For most of my life, I haven’t been vocal about politics. It seems like when we talk about politics or religion, it winds up being an all-you-can-eat character assassination with both sides feeling morally superior to each other. It’s best not to say anything, right? Just walk into your next holiday dinner and shout the following words like a shrapnel grenade, hurled into the heated world of your family’s politics:
1. Trump
2. Benghazi
3. Tax Plan
4. Obamacare
5. Global Warming
6. Black Lives Matter
7. Feminism
8. Muslim Ban
9. Alt-Right
10. Privilege
I imagine you can already see the vein in your Uncle Frank’s forehead throbbing like a cartoonish stubbed toe. So, for the most part, we say nothing.
The problem with saying nothing is that it’s a benefit of being comfortable. There aren’t many policies that negatively affect me (directly).
I’m a man.
I’m white.
I’m straight.
I’m protestant.
I’m, relatively speaking, well off.
Why would I need to contribute to the conversation about the #metoo movement, #blacklivesmatter, LGBTQ rights, the immigration debate, or even the new tax bill? My life won’t change much with any of these shifts in our political landscape.
However, many in my same situation are frustrated with all the hashtag movements and feverish debates. They’re bent on opposing voices that claim to be oppressed. They’re steadfast in their denial of misogyny and systemic racism. They’re certain our LGBTQ brothers and sisters aren’t deserving of equal rights. They feel their faith is under attack—that their hard-earned money is being sucked up by the government and handed to the lazy, drug-addicted underbelly of our nation.
In light of all this controversy, I do think there is something positive about this heated era of political turmoil and the somewhat unforeseen rise of Donald Trump: politics, privilege, and oppression are at the forefront of the American conversation. So let’s talk about it.
My interpretation of the situation is that Trump has become a symbol of those who seek to maintain the status quo or bring America back to the greatness of yesteryear.
But if we’re going to “Make America Great Again,” a fair question would be, when in America’s history are we talking about?
In the 1920s, the nation was caught up in the throes of rampant materialism and hedonism along with the rise of the KKK.
The 1930s saw our greatest economic crisis.
The 1940s suffered through World War 2 and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
The 1950s was marred by racial segregation.
The 1960s experienced the Vietnam War and the assassinations of JFK and MLK.
And the 1970s endured Watergate, coupled with the deterioration of our faith in government.
Don’t get me wrong. I think America has done great things and is still capable of greatness. But I think Trump captured the American Imagination with the idea of “greatness” by stirring up images akin to 1950s and 60s television: The quaint peacefulness of Leave It to Beaver or the simplicity of The Andy Griffith Show. However,—and I know this might ruffle some feathers—I think America has been great for a certain demographic of Americans:
Me.
Think about it.
What would it mean for a person of color to make America great again? What would America go back to that would benefit a person of color or someone who is currently marginalized? White America has the privilege of thinking we once lived in an America that was great.
Many of our American brothers and sisters have had a much more difficult time achieving the same quality of life that I have. My privilege has handed me resources for generations, making a middle-class lifestyle a piece of cake, regardless of how hard I work. But what about those of us born in poverty or in crime-ridden locales, forced to drop out of school to pay the rent? What about those of us who have been driven to crime and drugs as a result of generational oppression and prejudice?
I can approach this incredibly difficult and horrific situation and say to the suffering person, “You need to try harder,” or I can understand that I have been handed tools and a position in society that is advantageous, realizing the difference in our lifestyles is the result of my winning a genetic and cultural lottery. It isn’t a level playing field, even if the laws are (on the book) equal.
In 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. focused his energies on what he called “The Poor People Campaign,” where he said, “It’s alright to tell a man to lift himself by his own bootstraps, but it is a cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself by his own bootstraps.”
When we discuss the socio-economic situations of those who have been oppressed, like women, people of color, the LGBTQ community, immigrants, Muslims, and the impoverished, we MUST consider things like the gender gap, slavery, Jim Crow, and xenophobia. By rightfully moving toward the abolishment of such horrid institutions, we will take steps in the right direction, but that doesn’t mean we’ve given boots to our neighbors. There are red-blooded human beings around us every day that have the right to achieve and excel through the law but have no resources—no bootstraps—to pull themselves out of the crushing weight of poverty and oppression. They have no tools to achieve the quality of life many of us enjoy because of the families we were born into.
So what’s the solution?
This is what I’m wrestling with right now. I feel as though I’ve just come into an awareness of my privilege and am learning how to live with, speak about, and wield it.
For me, I think it means that I need to have an acute awareness of where I am situated in the power structure; many things that are true for me are not true for everyone.
It means I have to vote for candidates campaigning for a more equitable society.
I have to voice my opinion when I recognize injustice.
I must be willing to give up my privilege when it comes to policies that seek to level the playing field.
and most importantly, I must actively engage the marginalized around me and hear their story, creating space and opportunity for those who have been silenced.
When it comes down to it, my voice and opinions should take a backseat to the first-hand experience of those who have suffered beneath the crushing weight of inequality. Instead of fighting to prove we live in an egalitarian society because we feel as though it is, shouldn’t we strive to hear the stories of those who say it isn’t?
There’s a quote that I’ve been mulling on for a couple of years now. I tried to find the author but couldn’t. If you know where it comes from, let me know:
“If you are accustomed to privilege, equality looks a lot like oppression.”
Losing certain privileges may be painful, but it is a necessary step in achieving real equality.
I don’t fully know what using privilege for justice looks like, but I want to be a voice, a mind, and a body that seeks to end inequality in my country. And if it means I have to take a step or three backward to grab the hand of my brother or sister who has fallen victim to the oppressive forces of the American machine, then I will do so to help sculpt a more just world. For the two or three of you who are reading, I hope we can learn to live together, to love one another, and most of all, to find the intersection of voices that aren’t white, straight, or Protestant and listen well.
