As a feminist and an agent for social change, I talk about privilege a lot. I refer to privilege as it oppresses minorities in any sense of the word. All kinds of privilege exist in the world. There's white privilege, male privilege, straight privilege, cis privilege, skinny privilege... and the list continues. In fact, I spend so much time thinking about privilege as it oppresses me, that I don't spend enough time thinking about privilege as it applies to me. I am so privileged.
I mean, sure, I'm a woman. But that's really about my only demeaning characteristic (sarcasm). I have four functioning limbs, a very operational brain, exactly zero terminal illnesses, a sufficient amount of money in my bank account, plenty of clothes in my closet, good food in my fridge, and way too much homework to do. I am employed at a paying job and I have a vehicle to drive myself home to see my family whenever I want. I make decisions pretty much at my own leisure and I answer only to myself. I am, by definition, privileged.
priv·i·lege
ˈpriv(ə)lij/
noun
- 1.a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people.
As a young white woman who was born in America in the last decade of the twentieth century, my brain can't wrap itself around the concept of not going to school, of not wearing clothes just because I like them, of not making my own decisions, of not having an inherent right to be heard and respected as a person. And after almost twenty years of living with and benefiting from all of these modern comforts, I am used to it. That is privilege.
Furthermore, as an indirect beneficiary of the women who have come - years, decades - before me, don't I think I owe it to them to make something out of myself? To never use my privilege for evil, but only to promote the good of feminism? To ascertain a career position for myself to continue their positive influence in the world? Don't I think that Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Charlotte Perkins Gilman would relish in seeing me walk across the stage as I graduate from a university? Don't I think I make Gloria Steinem proud when I call out slut-shaming and double standards in casual conversation? Wouldn't Betty Friedan be happy to know that I don't ever let a man silence me with any form of the "get back in the kitchen" defense argument? Shouldn't I take an immense deal of pride in being afforded the privilege to take these actions that I brush off so nilly-willy as if I am entitled to them? (Well, because really, they should be rights...)
Women had to fight for a lot of things throughout history (and we still do). The women before me fought for my right to vote, my right to hold office, my right to own property, my right to run a business, my right to divorce an abusive husband, my right to come forward (and be believed) if I am raped (still fighting for that one), my right to love who I want, how I want, when I want, where I want. My foremothers fought a lot of battles for me to be where I am today and somehow, we* still complain about so much in our lives.
"I can't find anything to wear." I have not one, but two, closets full of all kinds of clothing to dress me from summer to winter and back again. Perhaps most exciting for feminism, I own a lot of pants. I have slacks, jeans, sweatpants, yoga pants, basketball shorts, and even short shorts. And I can wear any of them, anytime, whenever I feel like it. That is a privilege June Cleaver certainly never appeared to possess. Don't get me wrong, I love a good skirt or a fun dress. (Because the only thing better than being allowed to wear pants is not wearing pants.) But the point is, I have the choice to decide when I want to wear a dress. Women have not always been so lucky. Additionally, I do not live in a patriarchal theocracy where religion and men dictate that I must cover all of my skin but my eyes. I do not have to sweat during the interminable Kansas summer under a hijab or a burqa. In fact, I can wear a bikini to a public swimming pool full of other girls in bikinis if I choose. (And become a victim of objectification, but that's another blog entirely.)
"I have too much homework to do, and I don't feel like studying." I attend a university where students have to pay thousands of dollars to do the homework they are assigned. Women fought for me to be able to attend college. And yet, I have the audacity to complain about having homework? How dare I. My feminist foremothers would be disappointed in me. I am so grateful that I can safely go to school every day and learn about the world around me, finding ways to use my privilege to help others. I appreciate being able to choose from a long list of majors and electives, to customize my individual education to be exactly what I want it to be. I can learn other languages, classical literature, history, even math and science. Yet I complain about having to learn the very subjects women fought hardest for? Mary Wollstonecraft is frowning on me. She fought for me to have this right and here I am, flippantly procrastinating my homework.
"I don't want to go in to work today." There are plenty of people - women and men alike - around the world, even in this country, who do not have jobs. Nor do they have jobs with as truly wonderful colleagues as I do. As for women in the workplace? Well, that is only a recent invention as far as history goes. A number of reasons have held women back from excelling in their careers, from having children to institutionalized patriarchy in the form of sexist supervisors who refuse to recognize female success. Not to mention the national statistic that I believe should be common knowledge: Women make 77 cents to every dollar their male counterparts make. (Don't get upset if she asks you to pay for dinner.) I have a wonderful, rewarding job. But if I wanted to find another job and quit the one I have now, I could. I could find another job to work during college to provide an income for myself to buy food to eat and clothes to wear. I can choose virtually any kind of job in Wichita, and I likely wouldn't be discriminated against on the sole basis of my being a woman. I should never complain about "having" to go to work, after so many women before me helped secure the existence of working women in the first place.
Oftentimes we* complain so much about what we view as the "bad parts" of life. When in reality, we* are quite privileged. Our foremothers so passionately fought for us, and many of them died before ever seeing much of the progress they helped achieve. So don't we* owe it to them (and most of all, to ourselves) to be living, breathing legacies of their values and sacrifices through all of our successes? We are privileged by the rights they gave us to choose. As privileged individuals, we should help make these privileges cease to exist as rights only for ourselves. We should use our privilege to help make these privileges become rights for the women in future generations, as our foremothers did for us. The next time you feel like complaining about your life, think about all that has been sacrificed in order for you to succeed. Then, go forth and succeed like they did for us.
{ *I use the word "we" to mean "white straight women in America" because that is the only perspective that I can truly narrate, having lived it myself. }
