As a white woman, I am typically hyperaware of my privilege in activist spaces. Coming from a predominantly white high school, and now attending a predominantly white college, it’s always been too easy to settle back and complain about how sexism affects me without acknowledging the much greater difficulties that women of color, trans women, and agender folks have to face. It becomes even easier when the people around you default to White Feminism, rather than trying to even consider the importance of intersectional dialogue. In the past, I’d like to think that I’ve done my best to avoid falling into that hole, or at least been relatively aware of my own failures as a feminist. But it took me a few days after the Women’s March on Washington to fully realize how problematic the march was.
On the day, I was swept up in the thrill of the protest. Surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, it was almost natural to become part of the dialogue that dominated that Saturday: a transphobic, white-centric dialogue that I didn’t have to think about because it didn’t exclude me. I was completely comfortable because the protest was tailored to white cis women like me.
When I read social media posts that night voicing discomfort with the dialogue, I was taken aback. How could the march have been problematic if I had been so at ease? I recognized the value behind the claims, but a part of me was still saying, wouldn’t I have noticed? I was scandalized by the thought that I was capable of ignoring the signs of White Feminism when I’ve always been so careful to recognize my privilege. In fact, I was more than scandalized; I was disbelieving.
It took a day or two to fully realize how wrong I was about the inclusivity of the march. Thinking back to the “pussy hats,” the explicit white-centric vagina imagery, and signs with slogans such as “No Uterus, No Opinion,” it became clear that the message of the Women’s March I felt so strongly for in the moment was flawed. I had been an active participant in the problematic dialogue, and I hadn’t even noticed
When you’re someone with privilege at an event such as the Women’s March, it can be difficult to step back and really focus on what you and the other protestors are communicating. But it is your responsibility as an activist to try to do so, and to always center those with less privilege in our activism. We cannot allow ourselves to become complacent, and we cannot allow ourselves to believe that only fighting for our own rights is enough.