Privilege, Prejudice and My Life

Since I was a child, I’ve been keenly aware of injustice and inequalities. While I’m sure that a big reason for that is being autistic, I think another part is that I’m different from ‘The Normal Human’ of the Western world - the white, middle-class, cishetero, able-bodied, neurotypical male, against which everyone else is seen as lacking or inferior or just unworthy even of notice. I just don’t fit into that ‘normal’ in so many ways, and I’ve always known it, even before I could label it. The list of ‘othering’ factors I experience is long.

Some would assume woman is on that list, but although I was born with a female body, and certainly have experienced sexism, I’ve never identified as a girl or woman or even female. It just wasn’t me, but it took me a long time to define that I’m not actually either gender in my inner self/identity. There are different labels for this, but I feel non-binary best describes me. But of course it marks me out as different from Normal Man too, in a different and even more marginalising way.

Despite this, or maybe even because of it, I am definitely a feminist. Even as a child, I remember protesting the privileges that the males in my family had, though everyone looked at me like I had lost my mind. When I eventually discovered feminism, it felt tailor-made for me. I threw myself into trying to be a ‘right-on’ feminist, to fit in to the required appearance, behaviour, image. It was a long while before I realised so much of it was just another set of expectations to trap me in. Now, though I still agree with the central tenets of feminism, I have found my own way to be ‘liberated’.

Along with feminism I discovered, or rather re-discovered, my sexuality. I called myself lesbian for years, but truthfully, I’ve never liked the word. These days I call myself gay, it doesn’t feel totally right either, but I’ve yet to find a better one. But whatever I call myself, I never felt accepted by the lesbian community any more than I had been anywhere else. I just didn’t, and don’t, fit the mold here either. Being ignored, snubbed, overlooked, excluded etc, got tiresome. So eventually I quietly dropped out of the lesbian community. I doubt I was missed.

Through feminism and attending university, I also came to a consciousness of class. By associating with middle-class people, I realised that I’m not. If you think I should have realised that before, you’re probably right. But it truthfully never occurred to me. I thought class was something that only happened in the UK, us New Zealanders tend to believe ‘we’re all equal’. I soon learnt otherwise, and for a long time I blamed the struggles I was having on classism.

Meanwhile of course I developed physical disabilities. The first of course was CFS, or ME as some call it. I’ve had this for forty years now, and it’s been devastating in its effect on my life. More recently, I’ve developed arthritis, diabetes, low thyroid, a crapped-out ankle, acid reflux and probable IBS. Other problems come and go. There are so many things I can’t do, can’t participate in, together they all thrust me to the margins of the able-bodied world.

And while I was acquiring these physical disabilities, I realised that I’m autistic too. And that I have sensory processing disorder, executive dysfunction, alexithymia and auditory processing disorder with it. The list of ‘conditions’ I have just grew and grew, and the sense of being a ‘marginal person’ just grew and grew with it…

There are of course a few areas in which I could be said to be privileged or ‘Normal’ of course. I grew up in and live in a Western country. I got to university, even if it wasn’t till I was 26 and a ruined health meant I never completed it and likely never will.

Religion? Well I suppose I was nominally Christian in my younger years, but religious differences between my parents meant that it wasn’t exactly pushed on us, and I grew out of it eventually. Since then I’ve gone through the women’s spirituality movement, the New Age movement, a semi-demi-cult and now… nothing. Agnostic probably describes me the best, if I must use a word. Perhaps it’s a privilege in itself, to be able to openly describe myself this way, and reject religion, a prerogative that many in other countries don’t have.

But here’s a funny thing – the one area in which I don’t experience oppression or being ‘different’/in the minority is the one that has often concerned me the most, and which I have probably done the most activism in. And by this I mean race.

I’ve had an awareness of racism since I was a child, possibly even before I was aware of sexism. It’s important to note that I was a post-war child, yes (I sigh), a boomer. But what this meant was that World War Two and the Holocaust were recent collective memory. I didn’t actually meet any Jewish people till later, but I remember becoming aware of how if someone was mean or tight-fisted, people would say ‘don’t be Jewish!’ I made a conscious decision not to use that term ever again. Yes, as a child. Call me precocious.

At some point after that, when us kids were playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’, I found myself wondering why the Indians were always The Bad Guys. I can’t remember if I tried to change the rules or suggested a different game, or maybe we just grew out of it, but at some point we did stop playing it. I don’t know if any of the younger generation still do.

It must have been somewhere in my teens that I first heard of South Africa’s apartheid regime, and was instantly opposed to it. I just knew in my bones it was wrong, and the more I learnt, the more that feeling was confirmed. About ten years later came the Springbok Tour of 1981, which of course was seen by many as the NZ Rugby Union supporting the apartheid regime. Like many Kiwis, to me rugby is The Game, but that made the shock of the Tour only worse. I could not believe that anyone would invite those oppressors to my country, and willingly joined the protests against it.

It was during these protests I became aware of racism here, thanks to Māori activists. That’s not to say it had totally escaped my awareness, but it hadn’t been thrust in my face before that. Along with many other white people, I joined the anti-racism movement, spending more time and energy in it than feminist activities. This lasted several years until health issues meant I dropped out of all political activism. But I’ve continued to see my own racism as something to work on, root out of my subconscious, and I do my best to challenge other white people’s racism too, when I can. It’s an ongoing thing.

I’m conscious of my racial privilege. I know that I can walk around a department store without having staff follow me in the assumption that I’m going to shoplift. I can walk down a street in Remuera (Auckland’s swankiest suburb) and not have people assume that I’m there either to clean a house or rob it. And that’s just the surface stuff – my culture, language or ancestral lands are not under threat of being wiped out, destroyed, suppressed or stolen. I’m not likely to be harassed or beaten up by cops or ‘profiled’ on account of my race. And so on.

The thing that puzzles me though is why for so much of my life, I have so often been more concerned with racial issues than the areas in which I am one of the underdogs? Is it because I have so little privilege in other areas I am more aware of the things I don’t have to experience?

I’m really not sure.

Anyhow, I just wonder if anyone else has a similar story to tell. What are YOUR privileges? What are the issues that have concerned you the most, through the course of your life? Are they the ones you suffer from, or the very ones you don’t? We autistics usually have a keen sense of justice, but where has your focus been?

So The Queen Is Dead

So the Queen is dead, and buried, and we have a new monarch.

I’ve been thinking on this for a while, and as usual, my thoughts have been varied.

On the one hand, there’s nothing wrong with people grieving or at least feeling unsettled. For anyone under seventy, including me, she had literally been on the throne our entire lives, and so there was a feeling of shock, of experiencing the end of an era, regardless of individual feelings about royalty. For me, it’s also triggered sad feelings and memories from when my mother died - they were of almost the same generation, and even looked somewhat alike.

It must be acknowledged that the Queen did have many good qualities. She avoided scandal in her private life (unlike a lot of her family), and performed her duties faithfully. She somehow managed to connect with a lot of people despite her privileged position. In person, she was apparently kind, fiercely intelligent, with a steel-trap memory and a great sense of humour. She was, in short, likeable, even admirable, as a person and a monarch.

I also feel that some of the criticism that’s been hurled her way is misplaced. British monarchs have very little real power, being heavily constricted by law, tradition and protocol. They reign but they do not rule. They can’t express any political opinions, and must approve new laws and governments. Even their speeches to the British Parliament are written by the government. It’s anyone’s guess what the Queen’s real political thoughts were, though it’s said that she despised Thatcher for supporting apartheid. Ultimately however she could change little.

As to the royal wealth, ‘The Crown’ and ‘the monarch’ are not quite the same thing. There are things like the Crown Jewels for instance, which the monarch only technically owns, and cannot dispose of at will. The Royal Estates are vast, but they’re actually controlled by a government-appointed committee, with the monarch receiving around 15% of the income, an arrangement which dates back centuries and is part of the complex web of restrictions around the monarch and their family. They’re bound up pretty tight really. I kind of pity them.

And yes, I watched at least some of the processions, funeral, etc, as least as far as possible without depriving myself of too much sleep from the far side of the world. Because, ya know, it’s history, I’m a history geek, and besides nobody does pomp and ceremony quite like the British. As well as being colourful, it was almost funny, all the elaborate parades, drumbeats, fancy uniforms and the like.

Okay, that’s the ‘nicey-nice’ hand. Now for the other stuff.

I don’t share the Queen’s love of tradition or her deep faith, and despite my love of history (or perhaps because of it) and my fascination with the pomp and ceremony, I’m definitely not in favour of monarchies. I consider them rigidly outdated, an encrusted frozen relic of the past which we could easily do without. While I have nothing personal against any of the Royals, I’d be perfectly fine with them becoming just ‘Mr and Ms Windsor who live down the street’. At the moment, there doesn’t seem to be the political or public will to make this happen, at least in Britain itself. The conversation in Britain’s former colonies about becoming republics, however, is well under way.

I think it’s highly likely, indeed inevitable, that by the end of this century if not before, many of these countries, including New Zealand, will become republics. The Queen‘s popularity delayed this process but won’t ultimately prevent it. It will be interesting to see how the new King affects the conversation, given that he excites nowhere near that level of admiration. Even the most ardent royalist must find it hard to enthuse about an irritable old man who once said he wanted to be a tampon. The only thing I find commendable about him is his championing of environmental causes long before it was fashionable. The PR campaign to rehabilitate his reputation has already started of course, but I don’t know how much effect it will ultimately have.

Speaking of PR, I don’t like either how royalty, like movie stars, have pretty much replaced religion as ‘the opiate of the masses’. They’ve become magazine fodder for the credulous, candy-floss for the mind, as a necessary part of keeping their popularity and with it their lifestyle. They may hate the loss of privacy, but I don’t doubt they know why it’s necessary. As long as people are oohing and aahing over pretty pictures of royal children and warring princes, swallowing it all down like candy, few of them are going to wonder if royalty is even needed in the first place.

I also want to say that even though (or perhaps because) I’m a person of European descent in a former British colony, I detest colonisation and the damage it’s done, a process that even if it wasn’t exactly ‘by’ royalty, was often supported by them, and done ‘in their name’. I believe much more dialogue about colonisation and its results is necessary, and that anti-monarchists, especially non-white peoples who have suffered at the hands of colonial powers, are entitled both to express their opinion and demand change and I don’t think they should be silenced or arrested for doing so.

Then there’s all the stuff about her ‘doing her duty’. But I’ve noticed people are always vague about what that duty WAS. When I look at what she actually did, I see a lot of opening of new hospital wings or schools, a lot of walkabouts, a lot of meeting the public and shaking hands. She entertained foreign dignitaries, hosted garden parties and formal dinners, handed out many a knighthood and medal, and supported multiple charities. She read lots of government papers and kept a finger on the ‘issues’ of the world, even if she couldn’t actually *do* anything about it. She made appropriate speeches at the appropriate time. And so on. In short, she was rather good at being a figurehead.

But we can always do without a figurehead.

Where to from here, then? In New Zealand, the conversation about us someday becoming a republic is ongoing. It’s not urgent, but it’s also true that we don’t feel the attachment to Britain we once did. When I was a child, you could still hear people talking about ‘The Old Country’, and ‘Home’, but that generation is long gone. We consider ourselves New Zealanders now, wherever our ancestors came from (and of course many are not of British origin), and are evolving a culture of our own, one which is increasingly influenced by Māori culture. I find this exciting.

So it will be interesting to see what happens in the coming years. But we can start with increasing those discussions about colonisation and how to heal the wounds from it. That is something we can and urgently need to do. There’s a lot of hurt to be dealt with, a lot of reparation to be made. Getting started on this is way more important than royalty itself.

 

Privilege and disability

I’ve been thinking lately about privilege. Most people think of privilege as something they have or had – “ancient rights and privileges”, “I had the privilege of meeting so-and-so last year…” etc.

But privilege, in the political sense, also has another meaning. It’s about what you don’t have to deal with, what doesn’t happen to you, because of your race, gender, religion, sexuality, neurology, or whatever. It’s what you take for granted as so normal that you don’t give it a second thought – unless for some reason you suddenly get deprived of it, or become aware of what those without it suffer. Though even if an individual is made aware of their privilege, they usually want to deny it even exists. As one person in a Facebook conversation about this said – “The thing with privilege is that those with it …are unaware of it. And many do not want to see it because it rocks the foundation of who they feel they are.”

I first became aware of privilege in this sense when I was in the feminist and anti-racism movements, back in the 80s. I of course don’t have male privilege, or heterosexual, or even able-bodied, now. But I do have the privilege that goes with my white skin and European ancestry.

So I know that as a white person, I can, say, walk down a street in a high-income area without having people think I’m there either to clean a house or to rob it. I’ve never had anyone assume that I got a job because of my skin colour, not my abilities. I’ve never been sneered at or hassled by shop staff because of my race, nor feared being arrested because of it. And if I read a history book, people of my race are almost certain to feature prominently, and usually positively, in it.

Similarly, no man walking into a boardroom for the first time is likely to have people assume he’s there either to make the tea or take notes. (Yes, even now that still happens.) They never have to think about glass ceilings or equal pay. They can fearlessly walk alone late at night, and sleep around without fear someone will think them a slut. Date rape is not a worry for them. And so on. (And this is just in Western countries. Imagine the male privilege in non-Western ones.)

And then there’s heterosexual privilege – your average straight person never has to worry about being denied a marriage license, or being allowed to adopt or foster children, or even to retain custody of their own children. Yet until fairly recently, all these have been routinely denied gays and lesbians, and still are in many countries. In fact in some countries, gays and lesbians still live in fear for their lives. And they aren’t all Third World countries either. Russia has a particularly bad track record of this, and it’s getting worse.

So what does privilege mean for the non-disabled, and/or non-autistic?

For the non-disabled, it means things like never having to worry whether you can physically enter a building, or easily get to where you need to be if you do get in.

It means you don’t have to think about whether you can find housing you can access, or whether you’ll be allowed on to a bus or train or plane, or denied a safe place to put yourself when you do get on.

You don’t have to worry that you will be talked to as if you’re stupid, or have others ignore your wishes and make decisions about your life against your will, based solely on your physical abilities and needs.

You’re never expected to be the ‘token’ person of your ability levels, or be constantly told how ‘inspirational’ you are, just for doing normal, everyday things.

If you’re not autistic, if you get bullied, it’s unlikely anyone will tell you your neurology is to blame, and that if only you acted more like others, it would stop.

You don’t have to plan your day around the fear of inducing sensory overload, and you can change plans if need be without risking panic and meltdowns.

You needn’t fear that people will ignore what you’re saying because of your neurology, or consider you a ‘burden’ because of it, or decide that any and all problems you have, even medical ones, are due to it.

You’ll never have to fear being attacked because of your neurology, or that police officers will take your normal body movements the wrong way, and arrest or even shoot you because of it.

Perhaps most chillingly of all, if you are murdered by your parents or caregivers, no-one will say that “you’re better off dead”, and offer sympathy to your killer/s, based on your neurological style or physical ability levels. Yes, this does happen, and all too frequently, alas.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of the privileges of all the above groups. For more information about privileges, check out the following websites :

http://www.sap.mit.edu/content/pdf/able_bodied_privilege.pdf

https://exposingableism.wordpress.com/2009/10/12/the-invisible-backpack-of-able-bodied-privilege-checklist/

http://thatcrazycrippledchick.blogspot.co.nz/2011/02/able-privilege-checklist.html

http://www.autistichoya.com/2012/08/privilege-and-myth-of-independence.html

http://everydayfeminism.com/2016/01/neurotypical-privilege/: http://www.unholyamerican.com/2013/11/privelege-checklist.html

http://aspergersquare8.blogspot.co.nz/2009/08/checklist-of-neurotypical-privilege-new.html

http://davehingsburger.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/conversatons.html?spref=fb

And yes, many of the above privileges, or lack of them, intersect. You can have, or not have, more than one sort of privilege. Imagine how they begin to stack up, and you see why some people’s lives are much easier, while some others almost don’t stand a chance.

And here’s the thing about privilege – there’s no point in either denial or guilt. Back in the 80s, I was in the New Zealand anti-racism and feminist movements. I realised then that guilt is a useless emotion, as it changes nothing. You’re not a bad person for being born white, male, straight, able-bodied, or whatever, anymore than others of us are bad for not being any or all of these things. What’s needed is to acknowledge your privilege as a simple fact – and then, hopefully, do whatever you can to ensure that those without it also gain it. I’m not saying that’s easy, or that all of us have to be hotshot activists, but we can always find some little thing to do to change things.

But start with simple acknowledgement. Just facing the truth can go a long way.