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The Clusterfuck Faction
When any group reclaims or attempts to reclaim a word, it doesn’t so much seem to be about reclaiming it away from the most hateful among us – for example the “n word”- word can’t ever be reclaimed away from the KKK. The point, I’d hope, would be to eliminate the KKK by eliminating the hate that makes anyone want to join the KKK in the first place, it’s not like we would still want to have the KKK as long as they didn’t say the “n word”- word, right?
So, it starts smaller, or not really smaller, but it starts somewhere else. Here I will pause to insert an illustration I made, of all of the world’s hate, haters, hated and how we all interact, brace yourself, it’s a revelation:
“The Gender Puzzle”
The Story of My First Time
It hurt, and afterwards I cried. It felt like what I wanted didn’t matter; like some stranger had decided what mattered for me.
Of course, I’m talking about the first time I was told I had privilege.
It was 1990, I was 19 and I was in jail. A GED prep course was offered with the exam given at the end. I attended all the classes, and applied myself to learning the material that would be covered, foregoing card games in favor of algebra.
The day of the test they announced that those who were scheduled to take it should assemble near the main door. I hot-footed myself on down there and stood in the sort-of line waiting for them to come to me and check my name against the list. When I was finally asked for my name, the CO scanned up and down the list two or three times and said, “I don’t see you on here. Are you sure you’re supposed to be going?”
“Yeah. I went to all the classes, I’m pretty sure I should be scheduled.” I told her. She said she’d have to check on what happened, which was no comfort because the girls going for the test had already gone and I wasn’t with them. I walked back to my cell and shed a few tears in my frustration.
A few friends stopped by and leaned against the door, “Aren’t you taking the test? Everybody left already!” “No, they said my name wasn’t on the list.” “That’s fucked up. How come?” “I dunno, life hates me?”
A few hours later the counselor called me into his office. Now, the “counselor” was a rare sight on the cell block, he was only called in as a liason if you had some sort of dire emergency – for example if your child is injured or very sick and dying the counselor lets you be able to contact family and helps arrange transport for you to see whoever the hurt/dying person is.
The power of the counselor was legendary because the only real phone on the cell block was in his office and he was the only one with the keys to unlock the door, unlock the box the phone was in, and open the lock on the actual keypad on phone. I dunno why the phone was locked up so tight, but it was, and he had the key. I’d only seen him once in the 3 months I’d been there, seen as in visually perceived him, not as in spoke with him – so it was a big deal that he wanted to talk to me.
When the CO came by and told me he was waiting, I thought, “oh shit, my mom’s dead and that’s why I wasn’t on the list but they didn’t want to tell me earlier, they waited for this guy to tell me.” I was expecting the absolute worst as I walked to his little office. He gestured for me to have a seat and started talking as I sat down. “You were wondering why you weren’t on the list for the test today?” “Yeah…”
“Well, that was because Cheryl S. called me yesterday and said she had wanted to take the test, and there are only so many slots available, so I made the decision to take you off the list, and put her on in your place.”
“Umm, why? She didn’t even go to any of the classes, I went to every single one and actually studied on my own time.”
“Because it’s more likely you’ll have a chance to take it once you get out, and she doesn’t have that privilege.”
His use of the word privilege in that context was quite foreign to me. I understood it to mean the opposite of a “right” – I didn’t get it – it wasn’t as if she wasn’t allowed to take the GED after she got out. She might not WANT to, but that’s damn sure not the same as not being “granted the privilege” to take it.
I was pissed, and I was certain that I was justified in being pissed. But the counselor kept talking, … “Your release permissions say you’re going to be moving to your moms in QuaintNearbyTown, and there are 4 locations that offer the test during the year relatively near there, and you’re going to be living with a licensed driver …. ” He trailed off as he shuffled through the set of papers on his desk, “And Cheryl, let me see… she has 3 kids, all under 12 and is going to have to depend on the bus to get to the 1 location close enough to her that offers the test, and well, the only thing that would stop her from having her GED is the opportunity to take it, she’ll be able to pass without studying so thats not a problem… and well….”
He set down the pages and looked over at me “I know you aren’t happy about this but I do feel I made the right choice. I am sorry, though, that I didn’t get here before you were lined up at the door expecting to go, another situation took precedence and this was as soon as I could get down here.” I could tell he was finished, and I was already getting to my feet, “So, if you don’t have any other questio—…”
“No, I don’t have any questions.” I stood up, yanked the door open and walked out, still feeling indignant. You’d think that knowing my mom wasn’t dead would have kept me from feeling anything other than relief.
No, I was mad. Oh sure, I understood his reasoning, but I thought that his reasoning discriminated against me. It didn’t take me long though to realize what he really meant, and to realize that he was right.
Back in my cell, I started writing a letter, describing the terrible injustice that I had just suffered, and with every sentence I felt less and less justified about being so pissed, and I couldn’t deny that what he said was true, unless I wanted to lie to myself. But I sure did try to convince myself … boy oh boy did my letter make it obvious…
I was writing: “He says I’ll have a mom who drives. How does he know? My mom could be an alchoholic who might kill me if I get in the car with her.” But I knew she didn’t drink and would drive me anywhere I needed to go.
“He says she’ll pass it no problem without studying, like I’m so stupid the fact that I studied won’t help me.” But I knew that wasn’t at all what he said, and that I also could have passed it without studying.
“He says that ’cause she has 3 kids, she’s more important, it’s not my fault she got knocked up 3 times, if I pop out some babies will I get special treatment too?” But I knew that he never said she was more important than me, and I knew that she wasn’t getting special treatment, that the only thing special about it was that somebody decided to give her just 1 extra chance, and I knew that there wasn’t anything particularly “extra” about it to begin with.
I knew that on the jail scale of who’s gotten how many chances, I was off the chart. I knew that on the not-in-jail scale I was pretty darn high – and I would still be pretty darn high even though I’d been in jail.
I knew that I had heard “we’ve decided to give you one more chance” so often that I expected it. I didn’t even have to ask for second chances, I would merely hope, and they were given to me.
For me, there was a lot of “Phew, I’m glad they didn’t make me ask for this second chance or explain why I thought I deserved it,” and never any “Phew, I’m glad they gave me that second chance I asked for,” Because I NEVER EVEN HAD TO ASK. Having to ask was my worst case scenario, I couldn’t even comprehend asking and being denied.
In the years since then, I’ve told this story every so often when privileged people are complaining about thier hard luck. It’s usually a friend of a friend complaining about how affirmative action is reverse racism or some such wounded ego wimpery, and I pipe-up excited that I get a chance to tell my story of the time I was edged out of an opportunity based only on where I came from, and not at all on how hard I had worked.
They love it so much, they lap it up and they say …. “see – this sort of stuff does happen!” and their words make it obvious that mine is the only first hand story they’ve heard of anything like this happening and they think it’s wonderful proof to change the lies they tell into the truth they wish it to be. I know they think they found a bona fide “I do personally know someone who got screwed over by that Affirmative Action bullshit” story to use for purposes of further marginalizing others.
They might still use my story, though they probably omit the part at the end where I say it was the right thing to do, and that I’m not angry at all, and that it taught me an invaluable lesson about how unimaginably privileged I am, and that even learning the lesson when I did, where I did, was in itself more privilege, and that I’m only telling it to people who complain and whine and make it obvious they haven’t yet learned the lesson.
Yeah, they probably don’t tell that part, so if you hear this story from someone else, and they leave off the end, be sure to tack it on and set the record straight.
