in academia say that minorities and marginalized people are wasting their time protesting; they say people should use non-violent protests to make change, they say that by participating in such protests we only further prove the “angry and irrational” stereotypes people (and yes, I do mean white people) have of us. Let me just be definitely not the first and definitely not the last person to say that that, my friends, is bullshit.
Being in academia for over 14 years, especially in my past years of being immersed in gender and sexuality studies, you learn a lot about theory. Queer theory, feminist theory, critical race theory, the list goes on and on. Much of my ideologies and beliefs have definitely been informed and strengthened by reading such theory, but I wouldn’t credit even my feminism to it, nor say that i.e feminism and theory are inherently reliant upon each other. My feminism, my thoughts I credit to growing up in the hood at the borders of two rivaling gangs. I credit it to being called a fag and a dyke. I credit it to my friends, my community, bus drivers that make sure you get home safe and to my mom that gives hugs filled with strength like no other. I wouldn’t say that “feminism needs theory” when we’ve resisted and thrived outside of theory for so, so many generations; for academics to say that, even if it’s not directed towards marginalized groups, is dismissive of oppressed peoples’ efforts and struggles in our advocacy for liberation i.e. feminism, making spaces for queer and trans people of color, etc.
This notion of needing theory is classist and discriminatory of people who never received a college education to learn about theory (due to institutions set in place to keep them out), kind of implying that without theory, our advocacy isn’t fully legitimate — and if it isn’t legit, what is it? Is it worthy of being in academia, to be shared knowledge? Is it worthy of being taken serious?
Overwhelmingly, from what I see, I would say no. I think you all (not just academics) don’t believe we are legitimate in our efforts because our efforts don’t align with your European or Western standards — that’s why you devalue and label our protests as violent and destructive; because we are tearing down and setting aflame to the structures you so lovingly set in place for us, because we are fighting back to the violence and harm you’ve caused to us. You think you can police the way we express our rage and frustration. You think we can’t resist in ways outside of what you deem respectable. Here’s the catch, Wonder Bread America: we don’t owe you “civility” or being “respectable”. We owe it to ourselves and our communities to fight — that’s where we learned how to take all your hits, your police brutality, your unwavering hatred. We learned it all outside of theory, before hooks, before Foucault. We didn’t need theory to place us inside feminism or any kind of ~radical identity~, but rather, our shared experiences were enough — and they were and have been enough to create strategies of resistance. Don’t let people tell you that your reactions and emotions aren’t valid. They cannot keep denying the immediate danger that we are all in.
Take this time to mourn, to strategize, to hold each other closer, to fiercely love each other and exist, to do what you have to do to get ready. You don’t owe your oppressor anything. If you can, take a deep breath. Steady yourself. Bring your friends and family close. Fight like your life depends on it, because for many of us, it does.
