Rocking the Suburbs
There's something I've been meaning to say about privilege. Sort of. Sort of about privilege, that is.
I'm a white male American. I'm cis enough to count, and while I'm not Christian, I have the t-shirt. I can check off a few boxes on the ADA checklist if I squint, but other than that, I'm pretty damned high up on the privileged hierarchy, as far as that goes.
Oh, and before anyone says I'm saying what I'm about to say to get laid (because, seriously, that's what I've been told), I'm married and not on the prowl in the slightest. And if I were, my strategy wouldn't be "say feminist things on the Internet and see how it goes".
So, now that that's all out of the way and I've established some level of credibility, here goes:
Guys, grow up. By "guys", I mean specifically the whites and the men and especially and particularly the white men. And if what follows doesn't apply to you, then good for you, move on.
You sure are a fragile group. We can't talk about privilege without someone patting you on the head and scritching you under the chin and telling you, yes, dear, white lives matter, too. Yes, dear, men get raped, too.
Look, I used to be like you. I know the feeling. Which is why I say, again, and with conviction:
Grow up, guys.
Stop derailing, stop whining, stop making us stop our mature adult conversations in order to explain to you, once again, that we know you work hard, we know you're really and truly good inside, we know that it's not you, it's the system, we know, we know, we know.
For a group of people who want the freedom to say what you want, who whine about Political Correctness ruining your opportunity to tell a joke about a Chink, a Polack, and a Wetback without people shaking their heads... you sure do need to have your feelings taken into account an awful lot.
What's wrong, buttercup? You don't like being cast into a big bucket based on the color of your skin? Neither do I. But see, as a white person, when I get judged, it's in the form of people on the Internet saying rude things about me. When black people get judged, it's in the form of not getting jobs they deserve, or being followed around when they try to shop, or being thrown to the concrete by a cop because they didn't instantly comply with a "lawful order".
In a perfect world, there would be no judgments based on skin. But since this isn't a perfect world, I know which judgment I'd rather suffer.
Or, maybe, sunshine, your frustration is at being seen as a potential rapist. Yeah, I hate that, too. I'm serious, here. It's absolutely appalling that, if I go to a party where there's alcohol and women, I have to be aware of the possibility that my getting drunk and having sex with someone could result in rape accusations. That sucks. It's completely ludicrous that, if I'm walking at night and see a woman walking alone at night, she might get tense and not want to talk to me. Poor me.
On the other hand, women have to worry far more about actually being raped.
So, again, perfect world, sure. But I have to live in this world, and if I have to choose between "being seen as a rapist" and "being raped", well, I know which one I'd choose.
Or maybe you're pissy because some other privilege you have leads to people questioning your success or lack of being homeless, beaten, or otherwise victimized.
It doesn't matter. Stop making it about you, you, you. Stop making people tiptoe around your feelings.
Because it's gotten to the point of being beyond tiring.