Growing up, I was surrounded
with noise. More specifically, I constantly heard yelling - the yelling of
neighborhood kids, their parents yelling, my parents yelling - the noise of people
trying to be heard. I tried to yell or cry or scream to be heard above the din.
But when I was heard, the response was not always positive. If I voiced concern
about my parents yelling, one or both parents would tell me not to be
concerned, that everything was fine.
Maintaining the semblance of
“everything is fine” remained with me as I grew older. I quickly learned that
if I expressed that I was not fine, adults and my peers would not listen to me.
Instead, they would panic and try to reassure me that I was actually fine. In
my Bible class, if I said I was insecure in my faith, my teacher would tell me
to simply silence my doubts. I pretended that I was able to do that while
remaining agnostic internally. Looking back, I was constantly being told how to
feel. The women in my life, as well as society, told me to be ashamed of my
body. If I contested, they would simply point out the ways my body was not
perfect. When I told my youth pastor that I thought the boys in my Bible study
were sexist, she told me they weren’t, but that they were living biblical
lives. I quickly learned to question my feelings and experiences. I learned to
stop voicing my authentic feelings and experiences and instead parrot what I
was told to feel and experience.
Eventually, I was not only lying
to others, but also to myself. As I internalized the shame I was taught to feel
about my body, I lied to myself (I’m not hungry, I’m not working out too much).
As I listened to my family and community preach homophobia and heterosexism, I
lied to myself (I don’t like her that way, I only like boys, it’s just a
phase). I also watch my friends lie to themselves. When my best friend was
bullied and called racial slurs, I watched her ignore the actions and even deny
the attacks. She told me that she was fine. I did not know what to do, I was
unsure if I should speak up for her since it appeared that she simply wanted to
issue to disappear. In the end, I didn’t say anything.
Getting to college, I no longer
had my family around to monitor my emotions. I was also in a more accepting
environment than my socially conservative high school and family. Suddenly, I
had friends asking me, “How are you? No, really, how are you?” There were
people listening. They also taught me how to listen. My first year, I joined
the cast of The Vagina Monologues and learned how to make an entire audience
listen. Through positive experiences with friends as well as gender studies
coursework, I grew more comfortable talking about my experiences. I unlearned
the internalized lie: “I’m fine.” I was breaking my silence by becoming active
in Greek Life and my Women’s and Gender Studies classes.
The beginning of the spring
semester of my third year of college, I was silenced again. My protests and
yelling “Stop” and “No” were not heard. I hated being silenced. No one was
going to ignore me and my feelings. For a month and a half I fought to make my
voice and experience heard working through the Title IX system and against
efforts to silence me. Ultimately, my efforts worked as I had the perpetrator
removed from school. However, I was not done being heard. A few weeks later, it
was revealed that his fraternity was posting misogynistic and violent posts on
their “secret” Facebook page. I joined a group of students to protest the
fraternity in an effort to make sure that the administration held them
accountable.
I also began speaking up for
others. This year, I directed a show to replace The Vagina Monologues. This
production, The Willamette Monologues, was completely student written and
performed. Students, myself included, shared monologues about their experiences
with heterosexism, racism, transphobia, sexual assault, and other experiences
of oppression. I am continuing to speak against privilege.
Part of speaking up is also
being silent. As a community, we need to take time to listen to each other,
especially the voices of the marginalized. While listening, we must also take
care to not invalidate the feelings or experiences of others. The only way to
truly understand injustice in the world, is to either live it or listen to
those with the experience. In order to combat injustice, collective action is
necessary. Not only collective action, but also that the oppressed lead because
if privileged people, the loudest voices, talk over the marginalized the
privileged are not helping. Rather they are speaking for others and trying to
save them. Leadership and social justice work is not about saving people; it is
about lessening injustice and oppression. This requires an understanding that,
if you are privileged, your leadership may perpetuate oppression. A classic
example of this is the white mainstream feminist movement, especially during
the “second wave.” These feminists thought they were helping all women when in fact, they were
harming women of color as well as queer women. Social justice work must quiet
the room so that the silent voices are heard.
