Confessions of a white feminist

By Nicole D. Johns

For most of my life, I have been what some disparagingly (and accurately) refer to as a “white feminist”. I cared about my reproductive rights and paid family leave. I argued about “opting out” and “having it all”. I was blind to my privilege in the most fundamental ways. I tripped over that privilege all the time. I still do. Regularly.

The difference between now and then? Now I understand enough to see my privilege and how it benefits my family. Well, I see it some of the time. I know I know nothing. I know there are some things I can never know no matter how much I read or listen. I now shudder at some of the thoughts, opinions, and actions of my past. I regret missed opportunities to do better. But I didn’t know better then. But I do now. With that knowledge comes responsibility. Now I must do the work of dismantling my privilege and the oppressive systems that created and sustain it.

It’s not enough just to say “I’m a privileged white woman”. I must actively seek the destruction of that privilege and white supremacy. This is not passive work. This cannot be done by reading some essays, liking posts on Instagram, and buying the right t-shirts. I must do more than call myself an intersectional feminist. I must work to support the leadership and centrality of women of color and queer women in all the feminist and social justice work I do. I must give financial and other resources to people and organizations doing this work. I must understand when it isn’t my place to speak or even show up.

So what does that work look like? For me it looks like:

Shutting up and listening to women of color talk about their lives and experiences. Seeking out opportunities to hear and learn from others different myself; whether that is a public meeting, a storytelling event, or community-building exercise. I am reading books and articles I might not have otherwise read, seeking them out from lists curated by feminists and thinkers. I am listening to podcasts by people of color. I am seeking out activists and journalists on Twitter who write about race, gender, and social justice. I am supporting artists, creators, and activists with my money and my eyeballs, ears, and attention. I am explaining to white feminists why Delco NOW is focusing on the issues of economic and racial justice, rather than reproductive justice. (Although, you and I both know that there is no reproductive freedom without economic and racial equity, but you know, others aren’t as hip to social factors of health and well-being as we are).

My ability to have productive discussions about racism with others is a work in progress. I’m working on dropping the ‘shaming and blaming’ that comes so easily to me, but often slams shut hearts and minds. A few months ago, I confronted my mother about a racist assumption about a neighbor. That went well because I approached it as an opportunity for her to examine her own prejudices and assumptions. I didn’t call her or what she said “racist”. Best to avoid that word if you want people to listen to you. The avoidance shouldn’t be to protect their fragile feelings, but because we really want to change hearts and minds, not just win an argument. I no longer worry about white people’s hurt feelings about being called out. I care immeasurably more about the oppression of people of color than I do about my cousin’s hurt feelings. That’s on him.

I’m not perfect. I’m not even close.

I know that all of this is nothing. The least I could do. No great sacrifice of my time, resources, or privilege. I know. This is a journey that requires much work. And part of my work is thinking a lot about allyship and true solidarity. Much of the “allyship” we see online is performative. It’s meant to signal to other white people and people of color that the individual white person is “not all white people”. It’s about their identity as a “woke” white person and not about the advancement of the ideas and power of people of color and other marginalized peoples. I fear becoming such a performative ally. I fear that I am at times , however unintentionally.

Is being loud and proud of your activism inherently performative? Is there a way to be outspoken without being the center or subject of the attention? Is there a way to amplify without attaching oneself to the message or catching the spotlight? Is there place for white people in Black-led anti-racism movements? How can I use my privilege to protect others and/or amplify their voices?

Part of my work to un-learn racism is to contemplate and ask these questions of myself and others and to be open to the answers, even if they hurt. We have to dig deep and shine light in the darkest and most shameful parts of ourselves if we are to grow in solidarity and increase justice and peace. There is no easy way.

I have tortured myself and navel-gazed about how to be a true and helpful ally. It’s embarrassing how tortured I can be with all the hand-wringing and second-guessing. I know this self-examination is also a kind of performance of my “wokeness”. It’s my white guilt stepping out from around it’s dark curtain of shame.

In this time spent thinking and reading, I have come to believe (or is it hope?) that as long as my intentions are true solidarity and I stay open to feedback and self-reflection, even if I make a big mistake at least I will have done my best. It is far better to do the work and make a mistake than it is to stay at home in my quiet cave of white guilt and fear of offending anyone. My friends of color have no choice but to be in the world. Having the option to “opt out” of social justice work is a part of my white privilege.  So the first step to solidarity is to ‘woman up’ and step out of the protective cover of this privilege. I am strong and compassionate. I cannot let the fear instilled in me by the racist and sexist systems silence and disempower me. I will not allow it. My risk of embarrassment and discomfort is nothing compared to the oppression of billions of people. I am not that important. I am not a special little snowflake. I am not that fragile.

As Maya Angelou taught us:

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better then do better.”

Intersectional Reading List

By Hillary Moses Mohaupt

Kimberle Crenshaw gave us the term “intersectionality” in a 1989 article in the University of Chicago Legal Forum. In the article’s conclusion she writes, “If any real efforts are to be made to free Black people of the constraints and conditions that characterize racial subordination, then theories and strategies purporting to reflect the Black community’s needs must include an analysis of sexism and patriarchy. Similarly, feminism must include an analysis of race if it hopes to express the aspirations of non-white women.” The word “intersectionality” may have been born in a legal journal but the notion—and the need for it—has emerged in fiction and non-fiction, politics and poetry.

Curricula and reading lists have been circulating the Internet for months now, and frankly I find them all overwhelming. There are so many books and articles to read, so many films to watch, so many people to follow on Twitter. But the reason there are so many lists, with so much “required reading,” is that work needs urgently to be done. We can’t close our eyes and pretend things will get better on their own. White people cannot and should not depend on people of color to educate us; that’s our own work to do. But where do you start?

As Shannon and Jane recently recommended in their tiny letter, Do A Thing, start by reading the thing you’ve been putting off reading. For me, that’s Octavia Butler’s Kindred, which lingered somewhere near the top of my reading list—but never the very top—for most of 2016.

Or maybe start with Crenshaw’s article. If you’re still looking for a place to start, here’s a list of ten books, in no particular order, to help you get reading.

  1. Women, Race and Class, Angela Y. Davis

  2. This Bridge Called My Back, edited by Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua

  3. Feminism is for Everybody: Passionate Politics, bell hooks

  4. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, Patricia Hill Collins

  5. Living For Change, Grace Lee Boggs

  6. Feminism without Borders, Chandra Talpade Mohanty

  7. We Should All Be Feminists, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

  8. Sister Outsider, Audre Lorde

  9. Colonize This!, edited by Daisy Hernandez

  10. Gender Trouble, Judith Butler

Where do you start?

Personally, I start with art.

Well, I start with reading. Lately, I’ve been reading things that challenge me:

  • Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates
  • Passing, Nella Larsen
  • Waking Up White, Debby Irving
  • Hope in the Dark, Rebecca Solnit
  • Paradise, Toni Morrison

These books aren’t all protest texts. Coates’s memoir tells his personal story about race in the United States. Larsen’s slim novel offers a poetic, chilling glimpse into middle class African American life in the early 20th century. Irving’s simply written memoir is like an all-the-basics how-to guide to facing your own privilege. Solnit’s book was written soon after George W. Bush took office and that alone makes it a perfect place to start. And Morrison’s sublime novel paints a portrait of what might have been and what can never be.

Toni Morrison, Ta-Nehisi Coates and Sonia Sanchez recently shared a stage to discuss art and social justice. Morrison said, in part:

“I want to remind us all that art is dangerous… The history of art, whether it’s in music or written or what have you, has always been bloody because dictators and people in office and people who want to control and deceive know exactly the people who will disturb their plans… And it’s something that society has to protect. When you enter that field, no matter where you enter, whether it’s Sonia’s poetry or Toshi’s music or Ta-Nehisi’s rather starkly clear prose, it’s a dangerous pursuit. Somebody’s out to get you. You have to know it before you start, and do it under those circumstances, because it is one of the most important things that human beings do. That’s what we do.”

Okay, so maybe by the nature of art the books I’m reading really are all protest texts. They challenge a dominant paradigm. They encourage white Americans to approach the world differently. They remind me that I live at an intersection of race and gender, where I can use the privilege of my skin color to work for racial justice, even as I strive for women’s equality.

What are you reading? Where do you start?

by Hillary Mohaupt  |

Now more than ever NOW needs you.

It's been a week and we are all still reeling from the disappointment, shock, and heartbreak. As we regroup and reflect, we also need to organize. And we have plans to do that. A story slam in the spring 2017, listening sessions throughout the county, and joining with other progressives to stand up for reproductive justice, racial equality, and our civil rights. 

We will be having a meeting very soon, but in the meantime come join us at Sterling Pig in Media on November 17th from 7-10pm for some sisterhood and planning our next steps. 

We will be joining thousands of other women at the Women's March on Washington on January 21, 2017. Join us on the bus leaving from Upper Darby. There are also lots of others leaving from all over PA. Don't miss this historical event! We need to stand together.

Consider joining Delco NOW as a dues paying member. We need people and resources to protect women's rights here in Delco and advance progressive causes. We need you.

Stuff We Like

Podcasts and Videos

The Gender Data Gap
A 3-minute video by the Gates Foundation

What Would A Feminist Do? 
A podcast by Jessica Valenti

True Story of the Gender Pay Gap
Freakonomics podcast episode

Women are Not Men
Freakonomics podcast episode

Gloria Steinem Interview
WTF with Marc Maron

Articles and Essays

Arch Enemies
An article about high heels from the Atlantic

Transgender Men See Sexism From Both Sides 

The Lemonade Syllabus
A Collection of Works Celebrating Black Womanhood

Beyonce is Fighting the Patriarchy Through Pop Culture

Mom's Clean Air Force Blog