Learning to use white privilege as a tool in fighting oppression

Say It Like It Is: Feeling safe in an unsafe world

When I was 12 years old my mom gave a talk about being a woman and what this meant for my safety. She said strangers might make aggressive sexual advances on me and might even try to attack me. It was my job to be ready when these things happened, to put on a very serious face that would prevent strangers from approaching me and to be able to defend myself. This angered me. I grew up with four brothers so I wanted to be able to be a part of the world the way they were, but my mother explained to me this wasn’t possible. Why did I have to be more careful than they were? Why were strangers more likely to hurt me?
To hear that I lived in a patriarchal and unequal society, which my mom also pointed out, wasn’t particularly satisfying and still left unanswered questions. As my mom explained the situations I might encounter, many of which I have encountered at some point in my life from having strange men harassing me to get into their cars to being sexually assaulted, I wondered: will I ever feel safe? How can I have peace in my life when there is so much danger, not only for people in general, but particularly for me as a woman? This danger only increases for women of color and non-straight or low income women.
Initially, I felt helpless with all these questions and information. It wasn’t fair—it was just wrong. The situation needed to change, not me or my actions. I lived in fear for a while: fear of jogging, fear of men who I just met, fear of being attacked. It made absolute sense that I would feel like this—I needed to deal with an ugly reality—but I also realized that even though it made sense, it wasn’t the way I wanted to live. Feeling inundated with fear has a real effect on our physical and mental wellbeing. The fear was useful when it made me take precautions, like locking doors and not being by myself in dangerous places, but after that it was just draining. Where can we find solace and become who we want to be in a world that isn’t necessarily what we want? The response to this question might be different for various people, but for me fostering the strength of my body, which had often been an enemy that victimized me, was a first step. The relationship we as women have with our bodies can often be problematic—they can cause us so much trouble! They are targets of stares, comments, threats and even physical aggression.
I realized that although I was more of a target of violence because I was a woman, I was also very strong and able. I began doing martial arts and using my body in very useful ways. I realized I could do pushups, lift people up and down, block a punch and defend myself. It was exciting to see my body as a protector, rather than a burden that made me a target. As women it is especially important to know how to defend ourselves. It can sound scary, but it can also be incredibly empowering and even fun to learn what to do in threatening situations. Not everyone enjoys doing martial arts or engaging in physical activities, but having an able and strong body is something that has been denied to women historically and needs to be reclaimed. In a society that oppresses and often denies women their safety, it is a rebellious act to have a body that isn’t an object made for someone else to watch or attack, but a body that is able and protects and defends us.
Having a body that’s able to defend itself won’t change the power structures of society, but it can give us a little bit more peace of mind, challenge the gender norms that subjugate women and make us feel strong. After the sexual assault case on campus and the incident on Potter Street, many have decided to have self-defense classes. Some of these classes are taking place this weekend and were posted on the Facebook group “Bowdoin Safe Walk.” There are also clubs on campus—like Brazilian Jiu Jitsu which meets every Monday and Wednesday from 6 to 8 p.m. in Sargeant Dance Studio—which students are welcome to join as well. I invite everyone to explore these options.

Say It Like It Is: Challenging the stigma against female masturbation

I’ve never lied when people have asked me if I masturbate. The subject has come up in a range of scenarios throughout the years from “never have I ever” games, events about women’s sexuality, and casual conversations. Every time it creates discomfort and sometimes giggles and questions from women like, “How do you do it? How often? Does it feel weird?”
My first weekend at Bowdoin I felt like I was in one of the most sexually liberal places in the world. I saw people making out on the dance floor, going home together—and for the first time in my life—same sex couples in a public space. At the alma mater of Alfred Kinsey, I assumed everyone, or almost everyone, masturbated. Being a sexual being seemed so acceptable in this context and people talked about their “hook ups” and partners often. But I was surprised.
Some women told me they had never had an orgasm, others that they had never touched themselves and that the idea of it just made them very uneasy. This filled me with questions. What about masturbation made them uncomfortable? Where did these ideas come from? And how did they know what they liked and disliked if they didn’t masturbate?
I began to explore my own relationship to masturbating and tried to answer these questions as best as I could. Growing up I remembered I was told myths that were supposed to keep both men and women from touching themselves. One of them claimed masturbating made an obscene amount of hair grow in people’s hands. I also learned that men always wanted sex and that as a woman I was supposed to be delicate, have no sexual needs and withhold sex from men who had no control over their endless sexual desires.
When men begin to masturbate it’s often seen as a rite of passage—something all guys do—but many women never even begin to do it because of the stigma surrounding female sexuality. When women do masturbate it’s often seen as deviant, dirty and characteristic of a promiscuous woman. Just like there’s often a double standard in dating and hooking up, there’s a double standard with masturbation. Even in a place like Bowdoin College, which in comparison to most places in the country is very open about sexuality, women can feel shame, anxiety and fear when it comes to masturbating (whether it be actually doing it or just having a conversation about it).
Masturbating is a way to connect with your body and get to know what your sexual likes and dislikes are. Sex experts like Tristan Taormino, who came to Bowdoin a few years ago, recommend that people (especially young people like college students) do it even if they’re in a relationship. Masturbating also makes the body release endorphins, which means it’s a fun and destressing activity.
I’m not going to end this piece urging all of Bowdoin to masturbate because the point isn’t to feel pressure to do it and because it’s very normal to feel anxious about masturbating. People don’t get taught how to do it and for many years female sexuality has been heavily repressed and stigmatized. What I do urge people to do is to begin to explore their relationship to masturbation. Why do you do it or avoid it? What are your beliefs about masturbation and where do they come from?

Say It Like It Is

Learning to use white privilege as a tool in fighting oppression

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

December 10, 2015

As a person who has one foot in Ecuador and another one in the United States, I have often felt guilty. Guilty that I have U.S. citizenship and can travel around the world while many of my friends in Ecuador can’t. Guilty that I go to Bowdoin College and receive many resources and financial benefits. Guilty that I live with extreme comfort while I have the knowledge that many in the Ecuador and the U.S. are constantly struggling. But guilt is a paralyzing feeling that didn’t show me how to use my privileged position in society.

When I moved to the U.S. and came to Bowdoin I started learning about a privilege I had never heard of before: white privilege. As a biracial Latina student I initially understood this concept abstractly, but didn’t connect it to my life until I took a class called “Race and Ethnicity.” I knew that race existed from a young age by observing the contrasting way in which my white “American” mother and Ecuadorian mestizo father were treated, but I didn’t understand that I had white privilege. Its implications overwhelmed me.

The house where my white mother and grandmother live is an example of the white privilege present in my life. When I go to St. Louis, MO—where most of my family lives—I am welcomed in a safe, well-kept neighborhood, in the same house that my white great-grandparents helped my grandmother buy. This house, where my family and I came when we were going through hardship in Ecuador, represents the racial inequality and injustice present in the U.S. The neighborhood is still all-white, just like it was when my great-grandparents bought it, and it’s located on the “good” side of town. My great-grandparents—who were white—were allowed to buy this house in this neighborhood; that is no coincidence. The practice of redlining continues to have very negative effects on African Americans in St. Louis, but it benefited my white family and allowed them to buy a house at a good price, while blacks were barred from the same options. Even after three generations, I am reaping the benefits of living in a racist society that prioritized my family’s whiteness at the expense of blacks in St. Louis.
The fact that my mother is white and lived in a place where practically everyone was college educated, where blacks were legally not allowed to live in for a part of St. Louis’ history, had a huge effect on her chances of going to college. On top of this, as a white student she was perceived as being smarter than her black peers in her school. This type of unfair advantage that my mother was paid at the price of others, blacks, who had to prove their worthiness to teachers who gave it for free to white students. When I began to go to her same high school I realized this continued to be the case. I was immediately put into the most advanced classes when I walked into the counselor’s office with my white mother and only later learned, after talking to my black peers, that black students had very different experiences when they walked into that same office with their parents.

Over the years, I have realized that I have many privileges in my life, but what should I do with all this knowledge of my position in society and the unequal structures that privilege me? Privilege is a tool. It is power and can be used in multiples ways. President Rose’s talk last Tuesday about race is a great, specific example of using white privilege to change unequal relations that still exist in our society. Using white privilege means coming to grips with a reality that you didn’t necessarily create, but that you are benefiting from. This is hard to do, but can also feel incredibly eye opening.

We can all learn how to use privilege wisely to change the very structures that created it. Even if you’re not white, but biracial or something else (like me), by being a student at Bowdoin College, you have a lot of privilege. It’s hard to get to Bowdoin and people struggle to get into this place because of all the benefits that it gives us. It is up to us to use all these benefits to change unequal power structures. It starts by learning about the ways in which we have received unfair advantages at the expense of others.

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