Revolutionary Love, Radical Justice

From Justice to Joy - Anasa Troutman

Learn more about Anasa Troutman here: https://www.anasatroutman.com/

3 Lessons from Revolutionary love in a time of rage

Visit Valerie Kaur's REvolutionary Love lab

Explore Valerie Kaur’s Revolutionary Love Lab here: https://valariekaur.com/see-no-stranger/extend/#practices

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Analyzing the Roots of Racism in Healthcare and White Terrorism

Conducting a root cause analysis is critical to those committed to an anti-racist practice.

Below, we ask But why?  to peel back the layers of racial injustice and identify how systems coalesce to form systemic racism. Dr. Susan Moore was a practicing physician from Jamaica who received her medical lisence from University of Michigan. In the video below, Dr. Moore shares her experience of racial bias in her care.

A few days after this video Dr. Moore tragically passed away. By asking Why, we can unpack the internal, interpersonal, institutional and ultimately structural reasons for her death.

After viewing the example below, scroll down to apply the But Why? framework to the different ways in which police responded to White terrorism and Black Lives Matter protests.

Example: But Why Did the Doctor ignore Dr. Moore's Pain?

Now, Conduct a Root Cause Analysis on the following example:

Watch the video above and then conduct your own Root Cause Analysis:

Why did the police respond differently to white terrorists compared to black protesters?

Why We Must Dismantle Sexism In South Africa’s All-Boy Schools

Consider the following conversation:

Man: Rape happens a lot these days because womxn have loose morals.

Womxn: Yes, I think it does happen more often today. But, I don’t think it’s because womxn have loose morals.

Womxn: But, even if they did have loose morals, did they deserve to get raped?

Man: Have you noticed how womxn dress these days? All those tight pants provoke us.

Womxn: Eh! But I am a grandmother and even I was raped.

Womxn: And my friend’s daughters was raped and she is 9 years old.

Womxn: Ayi, you people! My neighbours little two year old daughter was raped. Is she provocative?

My deep love for South Africa fills me with purpose and compels me to shine a light on the darkest parts of our society. I am a product of South Africa’s all-boy school system, often lauded for producing excellent education. My schooling should have, but fell short of, preparing me to fully embody values of compassion, equity, and justice. I have spent much of my adult life learning, relearning, and unlearning sexist behaviors gleaned from systemic patriarchy embedded in the school. 

During my student tenure in a semi-private all-boy high school in Johannesburg, a handful of teachers and students pushed back against sexism, and many educated us about the dangers of unchecked masculinity. However, when we boys grouped together, we bonded through displays of sexual dominance and expressed attitudes similar to the men in the above conversation. The physical school space itself did not foster patriarchy, although certain spaces such as locker rooms and hostels certainly did, but rather our acceptance of patriarchal actions strengthened its existence. All-boy schools are capable of, and do, nurture oppressive culture.

South Africa is the most unsafe place for womxn on earth. Every 3 minutes, men rape a womxn or a mxn, and every three hours, a husband or boyfriend murders a womxn. August 2019, which happens to be Women’s Month, was one of the deadliest months for womxn in South Africa. In thirty days, men murdered 30 womxn who were their partners. On August 24, 2019, a man murdered Uyinene “Nene” Mrwetyana, a 19 year old media student at the University of Cape Town. Nene went to the post office to pick up a package. The attendant told her the machine wasn’t working and asked her to return a few hours later. When she returned, he lured her into a back room, raped and tortured her, before killing her with a scale. He then dumped her body in a nearby garbage dump. 

Womxn, and some men, across the world coalesced in outrage. Social media was abound with #MenAreTrash, #IamNext, #MeToo highlighting the extent of sexual violence in South Africa. The rapists’ house was set ablaze by angry community members. Despite the overwhelming evidence, many men, and some womxn responded with denial, diminishment, and deflection to the presence of injustice. #WomenAreTrash, #NotAllMen soon trended, as men told womxn on social media: “she deserved it”, “what was she thinking going there alone?”, and “shut your mouth, or you will be next.”

I strongly aligned with the #MenAreTrash movement as I worked through what I read, what I watched, and what I experienced during this month. But, as a racialized white middle class cisgendered man who grew up in Johannesburg, I also saw a version of myself in the misogynists’ posts. When I peeled back the layers of association between who I am now compared to those times when I’ve embodied misogyny, I immediately reflected on my high school experience. During that period between 2003-2006, I subconsciously internalized the notion that my penis gave me status, power, and control over others.

How does rape culture explain parts of my schooling experience?

As I read through my high school journal, there is a particular poem, written when I was fifteen years old, which describes sexually assaulting a womxn. Reading it now evokes immense shock, shame, and disgust that I was thinking these thoughts as a teenage boy. As jarring as it is to read now, it was not an isolated text. My journal contained multiple accounts of older boys air humping me from behind, having pubic hair ripped from my scrotum while being held down, and assemblies when matrics would tell stories of their sexual escapades for all of us to laugh and cheer. I did not realize it then, but I know now, that I was deep in the bowels of South Africa’s patriarchal rape culture. 

In all-boys schools, we are taught how to reproduce the injustices of patriarchy. How we raise our boys determines the men we produce. Men determine the levels of social, economic, and physical violence in a society. We are more likely to leave our girl child with a womxn we don’t know rather than a male stranger because of the permeance of male violence. The levels of socialized sexism in all-boy spaces prepares us for inhumanity against womxn. It arms us to reproduce and strengthen the oppressive culture against womxn.

All-boy schools are a relatively small but significant stakeholder in South Africa’s educational landscape. Their prominence is layered by the high concentration of men they educate, their middle-upper class nature, and their often colonial and apartheid roots. Originally, these institutions educated white boys to take their place in the British colonial administration, and then the apartheid system of white patriarchal supremacy. In contemporary South Africa, the sediments of racial, class-based, and gender based hierarchies in these schools still operate largely unchanged. Boys, regardless of race and class who matriculate from these schools can often become men who embody the colonial and apartheid value system. In school I learned how to solve for x, but also, how to be white, how to operate in a capitalist economy, and importantly, how to perpetuate the system of sexism.

Education and schooling are not benign processes. Schools are a vision for society because they reflect our greatest hopes, and our most cherished values. Our schools expose us. They reveal who we think we are versus what we actually are and provide us with an opportunity for transformation. What is learned in school, both overtly through subject knowledge, and covertly through cultural behavior, can prepare us to challenge our position in the world: “…It is through education that the daughter of a peasant can become a doctor, and the son of a mineworker can become the head of the mine…” But, because education, especially schooling, exists in an inherently unjust context, it can also teach us to be instruments that reproduce injustice. 

My schooling experience taught me to associate manhood with the false notion of sexual power. Sexual violence against womxn was not only encouraged, but expected. Teachers, parents, and adults in authority normalized this way of being through their implicit silence. I constantly heard and participated in sexist jokes, trivializing sexual assault (“boys will be boys!”), and discussions about why womxn should avoid getting raped instead of teaching men not to rape. The fifteen year old boy who wrote the poem about assaulting a womxn grew into a man. Years after I matriculated, I bonded with my male friends over the extent of our physical dominance over womxn. Life after school was a continuation of school. 

I would be potentially dangerous to womxn were it not for trying to be a different man. My adulthood is defined by learning new ways of bonding with other men and womxn, relearning the value of feminine power and strength as nurtured into me by womxn in my life, and unlearning violent patriarchal behavior. Even though I grew up in a mixed race family in South Africa, I lacked comprehension of how racism operates until I studied under the leadership of an African American professor at a US-based university. In this context I confronted how I perpetuate oppressive ways of being and doing. Despite my growing awareness of race and class based oppression, I did not fully grasp the operation of gender. But, after contact with Kimberlė Crenshaw’s intersectional framework and my marriage to a feminist, I became conscious of how my adulthood is shaped by systems of patriarchy, racism, and class based exploitation learned in school. Despite my deep commitment to live through justice and equity I often fall short of these ideals. Regardless, I do my best everyday to listen, build relationships, reflect, learn and take action; understanding that I am always a work in progress.

What can we men do about it?

Men, we have a responsibility to combat internal and external patriarchy. As individuals, we can learn to listen and listen to learn. Do a personal and honest inventory of your behavior towards womxn. Ask yourself whether you make sexist jokes or use language that degrades womxn and sexual identities. How do you reinforce or challenge strict gender stereotypes among your children when you select their toys, delegate their tasks, or set their expectations? Do you raise your sons to respect the personal space of womxn? Do you place the blame on womxn when they are a victim of sexual violence, or respond to womxn’s experiences of patriarchy by denying its existence (“that rape is an isolated incident”), deflecting to something else (“we should be talking about this other issue”), or diminishing it (“her experience was worse, so stop complaining”)? If you are in a sexual relationship, do you always assume consent? What are your biases against womxn? 

In groups, refraining from bonding through the dehumanization of womxn is a start, but is insufficient. It is our responsibility as men to use our power and privilege to confront patriarchy at a systemic and interpersonal level. We can challenge sexist attitudes and rape culture among our peers, and model for others that these ways of being are socially unacceptable. We can teach our boys healthy ways to bond and define manhood as inclusive of womxnhood. To the men who value womxn, we need to mentor other men and boys to support their healthy development.

As schools, let us commit to shaping boys into full, healthy and compassionate human beings. We can do this through evaluating our language, institutions, policies, and symbols. The following questions may be useful: 

  • Do we normalize racist and sexist language, including jokes? 
  • What are our mokitas, those undercurrents that we don’t talk about, but know exist?
  • Do we, even tacitly, foster toxic masculinity in spaces such as hostels or groups such as prefects or matrics? 
  • When we scrutinize our policies, especially our curriculum, do we equip our students to critically evaluate their learning through the lens of intersectional justice?
  • Do we challenge racial and gender based symbols such as stereotypes?

Left unchecked, all-boy school spaces will continue to produce men who equate themselves with violence against womxn. Rape culture is pervasive in families, schools, and society at large. By challenging the roots of this culture in all-boy schools, which educates thousands of men every year, we will make South Africa, and the world a safer and more equitable place for womxn everywhere. 

Organizations tackling gender injustice in South Africa:

Sonke Gender Justicehttps://genderjustice.org.za/

Sonke’s vision is a world in which men, women, and children can enjoy equitable, healthy and happy relationships that contribute to the development of just and democratic societies. Sonke Gender Justice works across Africa to strengthen government, civil society and citizen capacity to promote gender equality, prevent domestic and sexual violence, and reduce the spread and impact of HIV and AIDS. 

18twenty8 https://www.18twenty8.org/

18twenty8 is an award-winning, women-led Non-Profit Organisation that empowers young women, from disadvantaged backgrounds, by developing strategies for their educational and personal development. They encourage young women, predominantly between the ages of 18 and 28, to view higher education as an attractive and necessary tool for their empowerment. 18twenty8 prides itself on being one of a few organizations in South Africa that is 100% led by young women who empower other young women.

Agenda Feminist Media – https://www.agenda.org.za/

Agenda Feminist Media is committed to giving women a forum, a voice and skills to articulate their needs and interests towards transforming unequal gender relations. They aim to question and challenge current understandings and practices of gender relations in South Africa. Through their flagship project, the Agenda journal, they raise debate around women’s rights and gender issues

Warren Chalklen, PhD passionately works for equity and social justice through education, advocacy, and cross cultural dialogue. He can be reached at warren@warrenchalklen.com or www.warrenchalklen.com

DISCLAIMER:

Opinions expressed are solely my own and do not express the views or opinions of my employer.

 

White privilege: Guilt, Responsibility and Hope

naturebeauty-28I live my life steeped in various forms of privilege–unearned advantages bestowed on me through countless means. As a male, I exist in a world that affirms my manhood. Anything considered strong, rational or heroic is applied to my gender. Because I am able-bodied, buildings are designed for my easy access; toilet cubicles for my comfort and bar counters are always just the right height to rest my arm on. As a cisgender heterosexual identified man, I feel no insecurity in people asking who my “girlfriend” is. I never worry about whether there will be a toilet for my gender identification or whether I will be killed for being who I am. Because, who I am, exists in a world designed to affirm me, and nullify others. Not only am I bombarded with positive messages about being a man, subliminally accommodated because my body is considered the standard, or praised for acting according to my genderized norm; I am also advantaged by my white skin.

For generations, my white ancestors used political, economic and social violence to dispossess, dehumanize and nullify people of color. Political assets such as colonial and apartheid laws reinforced economic dispossession and exploitation of people of color. All this was threaded together by a social system that created a false sense of security in the minds of whites, and a false sense of inferiority in the minds of people of color. The vision of post-apartheid South Africa is to address these triple attacks on humanity. And, while the political laws have been overturned, and with them a shallow respite for centuries of violence, the economic and social aspects of white advantage remain stubborn.

For myself and many other white people like me it was easy to see how overt racial laws benefited me. It was also easy to differentiate myself from blatantly racist people. However, what I struggled to recognize was how my unearned advantages, my white privilege, had blinded me to an everyday accumulation of power-and my complicity to the continued economic and social inequality in our country. I realized, just as I am able to be thought of by others as a good person without earning it, that I did not have to be racist to benefit from my white skin. This understanding prompted a journey wrought with guilt, shame, responsibility, and hope.

Boston_Protester_White_Privilege.jpg

My fist response to guilt was denial of complicity, deflection of reality and diminishment of other’s feelings. I always held the view that I was a person of integrity. Being told that I was complicit in others oppression felt like accusing me of being an immoral person. I would act defensively, angrily, and often with intimidation towards person’s speaking this truth. I eventually realized that by behaving in this way I was protecting my privilege and maintaining the unequal status quo in my favor. After eventually accepting that I had privilege, I began differentiating myself from those other white people. By pointing to their racism, I felt better about myself and my position as a white liberal. Talking about them made me feel special, ‘enlightened’ and gave me a new blanket of privilege to wrap myself in. In denying and deflecting, I never acted in ways to actually diminish my privilege. I could hide behind it while acting like I was actually against it.

Being part of a mixed race family, I was eventually confronted with a choice that brought immense shame. In situations when we would be treated differently based on our race in public spaces I soon learned that one is either against the system of racial oppression or complicit in it. In working against it, I soon learned that my privilege became a double edged sword: on one side, my privilege could be used to fight the system, on the other it merely reinforced itself. In these situations, I felt immense episodes of shame, especially because I would often hurt others through my ignorant behavior. The blindness of privilege, matched with the naivety of good intentions reproduced people’s pain.

©SydelleWillowSmith_sunshinecinema_PRESS-13Given the guilt and shame attached to benefiting from a racist society and a strong commitment to fighting all forms of oppression I also felt episodes of paralysis- the sense that I had no role in this fight because at the end, I would always just be another white liberal. This would often be followed by introspection and humility. I realized that privilege tricks you into believing that if you set your mind to eradicating it you can achieve it like any other goal. However, this is not how tackling racism works. Whites have a responsibility to be part of the process by working on ourselves before taking the fight to the system. We can only fight the system in partnership with, and under the leadership of people of color. We have no right to ask people of color how to deal with our issues—we have to face our position in society and confront what we say, how we behave and the actions we take to dismantle racism around us.

I have learned that racism is a sickness in our society. Its roots are deep and its impact on our nation has been devastating. Racism rips families apart, turns friends into enemies, and drives us away from each other when we really need to come together. It is also systemic, it is in the headlines we read (or don’t read), the unequal make up of our economy, and the ownership of land. All of which are skewed in favor of people that look like me. Until we answer these real questions in a more just way, we are merely talk-shopping. Nevertheless, I believe we all can be part of building a vision of a non-racist, non-sexist and truly just society. With this hope, and through action, I hope to learn and do more every day. I thank you for sharing this journey alongside me.

To read another article, White Privilege and the Road to Building a United South Africa click here or the image below:

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