Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: context

If you reverse the–STFU

Few things irk me more on a social justice level than, “If you reverse the situation, then–” I’m not saying it’s the most important, but it’s fingernails on the chalkboard annoying to me. To clarify, when someone snidely says, “Imagine if a guy did that to a woman! He would get so much shit for it.” The latest time I read about it was on an Ask A Manager post was when I was re-reading old letters. There was one from a young woman with ADHD and autism who had a crush on her boss. Either on the letter on the update, someone HAD to say that if the genders were reverse, people would have different advice for the OP.

First of all, everyone told her that her boss was being correct to step back and establish firm boundaries. They took her to task for looking for love in all the wrong places and gave really good advice on how to tackle her issues with a strong suggestion of getting therapy specic to her issues. More than one person mentioned Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, and even though there were several people who just didn’t recoginize the importance of the autism/ADHD, no one gave her a pass on her behavior at work.

So what advice would have changed? The person who made that comment said something about the boss havinvg to do emotional labor (if it had been a young man crushing on his female boss), but…here’s the thing about doing the ‘what if it was the reverse?’ You can’t just flip the genders and call it a day. Part of the issue with isms is that it isn’t just discrete events in and of themselves with zero context. It’s about environment, history, and so much more.

I mean, it’s pretty obvious if you think about it. Things don’t happen in a vacuum. Context matters. This isn’t rocket science. It’s like when dudes say, “Hahahhahah I would love if women were constantly hitting on me” when brushing off catcalling. That’s because they are thinking of attractive women hitting on them and them having the ability to say no without consequence. They are not thinking it’s a woman they are not attracted to who could also kick their ass if she wanted. And they weren’t assured a way to get away from her. Nor did they have the history of not knowing if any interaction with a woman was going to end in being insulted, raged at, or attacked.

There’s a mystery book I read once. I can’t remember the series or the author, but the basic premise was a female cop as the protagonist living with her male cop boyfriend. At some point, he had to go help a victim of a mugging–a woman who was jogging at night. I think this was NYC in the ’80s. When he got home, he remarked to his partner that the victim should not have been jogging at that time of night. He didn’t mean to, but he was essentially blaming the victim.

The protag–Susan Dunlap. It just popped into my head. The character is Jill Smith.    I think the book is Death and Taxes, but I’m not sure about that.     I’m very sure about the author, though. Apparently, allowing my brain to relax is what does it.

Anyway, the protag…am I sure it’s her? I’m pretty sure. Anyway, she was upset, but her partner couldn’t see why what he said was a big deal. He was saying it wasn’t smart of the woman to go out in the dark. Jill stopped arguing, but she decided to show him what’s what. To that end, see, it’s like this. He had a plot of land in front of their house. Oh, and it’s Berkley, not NYC. He was meticulous about this piece of land and made sure to tend to it all the time. So, Jill decided that would be the center of the lesson she would try to teach him.

She messed up this piece of land. I can’t remember how, but maybe she poured in weed killer or something like that? I tihnk that was it. At any rate, sh emessed it up, but good, and her partner lost his mind. He started staking out the land to see who did it. He might have even put up surveillance cameras. The point being that it ate up all his brain space. he became obsessed with it and I don’t remmeber how many days she let him think a stranger had come and ruined his grass. I want to say three or four days. She finally confessed that she was the one who had done it as a way to show him how it felt to have something he loved ruined through no fault of his own and how it would make him feel. She did NOT think it would make him react like that (I don’t think), but it was a lesson for both of them.

It’s so true, though. It’s impossible to make other people see things they don’t have to experience. That’s the problem with telling someone to check their privilege–how would they do that? I’m not being snotty. I’m pointing out that you can’t check something you don’t know you have. I used to get tailed in stores, asked for my ID when using a  check (yes,  ages ago), and searched every time I traveled–‘randomly’. If someone does not experience this in their daily life, how on earth are they going to know what it feels like?

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t try to explain it, sometimes in very forceful words. It’s just that it’s the start of the conversation–not the end of it. Check your privilege, I mean. And, sometimes, checking my privilege means I use said privilege to get shit done. I mean, good shit–not bad. What’s the point of having privilege if I don’t use it for good?

Anyway. Back to reversing the ism. You can’t just reverse the example and ignore the context. In the case of the young woman who had a crush on her male boss–yeah, it’s not good. Yeah, he should (and did) set strong boundaries. And SHE should back the fuck off and not hit on him or flirt with him. But it’s simply not the same as if the genders were reversed. It’s just not. That’s the whole point! Context matters. If it was a young dude who was crushing on his boss, the actual advice probably would still be the same, but it would affect the boss differently because of course it would.

When I was in my twenties, I was talking to a guy about the Equal Rights Amendment. I was talking about equality, and he said smugly, “Oh yeah? Would you be willing to be drafted?” I wanted to punch him in the face because of how he sounded so ‘gotcha’ about it. I blasted him, I’ll admit. I listed a dozen things women had to deal with that men didn’t (including feeling unsafe walking alone at night, being groped by men on the regular, unequal pay, unfair expectations of how women should look, being constantly told to smile, lose weight, etc., and a bunch more. Oh yeah, getting married and having children, too. Like a broodmare.). After I was done, I looked him in the eye and said, “If you can promise me that all of that will go away if I can be drafted, then yes!”

He shut the fuck up and never brought it up again. Same with the guy (yes, it’s usually a white dude) in college with whom I was talking about novels. I mentioned that I was only reading women of color at the time–specifically Asian women if possible–and he said that was just reverse discrimination. I looked at him and said that I bet I had still read more dead white men than he had women of color, and he had nothing to say to that.

I don’t always speak my mind. In fact, I let things slide more often than not. But I felt really good on those two occasions and it showed me that I could speak up and did not have to remain silent.

 

Flip it and reverse it

One phrase that is guaranteed to send me into an instant rage is “But if you reverse the _____ (genders, sexual orientations, races, etc.), then people would be up in arms about it!”

I hate it with the intensity of a thousand suns. Why? Because it strips all context from a situation. “A woman can catcall a man on the streets, but let a woman do it, and suddenly, he’s a creep!”

First of all, the vast majority of women do not catcall on the streets. I’ve not seen a gang of women standing on the corner and hassling random men as they walk by about the size of their package or how they would like the man to nail them hard. And, by the way, let’s assume these women are large, tough, and not the kind of women the guy is sexually inetreested in. It’s not Salma Hayek, Lucy Liu, or Uma Thurman wanting to climb their rods. And there is a history of women violently attacking men who turn them down. And men in the workplace were treated like eye candy who were only there as visual decoration. And to be harrassed.

Oh, let’s not forget the sexism of women being held to a double standard at work, too. She is supposed to not be too soft otherwise she’s giving into her girly side. Too cold, however, and she’s a bitch. Women are expected to sooth men and make sure not to rile them up, but they can’t be too diffident about it either.

Then, let’s not forget dress. There are so many pitfalls a woman can fall into with dress, including makeup, stockings, nails, jewelry, hair–and that’s in addition to the clothing itself. There are so many hiddens dos and don’ts when it comes to dressing while female.

So, yeah, add all that to the equation and then maybe you’ll have a point. Otherwise, simply flipping the genders is lazy and doesn’t make the point you think it makes.

This comes into play often around this time because of Christmas. It’s a Christian holiday, but many Christians like to pretend it’s not. They say it’s a cultural holiday and not a Christian one. I’m not disagreeing that ti’s a cultural holiday at this point. But the roots of it is Christian and it’s infuritaing when Christians try to pretend it’s not. Doubly so because we the ‘war on Christmas’ is now a thing that some Christians are waging specifically because they think we have gotten too far away from Christianity during the Christmas season.

This comes up every year on Ask A Manager because of holiday parties. One year, a manager said she put up a small Christmas tree in the lab in which she worked with grad student workers. She asked ahead of time (a few hours) by Slack or Team and claimed no one saaid they had a problem with it. She admitted that she didn’t really give much time for an answer and acknowledged that maybe the students might feel uncomfortable bringing it up, but glossed by it pretty quickly.


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Birthday blues? Nah, birthday blahs

It’s my birthday today (yesterday by the time this is posted). Normally, I’d shrug and move on because whatever. I’ve hated my birthday most of my life and actively pretended it didn’t exist for decades. I refused to say when it was, and I went as far as to put a fake date online whenever I had to provide a birth date. In fact, back in the early days of Facebook when you had to provide one and they published it without permission, I would have people wishing me a happy birthday in January because I picked a date at random. I would go to FB and see a dozen happy birthday wishes and think, “What the fuck? It’s not my birthday. Why are–oh, right.” I’m glad they’ve allowed the user to decide whether or not she wants to publish her birth date. I don’t care any longer, but I certainly did care for many years.

Then, about five or six years ago, I slowly went from loathing my birthday to being aggressively neutral about it to not caring about it. Was it taiji? Yeah, probably. At any rate, it was strange. What’s even stranger is that a year ago, I hated my birthday again. Not because of getting older. I don’t care about that in general*, but because of what normally haunts me on my birthday–the fact that I’ve wasted my life. For whatever reason, it hit me hard last year. Probably because I’m creeping up on fifty, which seemed unimaginable thirty years ago.

When I was a kid and a teenager, I would be dumbfounded when someone asked me about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Not only did I not know; I didn’t see myself as an adult. I couldn’t picture it because I couldn’t fathom being alive. I didn’t want to be alive, and I couldn’t envision it. Me, someone who can imagine anything came up with a blank when trying to see into my own future. I didn’t think I’d make it past childhood, and it continues to surprise me that I’m alive. When I was in my twenties, I got it in my head that I would die when I reached the age my mother was–55. For a year, I was convinced this was true. Even then, I still couldn’t see anything about my future. I knew what I didn’t want–kids, specifically–but what did I want? I had no idea.

I didn’t feel as if I was really living my life or that I was a real person. It’s hard to explain because I know logically that I exist and that I’m moving through the world. But I don’t feel like an actual human being. It doesn’t help that I am invisible in this world. Asian, bisexual, woman, not married, no children, agnostic, fat, and a whole bunch of other qualifiers that render me worthless. The only way I matter now is that apparently it’s Asian women who are bearing the brunt of the anti-Asian sentiment. It’s not a problem, however, as I’m not going anywhere right now.

Anyway, my mom called last night at 11 p.m. I thought it was because I had sent her an email about some insurance thing, but no, it was because she was in a panic about not being able to call me today for my birthday.


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