Looking for unity in all the wrong places
Hundreds of thousands of people marched on Washington D.C. — with sister marches in many other metropolitan areas and, indeed, on all seven continents — in opposition to the incoming Trump administration’s host of anti-woman policies and attitudes.
These marches were in many ways a tremendous feat of organizing and a tremendous show of solidarity, of unity in common purpose. Marginalized folks of all stripes turned out to support the radical notion that women are people. People sang songs, and held hands, and did all the traditional protest things. Clever and pithy and touching signs abounded.
One photo that’s been making the rounds is this one:
Everywhere I’ve seen that posted, it’s followed by a host of “Amen!”s and then, inevitably, by a conversation (usually started by a white person) that always follows the same script:
Person whose house might catch on fire: We need to reform our building codes to ensure all houses are protected! We need equal access to fire departments!
Person whose house is literally on fire: I’m totally on board with that, let’s get all that done, for sure. But in the meanwhile, my house has been literally on fire for decades. Could I maybe get some help with that?
Person whose house might catch on fire: How dare you?! This is tearing people apart when we should be coming together. This is a time for unity, not division!
There’s been a lot already written about how calls for unity are often a silencing tactic. We needn’t rehash that here. Let’s grant, for the sake of argument, that the person whose house might catch fire is legitimately concerned, and is legitimately invested in making sure that the person whose house is on fire gets a visit from the fire department, and so on. Let’s grant, in short, that they care.
Here’s the thing about care: care doesn’t happen where you are. Care happens where the pain is. Care demands that you move. (But, unless you were born with a saintly disposition, care doesn’t move you — you have to decide, you have to get up, and you have to go, all under your own power.)
When your friend is sick, you don’t say “Hey, I’ve made some chicken soup. Drop by if you want any” — you bring them the goddamn soup.
When your sibling gets dumped, you don’t email them a gift certificate to Baskin Robbins — you show up with two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and a terrible movie.
This is the mistake that’s made by white feminists (which, in case you’re not familiar with the term, refers to non-intersectional feminism, not any feminist who happens to be white) and people of similar ilk: they call for unity where they are.
Maybe we should characterize them more charitably, though. Let’s say instead that they call for meeting in the middle. Let’s even set aside intersectionality altogether and say further that everyone’s house is equally on fire. Isn’t this still a terrible idea? We’re not going to get our fires put out by meeting in the middle of the street — we’re going to get them put out by banding together and going to where the fires are to fight them, by forming a bucket brigade to get the resources to the places where they’ll have the most meaningful, most immediate impact.
When a Muslim or a disabled person or a person of color or an immigrant or an otherwise marginalized person shows up in solidarity at your house to fight the fire, you don’t get to pout or storm off in a huff when they suggest that maybe you should help them do something about the fire at their house, too. When members of communities literally being killed in the streets by state actors show up for you, you don’t get to feel put-upon when they expect you to also show up for them.
But this is critique, not criticism. It’s not about making anyone feel bad. If you want to receive support without offering it in return, that’s totally a thing you can do — but you have to own it. If you’re not willing to enter into a community of reciprocity with other marginalized groups, be clear about that from the outset: “We’re doing a thing to address the building codes on my side of the street; actual fires on the other side are beyond the ambit of this project.” That’ll upset some people — though I think you’ll be surprised by how many people will still show up for you even if they can’t rely on you to show up for them (case in point: the person holding that sign) — but at least it’ll be honest.
There’s an excellent piece up on Jezebel, and another on Huffington Post, in which the authors describe being unable to trust many of the white participants at this latest round of rallies because there’s no way to know whether their “We’re all in this together!” will only last until their issues get discussed (but you should click through and read the full pieces despite my very reductive summation of them). By staying mindful and being forthright about the scope of your activism, you make it possible to trust again — to trust you because you’re no longer allowing false expectations to take root, and to trust those who say “We’re all in this together!” and mean it because you’re no longer diluting their promises with your implications (however well-intentioned or unintentional those might be).
You don’t have to fight every fight all the time. But you do have to be aware of, and be candid about, which fights you’re fighting and which fights you’re sitting out.
And remember: when you call for unity, be prepared to move.
Obligatory disclaimer: I’m a straight white (mostly?-)cisdude, so my authority to speak on what feminism is or should be is limited. That said, while this post is occasioned by a women’s demonstration and the race-related conversations that surround it, the point I’m trying to make is about the structure and tactics of progressive resistance movements more generally, so it’s possible that I’m overstepping in even more ways than it first appears. Cum grano salis, as always.
