Thinky Thoughts on Privilege
So, there are a couple of things that I've been thinking about recently, and since my opera is done and my major memo turned in, I figure I can actually reward myself by taking the time to write about them. The two things I've been thinking about both relate, at least generally, to the concept of privilege, so I'm lumping them both together under that heading, and we'll see where it goes. I want this post to elicit discussion- please feel free to respond with your own thinky thoughts!
Heterosexual Privilege
In Which I am Unintentionally Inconsiderate, and Feel Guilty About It
Last weekend, one of my good friends came out to me. It was the sort of coming out story where my response was something along the lines of, "Yes, honey, I already knew that." My rather blase' response was perhaps compounded by the fact that I had spent most of the weekend hanging out with gay opera boys and telling dirty gay sex jokes in a corner of one of the Brown lounges. People's sexuality--not really a big issue for me. It doesn't really change how I think about people in general, and it certainly wouldn't change how I felt about the friend in question. When he came out to me, though, he clearly felt a little bit uncomfortable, like it was something hard for him to say, and as I was sort of egging him on towards just saying it outright, I was simultaneously a little bit amused and a little bit annoyed. The amusement came from the fact that it struck me as funny - a little bit cute, maybe - that he would find it so awkward. The annoyance came from the same place - I mean, did he really think I was going to be bigoted about it? He knows my political leanings, knows that I have lots of gay friends, that I'm generally ridiculously open about sexuality. Why should it be awkward for him to tell me he's gay? Why should it even be a big deal? It's not a big deal to me; it doesn't change anything about our relationship; it doesn't affect our friendship in any way.
Which is kind of the point I'm getting at. Him being gay doesn't affect me.
Which is where my straight privilege comes in.
His sexuality doesn't affect me, but it does affect him, and hugely. It's not a big deal to me, in terms of our friendship, but of course - of course - being gay is a big deal to him. It completely changes his self-identification, it affects the way he interacts with society, it puts him at risk for violence, ostracism, and every kind of social snub imaginable. It means that some people in our country don't recognize his right to marry or adopt children or be a boy scout leader. And people all too often come out to friends who aren't bigoted when they talk about gay people in general, but suddenly realize that they aren't so comfortable with homosexuality when it's someone they're close to. Coming out to me took a lot of courage, which I think I may have completely brushed aside in my haste to make it clear that his being gay wasn't a big deal to me. Because it's easy for me to say that it's not a big deal to be gay. I'm not. I have the privilege of having homosexuality not be a big deal. And I forgot, for a moment, that it's a privilege.
Along those same lines, I've been thinking, over the past week, about Proposition 8. My initial thought on the vote? I was disappointed, of course, but I told myself, "What's the use of getting worked up over this? People are bigoted. People are still bigoted, and they will keep being bigoted. If I let myself get angry over every nasty homophobic comment people make, every homophobic vote, every horrible editorial against gay marriage, that absolutely awful Orson Scott Card interview where he talks about violently overthrowing the US government if they ever legalize gay marriage (P.S. Let's violently overthrown Orson Scott Card, instead), I'd spend the rest of my life in a haze of impotent rage.
And, of course, it is impotent rage- there's nothing I can do about other people's irrational fear and hatred, and, you know, it's not like it's personal.
And so we return, yet again, to my privilege. Every time an LGBT person reads one of those horrible editorials, or witnesses a homophobic vote, or sees a biased law passed, or whatever, it is personal. It is a direct attack on them, on their way of life, on a group with whom they affiliate. For me blow it off as "just another homophobic rant" is such a completely shallow, privileged thing for me to do. I have the privilege of not taking it personally, and I let myself forget that the people for whom it really matters don't have that option.
On that note, the Westboro Baptist Church will be protesting at the Chapel on Friday at 6:30. I know that everyone is supposed to have a "do not engage" policy regarding them. I plan to be there at the counter-protest anyway. Because I need to remind myself that not everyone has the privilege of having it not be a big deal.
Male Privilege
In Which I Contemplate Various Legal Hypotheticals
In my Crim Law class today, we discussed a number of different rape statues that dealt with the issue of what my professor calls "Sex Under the Influence," or SUI.
Imagine, if you will, the following situation. Man and Woman are drinking heavily in a bar, to the point that their ability to reason or make sound decisions is significantly impaired. Neither is able to legally consent to sexual intercourse under the relevant state law. Regardless, the two go to a hotel room, where they engage in sexual intercourse. Neither party uses force or any coercive tactics upon the other. The sex is of the sort that, if both parties were sober, would appear to be completely consensual.
Has a rape occurred? Not by the traditional Blackstone definition ("by force and without consent"), right? Except that most state statutes allow an exception for force if a party is unconscious or heavily intoxicated. Under this definition, there has been the legal equivalent of force, and a lack of consent, ergo, by legal reasoning, rape. Only, who has been raped? Are both parties victims? Has only the woman been victimized? If one party rushes to the police station to press charges, does it mean that only s/he gets to be the victim? Hasn't the other party still, technically, been "raped" as well?
And what means the fact that, in literally all cases like this that my professor could think of, it is the woman who presses charges?
As we discussed in class, by societal standards, when a man has sex, he's getting lucky, and when a woman has sex, she often feels as though she has suffered a loss. Certainly, just on the basis of social mores, the woman in the above hypothetical is more likely to wake up and perceive the technically nonconsensual sex as a violation. But what does this mean for the law? We claim that the law should be blind to gender differences- I believe it should be. But the difference between men and women here is real. It's not biological, it's not right, or fair, but it is a social reality. It shouldn't be. I wish it wasn't. I genuinely wish for the day when both women and men can wake up in the morning and think that they got lucky, not that they've been violated. I really, really wish society would just loosen up about sex. (I mean, it's really just smooshing body parts together; what's the big deal?) But that's not the social reality. So what do we do about that?
If we just tell women, "Oh, well, we think you should just loosen up about sex," it doesn't change the fact that, as a result of her social conditioning, she still perceives some sort of loss. (And even if she doesn't, she can still be labeled a "slut" or "easy" in a way that could impair her social position, her career, and any number of other things.) But if we allow for gender-biased legislation, we give legal recognition to a social system we want to get rid of.
I, um, appear to have walked myself into a logical impasse. Feel free to help me pull myself out if it.
A Thing That Doesn't Relate to Privilege, But That I Still Want to Talk About
In Which I Sell My Pinky for Ten Million Dollars
In Torts today, we talked about compensatory damages for pain and suffering. The theoretical purpose of compensatory damages is to restore the plaintiff to the position he was in before the tort occurred. Of course, this means assigning monetary damages for things like the loss of an arm, or emotional pain, or a family member's life.
The vast majority of tort theorists describe these types of harm as incommensurable. They're not really something you can assign a value to- we, as a society, pay victims money because money is something of value in our society, and we attempt to ease victims' pain with social recognition that they have been wronged. Damages for these kinds of harm are a "legal fiction"; we can't really assign value, but we pretend to anyway.
Personally, I think this argument is complete BS, something that is, itself, a social fiction. We, as a society, have assigned a value to human life for almost as long as there has been a society. Look at were-gilds and blood prices. Look at all the ancient legal codes that tell you exactly how much money an arm, or an ear, or an eye is worth. Look at the fact that we still do this today in insurance policies and courtrooms alike. We tell ourselves that we can't place a value on human life because we don't want to believe that we can, but then we go right ahead and do it anyway. All these arguments about incommensurability are just fictions that we've put in place to ease our conscience. Because, really, if someone offered you ten million dollars for your pinky, would you take it? I would....
Heterosexual Privilege
In Which I am Unintentionally Inconsiderate, and Feel Guilty About It
Last weekend, one of my good friends came out to me. It was the sort of coming out story where my response was something along the lines of, "Yes, honey, I already knew that." My rather blase' response was perhaps compounded by the fact that I had spent most of the weekend hanging out with gay opera boys and telling dirty gay sex jokes in a corner of one of the Brown lounges. People's sexuality--not really a big issue for me. It doesn't really change how I think about people in general, and it certainly wouldn't change how I felt about the friend in question. When he came out to me, though, he clearly felt a little bit uncomfortable, like it was something hard for him to say, and as I was sort of egging him on towards just saying it outright, I was simultaneously a little bit amused and a little bit annoyed. The amusement came from the fact that it struck me as funny - a little bit cute, maybe - that he would find it so awkward. The annoyance came from the same place - I mean, did he really think I was going to be bigoted about it? He knows my political leanings, knows that I have lots of gay friends, that I'm generally ridiculously open about sexuality. Why should it be awkward for him to tell me he's gay? Why should it even be a big deal? It's not a big deal to me; it doesn't change anything about our relationship; it doesn't affect our friendship in any way.
Which is kind of the point I'm getting at. Him being gay doesn't affect me.
Which is where my straight privilege comes in.
His sexuality doesn't affect me, but it does affect him, and hugely. It's not a big deal to me, in terms of our friendship, but of course - of course - being gay is a big deal to him. It completely changes his self-identification, it affects the way he interacts with society, it puts him at risk for violence, ostracism, and every kind of social snub imaginable. It means that some people in our country don't recognize his right to marry or adopt children or be a boy scout leader. And people all too often come out to friends who aren't bigoted when they talk about gay people in general, but suddenly realize that they aren't so comfortable with homosexuality when it's someone they're close to. Coming out to me took a lot of courage, which I think I may have completely brushed aside in my haste to make it clear that his being gay wasn't a big deal to me. Because it's easy for me to say that it's not a big deal to be gay. I'm not. I have the privilege of having homosexuality not be a big deal. And I forgot, for a moment, that it's a privilege.
Along those same lines, I've been thinking, over the past week, about Proposition 8. My initial thought on the vote? I was disappointed, of course, but I told myself, "What's the use of getting worked up over this? People are bigoted. People are still bigoted, and they will keep being bigoted. If I let myself get angry over every nasty homophobic comment people make, every homophobic vote, every horrible editorial against gay marriage, that absolutely awful Orson Scott Card interview where he talks about violently overthrowing the US government if they ever legalize gay marriage (P.S. Let's violently overthrown Orson Scott Card, instead), I'd spend the rest of my life in a haze of impotent rage.
And, of course, it is impotent rage- there's nothing I can do about other people's irrational fear and hatred, and, you know, it's not like it's personal.
And so we return, yet again, to my privilege. Every time an LGBT person reads one of those horrible editorials, or witnesses a homophobic vote, or sees a biased law passed, or whatever, it is personal. It is a direct attack on them, on their way of life, on a group with whom they affiliate. For me blow it off as "just another homophobic rant" is such a completely shallow, privileged thing for me to do. I have the privilege of not taking it personally, and I let myself forget that the people for whom it really matters don't have that option.
On that note, the Westboro Baptist Church will be protesting at the Chapel on Friday at 6:30. I know that everyone is supposed to have a "do not engage" policy regarding them. I plan to be there at the counter-protest anyway. Because I need to remind myself that not everyone has the privilege of having it not be a big deal.
Male Privilege
In Which I Contemplate Various Legal Hypotheticals
In my Crim Law class today, we discussed a number of different rape statues that dealt with the issue of what my professor calls "Sex Under the Influence," or SUI.
Imagine, if you will, the following situation. Man and Woman are drinking heavily in a bar, to the point that their ability to reason or make sound decisions is significantly impaired. Neither is able to legally consent to sexual intercourse under the relevant state law. Regardless, the two go to a hotel room, where they engage in sexual intercourse. Neither party uses force or any coercive tactics upon the other. The sex is of the sort that, if both parties were sober, would appear to be completely consensual.
Has a rape occurred? Not by the traditional Blackstone definition ("by force and without consent"), right? Except that most state statutes allow an exception for force if a party is unconscious or heavily intoxicated. Under this definition, there has been the legal equivalent of force, and a lack of consent, ergo, by legal reasoning, rape. Only, who has been raped? Are both parties victims? Has only the woman been victimized? If one party rushes to the police station to press charges, does it mean that only s/he gets to be the victim? Hasn't the other party still, technically, been "raped" as well?
And what means the fact that, in literally all cases like this that my professor could think of, it is the woman who presses charges?
As we discussed in class, by societal standards, when a man has sex, he's getting lucky, and when a woman has sex, she often feels as though she has suffered a loss. Certainly, just on the basis of social mores, the woman in the above hypothetical is more likely to wake up and perceive the technically nonconsensual sex as a violation. But what does this mean for the law? We claim that the law should be blind to gender differences- I believe it should be. But the difference between men and women here is real. It's not biological, it's not right, or fair, but it is a social reality. It shouldn't be. I wish it wasn't. I genuinely wish for the day when both women and men can wake up in the morning and think that they got lucky, not that they've been violated. I really, really wish society would just loosen up about sex. (I mean, it's really just smooshing body parts together; what's the big deal?) But that's not the social reality. So what do we do about that?
If we just tell women, "Oh, well, we think you should just loosen up about sex," it doesn't change the fact that, as a result of her social conditioning, she still perceives some sort of loss. (And even if she doesn't, she can still be labeled a "slut" or "easy" in a way that could impair her social position, her career, and any number of other things.) But if we allow for gender-biased legislation, we give legal recognition to a social system we want to get rid of.
I, um, appear to have walked myself into a logical impasse. Feel free to help me pull myself out if it.
A Thing That Doesn't Relate to Privilege, But That I Still Want to Talk About
In Which I Sell My Pinky for Ten Million Dollars
In Torts today, we talked about compensatory damages for pain and suffering. The theoretical purpose of compensatory damages is to restore the plaintiff to the position he was in before the tort occurred. Of course, this means assigning monetary damages for things like the loss of an arm, or emotional pain, or a family member's life.
The vast majority of tort theorists describe these types of harm as incommensurable. They're not really something you can assign a value to- we, as a society, pay victims money because money is something of value in our society, and we attempt to ease victims' pain with social recognition that they have been wronged. Damages for these kinds of harm are a "legal fiction"; we can't really assign value, but we pretend to anyway.
Personally, I think this argument is complete BS, something that is, itself, a social fiction. We, as a society, have assigned a value to human life for almost as long as there has been a society. Look at were-gilds and blood prices. Look at all the ancient legal codes that tell you exactly how much money an arm, or an ear, or an eye is worth. Look at the fact that we still do this today in insurance policies and courtrooms alike. We tell ourselves that we can't place a value on human life because we don't want to believe that we can, but then we go right ahead and do it anyway. All these arguments about incommensurability are just fictions that we've put in place to ease our conscience. Because, really, if someone offered you ten million dollars for your pinky, would you take it? I would....