Tag Archives: oppression

GUEST POST (Series 1, #3): Priyanka Jhalani on Consciousness and Allyship

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How can we expect others to value our lived experiences and realities if we don’t also consider theirs?

A major point of social justice work is consciousness. The idea is to be conscious of how our actions affect others, conscious of historical context, and conscious of our own identity. It’s about understanding that our identities shape the way we experience the world–and our experiences in the world shape our identities. More than identifying other people’s biases, a goal of this work is confronting our own preconceived notions. Social justice is much more than being “politically correct.”

Allyship is about bridging the gap between those with privilege and those without it. A person doesn’t need to know everything about the group they’re supporting in order to be an ally. They just need to commit to standing up for others even if it costs them a few moments of social discomfort. Allyship is a healthy way to exercise and acknowledge the privileges we all have. Because whether we want privilege or not, we have it. Everyone does. Everyone has had some type of privilege. Everyone has also experienced their own form of struggle or oppression. That’s when they needed allies of their own to support them.

When we have privilege, we have a choice. We can ignore what is going on in the world that hurts others because it may not affect us, and therefore, may not cause us to stand up for what is right. When you say you’re an ally, it means you’re committed to standing up for other people’s rights. Being an ally means publicly proclaiming your support for a group of people. Allyship is going further than just being interested in diversity. It’s a commitment to educate yourself on issues that may not directly affect you.

Becoming an ally to a community does not mean, however, that you become the center of attention. As an ally, you’re still benefitting from privilege, while the community you’re supporting is not. Therefore, their voices need to come before yours. Since they’re experiencing the given oppression, they’ll have more insight into the matter than an ally. For example, an ally who identifies as a man, while he may support women, is still benefitting from male privilege. The best way to support said women would be for him to listen to their experiences and advocate for them when needed.

High school is an especially important time to let people know that you stand by them. At this age, many people are still exploring their identities and aren’t quite sure where they fit. Having even one person’s support can give someone the courage to be who they really are. No one should be punished for their differences. Instead, we should be celebrating our individuality. Diversity makes the world colorful and interesting.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “There comes a time when silence is betrayal.” This statement couldn’t be more true than in the hallways of high school. We are all responsible for our action–even as teenagers. Despite what we may want to believe, being a bystander is just as bad as being the oppressor. If you read my earlier piece, Growing Up Bicultural, you’d know that I could have used some white allies in high school. Just one white student saying, “That’s not okay,” would have made all the difference.

Part of white allyship is understanding it’s not people of color’s job to educate you. If you happen to have friends or teachers in your life who are gracious enough to share their experiences and answer your questions, appreciate them! But, don’t assume this action is every person of color’s reality. White allies need to remember that these conversations often take a toll on people of color. Asking them to share their experience(s) of oppression is asking them to be vulnerable, especially since it often reopens wounds they’ve been trying to close. Additionally, there is a time and a place for these conversations. Putting a person of color on the spot isn’t being a good ally.

Luckily, information on race, ethnicity and oppression is fairly accessible. Anyone can find articles, YouTube videos, documentaries, books, and so on that discuss these topics in depth. While it may not always be okay to approach a person of color with invasive and extremely personal questions, it is always a good idea to use the resources readily available.

Allies–besides listening and working to understand a person of color’s experiences–we need you to speak up, too. When your families or friends decide to make racist jokes, we’re counting on you to tell them that their words are not okay. Often, especially if you’re white, people will assume you’re okay with these comments, which gives you the opportunity to intercept racist stigmas when people of color aren’t present.

Remember, as any type of ally, you will make mistakes and that’s okay as long as you learn from them and continue educating yourself. In my own high school career, I acted as an ally to the LGBTQIA+ community. This allyship can be challenging at times because I’m a loud personality who loves to talk and crack jokes. Sometimes I mess up and highjack the conversation, but nobody’s perfect. The important thing to remember is that I try to become more aware of when I do slip up. Or, if someone calls me out on it, I remember not to do the same thing next time. However, I don’t stop and make a show of myself or beg for forgiveness.

We need to begin creating cultural norms that foster allyship. Even though many of us want to stand up for others, it’s clear that often we’re not feeling empowered enough to do so. The good news is: there’s strength in numbers! When you start acting as an ally, you will be leading the way for others to do the same. Once enough people stop tolerating oppressive behavior, the oppressors will have to stop.

Priyanka Jhalani is a first generation Indian woman who graduated from high school last year. She is passionate about social justice work. Since her sophomore year in high school, she has been heavily involved in diversity and inclusivity initiatives, including facilitating numerous discussions and giving several speeches at her school. When she has the time, Priyanka loves to write, read, run, and dance.

Editor’s Note: This article is the final of three in Teaching Social Justice’s first series. If you haven’t done so already, please read Priyanka’s previous writings that came out in May and June.

Guest Post: Michelle Falter on Mental Illness & the Stigma of Difference

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The Stigma of Difference: Empathy, Understanding, Dignity, and Justice for People with Mental Illness

Every day I wake up, I have a conversation with myself about whether or not to get out of bed. For most people, I would argue this conversation is more to do with needing a few more minutes of sleep. For me, while that might be the case sometimes, this internal conversation is a struggle to cope with life and stress. This feeling of struggle stems from a chemical imbalance that is truly out of my control. And, although I am hesitant to “out” myself as an academic and educator who suffers from mild to moderate depression due to the stigmas still related to this field, I think it is important that I do so. In fact, I think that part of the reason that mental illness is so stigmatized is that people are not brave enough to talk about these issues in public forums. Discussion about depression and other mental illness is considered awkward, uncomfortable, and people mostly just don’t get it. And things that make us uncomfortable are things that we tend to censor or ignore. For me, I consider talking about mental disorders like depression, schizophrenia, anxiety, etc. an issue of social justice.

Although social justice is an often bandied term that means different things to different people, I like to think of social justice as a concept regarding the creation of a society that is based on principles of equality and solidarity. This society not only understands the values of human rights but also recognizes the dignity of every human being. In addition, for me, social justice also carries with it the need for action, when one encounters injustice.

As I watched the news and listened to the details of Dylann Roof’s massacre of nine African American individuals at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, North Carolina, and the voices of people on social media, I felt an instant ache at the events that were unfolding and just how far we have NOT come on issues of race in America. But, I would also argue that we have not come very far on understanding mental illness in the United States, either. Many people were quick to call Dylann Roof mentally ill.

However, to equate mass murder and racist actions to mental illness is not only inaccurate but it also is deeply hurtful to people who deal with mental illness on a daily basis. Of course, some acts of violence can be equated with mental illness, but it is not the majority. I wholeheartedly concur with Arthur Chu in his recent Salon article on equating mass murder sprees to mental illness; he wrote: “mentally ill are far more likely to be the targets of violence than the perpetrators.” And this can be corroborated by a study in 2001 that looked at 34 adolescent mass murderers. Out of that group, slightly less than 1 in 4 of those studied had a documented psychiatric history–meaning that the vast majority did not, and causality of murder to mental illness couldn’t be directly linked in the cases that did.

What is important to think about as an educator is how mental illness is constructed in our society as a stigma, a modern day Scarlet Letter, for those who deal with the effects of mental illness. In fact, approximately 1 in 4 American adults and 1 in 5 American youth suffer from a mental disorder. As a former middle and high school teacher, I think the fact that suicide is the third leading cause of death in students age 10-24 according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is terrifying and needs to be addressed. Mental illness is widely considered to be the most stigmatized human condition in the world, and when we create these socially constructed stigmas, we push people to the margins of our society. People fear what they don’t know and the stigma of mental illness exacerbates the misconceptions people have about who the person really is. Those who are labeled with a mental illness face oppression.

In 1990, Iris Marion Young, a professor of political science and gender studies, wrote about the five faces of oppression, believing that the presence of even one of these types was adequate to consider a social group oppressed. These five faces include:

  • Exploitation: using people’s labors to produce profit while not compensating them fairly, therefore creating a system that perpetuates class differences.
  • Marginalization: relegating or confining a group of people to a lower social standing or outer limit or edge of society; a process of exclusion.
  • Powerlessness: inhibiting a group of people’s development of one’s capacities, taking away decision making power, and exposing a group of people to disrespectful treatment because of lowered status, determined by the ruling class.
  • Cultural imperialism: taking the culture of the ruling class and establishing it as the norm.
  • Violence: subjecting members of a group to fear of random, unprovoked attacks on their persons or property.

Based on these distinctions, I think we can make a very clear claim that people with mental illnesses are oppressed due to at least three, and maybe all of these faces of oppression. Clearly, as already indicated by the stigma, people with mental illness are marginalized. Those with mental illness can be fired from jobs and denied health services. They are targets of violence in the form of physical and verbal attacks and ridicule. People with mental illness are constructed as not “normal”–instead they are “other-ed” through stereotypes–images of mentally ill as violent, unreliable, or incompetent. As Young argues, “the culturally dominated undergo a paradoxical oppression, in that they are both marked out by stereotypes and at the same time rendered invisible…The stereotypes so permeate the society that they are not noticed as contestable” (p. 59).

As noted, people are uncomfortable talking about mental illness and therefore it is often just not even talked about, rendering it truly invisible, yet everywhere. Two high school students recently tried to talk about depression in their high schools only to be censored by their principal.

In addition, because people’s notions of the mentally ill are so ingrained, often those with mental illness have internalized the stereotypical notions, which in many cases leads to feelings of shame and lowered self-worth. As someone who suffers from depression, sometimes I feel overwhelmed with the pressure to prove I am not “crazy,” unstable, or incompetent. I also think it is very important to note that mental illness is one of very few illnesses that people are encouraged in some ways to hide. Those diagnosed with cancer or diabetes are not discouraged from speaking about their illnesses. Yet, mental illness is often considered a family secret; something not to discuss with respectable company. But, we need to stop considering mental illness a weakness. It is a disorder, a flaw of biology and chemistry, not a flaw of a person’s character or ability.

So what should be done in order to be more socially just educators? First of all, start talking about mental illness. Unpack the stereotypes with other teachers and, of course, students. Discussing facts about mental illness is a good first step of reducing the shame that many youth feel. I personally recommend the Peabody award-winning documentary “Hearts and Minds: Teens and Mental Illness” which demystifies mental illness for teens through the stories of four teenagers.

A second recommendation is simply having empathy, not sympathy for people with mental illness. I cannot tell you how many times in my life I have been told to perk up or just cheer up. Hmm … if only I had thought of that! While friends and family are well-intentioned with statements like this, it can come across as belittling and irreverent. Mental illness is not something that someone can snap out of. Instead, offer your listening services and moral support through daily or weekly check-ins.

Third and finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t advocate the use of literature to talk about mental illness. As a middle and high school English teacher, there are many wonderful books that could open up conversations about people with mental illnesses. I will offer a few of my suggestions, but there are many more great ones.

Depression and Suicide:

  • It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini
  • Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
  • Hold Still by Nina LaCour

Anxiety Disorders:

  • I Don’t Want to be Crazy by Samantha Schutz
  • Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

Eating Disorders:

  • Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
  • Elena Vanishing: A Memoir by Elena Dunkle

Bipolar Disorder:

  • Crazy by Amy Reed
  • Freaks Like Us by Susan Vaught

Thought Disorders (e.g. Schizophrenia) :

  • Chopsticks by Jessica Anthony and Rodrigo Corral
  • Cameron and the Girls by Edward Averett

PTSD:

  • The Impossible Knife of Memory by Laurie Halse Anderson
  • Something Like Normal by Trish Doller

Self-Harm:

  • Cut by Patricia McCormick
  • Scars by Cheryl Rainfield

Reference

Young I. M. (1990) Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton University Press, Princeton.

Michelle M. Falter is a doctoral candidate in the department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of Georgia, and former editor of the Journal of Language and Literacy Education. She has been a secondary English teacher for ten years, having the privilege of teaching in both the United States and abroad in countries such as The Dominican Republic and Germany. Michelle’s scholarship focuses on the role of emotion in the English classroom, and helping educators co-construct knowledge with their students using participatory, critical, and dialogical teaching practices. Michelle can be contacted at mfalter@uga.edu or on twitter @MFalterPhD.

Guest Post: Julia Ozog on Thin Privilege and Fat Activism

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As a woman, I face an exorbitant amount of stress concerning the way I look – particularly how much I weigh. I’ve been trained from an early age to feel like most of my value comes from being thin and pretty, and even though I’ve spent much time intentionally unlearning those kinds of thoughts, I still feel haunted by the feeling that I’m not good enough if I’m not skinny enough. Most women are made to feel like they should take up as little space as possible, and that the best way to gain attention from men and respect from women is to be thin. However, even though much of my concern with being thin comes from the oppression of sexism, many of those feelings also come from my privilege as a thin person. I’m terrified to gain weight because there are very real societal and interpersonal privileges I’ve always had because I am thin. While I have never been heavy, I recently lost significant weight and became “skinny.” It’s hard for me to admit, but I’ve been scared to gain any of that weight back because I don’t want to face how people would think of me and treat me if I became fat. I recently realized that that fear is one reason why I know thin privilege exists.

As a social justice activist, I understand some of the emotional, psychological, physical, and economic injustices that fat folks face on a daily basis, but I’ve only recently started to acknowledge my privilege as a thin person, and hold myself accountable for my own oppression of fat people. (Note: the term “fat” is preferred by many fat activists over “overweight” because it can help the fat acceptance movement by “normalizing the neutrality and/or positivity of ‘fat’” – see more on this website). My perpetuation of fat phobia comes from my own insecurity and body image issues. For example, I remember an instance when I was skimming through photos online of a guy I had just started dating, and when I found pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend, I started comparing myself to her. (Disclaimer: I’m not proud of this act.) In response to my anxiety, a friend said something about how ‘I didn’t have to worry about her because she looked fat and I was way skinnier and prettier than her.’ I knew she was out of line, only trying to make me feel better despite her use of fat phobia, but the thing is: it did make me feel better. I know that I have a silent power from being thin, and I chose to use that power in that situation to make myself feel more secure about my new relationship. This power brought itself to my attention again recently: I gained some temporary weight a couple of months ago when I was prescribed steroids for a sinus infection, and I was so afraid of feeling unattractive, that I started asking my boyfriend multiple times a day if I looked fat, desperately hoping that the answer was “No.” I did these things to hold onto my privilege because it has been so ingrained in me that I am worth more skinny than I am fat. I realize how problematic my thinking was now that fat phobia and thin privilege have been brought to my attention.

I wanted to write this article on fat phobia because, as a social justice educator, I think that it is important for me to explore the difference in oppression that fat and thin women face. I started to write from a very academic standpoint. Though, I honestly had not learned much about fat phobia throughout my activist career, so I read articles written by fat activists to try and understand the systemic, institutional, and personal oppression that fat people face in our society. However, I have come to realize that, at this point, I personally understand fat phobia best through my own perpetuation of it. Thin privilege is a very real thing that I benefit from, and until I and other people holding that power acknowledge our privilege – and hold ourselves accountable to think about it – fat phobia will continue to exist. My thinness means that I’m often perceived as being fit, healthy, beautiful, and “normal,” because those qualities are associated with success in our culture. A quick flip through the pages of almost any magazine confirms that ultra-thin women receive respect and admiration for their bodies, while fat women are shamed mercilessly for their weight. Since the list of ways in which thin folks are benefited by thin privilege is way too long to cover here, I found this article helpful in understanding more ways that my thin privilege benefits me. 

Although it’s not my (or any one person’s) fault that fat phobia is so prevalent and harmful in our society, it is my responsibility as an aspiring ally to acknowledge my privilege and the ways in which I continue to oppress those around me. It’s not only unsupportive, but actively oppressive that I have used my thinness to feel superior to other women. I feel that acknowledging this shortsightedness is the first step in becoming more accountable in the social justice revolution. This issue is complicated, of course; however, it is unacceptable in our society that I, as a woman, feel like I have power based on my looks rather than my talent, intelligence, or other parts of my character. I’m still learning about fat activism and politics – and how to intentionally include fat phobia when teaching and learning about privilege and oppression; but I hope to continue this conversation and accountability with other activists.

 

Julia Ozog is an intersectionality feminist radical educator. She graduated from the University of Massachusetts Amherst’s Social Thought and Political Economy program a year and a half ago, and currently lives outside of Boston. In college, she facilitated a community organizing class for undergraduates, which included subjects of privilege and oppression, identity politics, and social and economic justice through organizing. Julia’s passion is furthering social justice through liberatory education, and she is looking forward to continuing that work in the Boston area. For more of her written work (including another copy of this blog post), visit her blog at www.quiotgrrrl.com.

Nelson Mandela: A Leader in Social Justice

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One person can change the world.

I feel that I cannot write an entire post on the life of Nelson Mandela — to do so would not be enough. That, and I am not enlightened to his entire life’s work. I have no words for the impact this man had on the world. He is the embodiment of the fight for social justice, and therefore deserves a tribute in a blog for social justice. I am thankful for his continued impact on our history, and feel that the best way to honor him is to post some encouragement for us, as aspiring activists, in hopes that we follow suit.

With that said, his life was controversial. I understand that. However, no one can deny the positive impact he had on our world.

For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.

Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.

We must use time wisely and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right.

Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.

Let freedom reign. The sun never set on so glorious a human achievement.