Ally

I’ve been reading a lot about being an ally in the last few days. Listen, don’t speak. Don’t make it about you. Listen more. Don’t minimize someone else’s experience in any way.

There are many things about institutional racism that I understand intellectual, but not viscerally. This article talks about the difficulty of just plain survival every day. I have heard this before in various places, and I can see it, but only distantly. Unlike when people write about how hard it is to write, for example, I don’t have an in-depth understanding of what that feels like in my daily life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it.

I got in touch with an old grad school friend. It was a huge gift to be able to talk again.  We had had a workshop together, and she reminded me that we once sat in a bar talking about how powerless we felt about political injustice. Neither of us are activists. But one of the things we can do is write, and bear witness.

How to write about things without sounding disingenuous? Mixing poetry and politics, like mixing poetry and science, is a good way to kill a good poem. I believe both should be done, but you have to work extra hard at it. I think about political poetry. A lot of it works when you’re writing from the inside of an experience.

But what if you’re just another well-meaning, averagely educated white woman? Can you write about your own experience without coopting or drowning out others’ experiences? I have a series of poems about growing up in the south. I love these poems, and at one point thought they could be a chapbook or whole book.

One of the things I wanted to write about was race. I wanted to write about the small ways in which it affected me. I know that it’s a fucking privilege that I only talk about it a little bit. But how do I do it without being an asshole? And yet, to try is better than to not try at all?

*

I meant this post to be about the headlines. “Australians offer rides to Muslims.” As if Muslims aren’t Australian. I know that headlines are short, but this is encouraging yet another dangerous us vs. them situation. Australian Muslims are Australians.

It pisses me off. I was at an (early, I guess) Hanukah party on Sunday, where a guest said to me that she didn’t wear a star of David or have anything identifiably Jewish on her car because she was afraid of prejudice in her small town in a rural area north of here. Not fifteen minutes later she is loudly declaiming that she would never get on a plane with an Arab.

This is why my mother called herself an anti-Semitic Jew. She hated the narrowness she had often observed in Judaism.

I am proud to call myself a Jew, but I always qualify it as secular, secular, secular. [And if any of you parents out there are worried about teaching your children to be allies, I’d like to tell you that my extreme discomfort with the woman’s declaration stems from my father telling me early on that “Jews and Arabs are brothers.”]

But did I say something? No. I let DP and another woman say something. I was silent. Big fucking words, Indy Clause. Learn how to live them.

What words do you need to learn how to live?

Advertisements

6 responses to “Ally

  1. Indy, you’ve written about it well here, so that’s something, right?

    Like you, I often feel silenced when I want to talk/write about race because I’m a privileged white woman and it’s “not my issue,” etc… but you know what? I’m starting to feel like this silencing is really no different than any other silencing I feel, especially when writing.

    I keep having to remind myself that I have the right to speak up (or write up) how the world looks from here and that, no matter the subject, not everyone will agree with or like what I have to say. And that’s okay.

    (the last paragraph sounds a lot braver than I am. I’m working on it.)

    • Thanks, man.

      I was thinking of that too (and of your experiences and our discussions). Maybe the difference is speaking up/talking about our own experiences, but only in places where our voices aren’t drowning out others.

      (Like this blog. I run it like a fascist state. My sister isn’t even allowed to talk about the weather here. NO ONE WANTS TO KNOW HOW WARM IT IS WHERE YOU ARE, COUGAR!)

      But I do think it’s our issue too, not in the same way or from the same perspective, but talking is good. And trying to be extra thoughtful and think about what our words might look like to someone else.

      We’ll keep working.

  2. I am a non-activist of the sixties who went to South Africa and wondered what all the demonstrations were really about back in ‘the states’. Fire housed in Selma and having to go to school with a police guard in Birmingham seemed like nothing compared to what I saw openly in Jo’burg, on the streets, at work and in the homes of our South African friends.
    My first op-ed, (in a daily that actually paid me to write), was about being witness to injustice, and that if we say nothing, we are ‘silent accomplices’ to the deed.
    From Selma, to Birmingham, to Watts, Ferguson and Jerusalem, Syria to Bosnia, this inhumanity to man continues and any words I come up with will not make a bit of difference. But I will try, right here, right now.

    When Obama was elected I really, really, really thought we had made strides which strengthened the feeble backbone of what we stood for and yet, and yet, and yet, the right crawled out from under a slimy rock and showed itself as the political animal it is. I am so, so, so disappointed and it brings me to tears. We were great once, weren’t we?

    I didn’t do enough then and I don’t now.

    Am I a silent accomplice, hell yes, and as I have often said my ticket to hell has been punched. My only saving grace is that I think I have taught my daughters to be better that I ever could be. It has to stop but I sure as shit don’t know where and how.

  3. In our town, a black citizen told the white mayor during a Council meeting that he was tired of being racially profiled by the police.

    The major told the man that if he could find twenty others who had been profiled, he would meet with them and the chief of police at a barber shop that is central to much of the black community here (it’s a civil rights landmark).

    A week later, they did meet. They’re still meeting and they seem to be listening to each other. I hope, I hope…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s