I Am A Racist, Sexist, Ableist, Sizist, Homophobe, Heterosexist, etc…

I love the blogosphere, particularly the lefty and feminist ones.  It helped me survive the adjustment to my new (very conservative) region over the past 6 years.  It gave me a sense of community when I didn’t have any in my real life and has provided me invaluable information that I used to be able to find by picking up the free anarchist newspapers at one of my local coffee shops.

But it can really grate on my nerves sometimes too – the biggest problem being, in my eyes, a sense of self-righteousness.

Because we (yes, I include myself.  I would be dishonest if I didn’t) like to jump on anyone who displays a trait we don’t like, any of the litany of anti-justice traits that constitute judging someone by a condition of their selves that is inherent to that person, but we rarely – if ever – admit to an anti-justice trait ourselves.

In other words, we point out the flaws in other people but rarely examine publicly our own.

Perhaps it is because it resembles navel-gazing.  Perhaps because publicizing our own flaws can be so difficult.  Perhaps because it can seem like – and come across as – pride rather than humble self-examination.

But we are hurting ourselves and the causes we care about by refraining from it.

Because who recognizes a racist better than another racist?  Who can call out a sizist better than another sizist?  Who can get to the root of the absurd fear of a homophobe better than another homophobe?  And what better method do we have to convince others that they are flawed than to admit that we ourselves are really no better?  When we can stand up and say, "I am the same way as you.  I think the same things that you do.  I am not attacking you for it but instead trying to show you that we don’t have to be this way," we will begin to win people over.  When we take the sting out of these supposed insults (as suggested in the comments) by calling ourselves the same words, perhaps we can better bridge the gaps.

The epitome of privilege is being able to dodge these words with claims of innocent intent and ignorance – and with pointing our fingers at others rather than taking a hard look at ourselves.

So I admit it: I’m racist. Listening to an expert on the radio one day, I was amazed to learn that she was African-American and even more amazed (and distressed) to discover that I couldn’t hold the concepts of "expert" and "African-American" as two traits of one person in my mind.  Plenty of my friends are from other countries and are other ethnicities but they all have pale skin in common; I become maddeningly awkward around anyone with dark skin.

I’m sexist . 

I’m ableist.  I’m addicted to the use of the word "retard" to describe a bad situation.  I once had a conversation with a man in a wheelchair about soccer in which I obliviously went on and on about how much I liked to play it while he, after saying once that he didn’t really like it and motioning towards his legs, listened patiently.

I make jokes about bad language to friends who are not native English speakers, and mock their spelling.  I find it hard to imagine myself living in one of the areas of my town with large Latina/o, black, or lower income populations, even though they are actually nice areas.  I watch VH1 reality t.v. and make fun of women who strip for a living because it’s the best income they can get at their education level.

And I know I’m not the only one.

But we are often so intently vilifying someone else for their bad behavior, we don’t turn that critical eye on ourselves.  Or, if we do, we don’t admit to it.  Or when we do, we become so defensive that any progress is lost in a sea of clutched pearls .

Consider this my first attempt at admission.

(Cross-posted at What If )