New Project: Chapter 7
In early July, 2016 a wave of violence rocked the United States. In unrelated circumstances, police officers shot and killed two black men who had done nothing to warrant their deaths. These were not isolated events. Instead, they were part of a long line of murders that documented in blood the racism prevalent in America’s law enforcement institutions. In retaliation, a black man shot and killed five white police officers during a Black Lives Matter protest in Dallas, Texas. Police there opted to execute the shooter via robot after a mere two hours of negotiation.
The country alternately raged and grieved. More protests erupted, inciting more violence, more unnecessary arrests. Political leaders pandered to their constituent’s interests and all over social media the public waged a debate: Black Lives Matter vs. All Lives Matter. The debate is moot. In spite of the fact that both postulates are true and in spite of the inherent racism at the center of the debate, there is little that can be done in the foreseeable future short of firing all police officers everywhere and starting over again.
Why? Because legislation outlawing racism does little to end racism. The Civil Rights Movement had an endgame: pass laws that protect minorities from discrimination and give them the right to sue for damages when their rights have been violated. The movement was successful. People have these rights.
What endgame is possible for people in the Black Lives Matter movement? Police are supposed to serve and protect all citizens while upholding the laws of the land. They do their best. Their best is seldom good enough because laws don’t change cultures. People change cultures and when one group rises up against another that already feels understaffed, underpaid, overworked, and unappreciated, that group will circle the wagons.
This is a no win situation. Training will not save the day soon enough to matter. The only possible legislation that might offer some relief to minorities is a nationwide ban on guns and that isn’t going to happen. So, if an endgame isn’t possible, how do we make systemic change?
Like minorities, women face constant discrimination and abuse from people they are supposed to trust. While black men are 21 times more likely to be shot by police than whites, the actual numbers are miniscule compared to the number of women who face violence against them every day. According to The National Center for Domestic Violence Hotline, “24 people per minute face rape, domestic violence, or stalking by an intimate partner in the United States – more than 12 million women and men over the course of a year.” Between 1994 and 2010, four out of five of those victims (more than 9 million per year) were women. Where are our protests? Why is there no Women’s Lives Matter movement? Why are we not collectively addressing the institutionalized discrimination inherent in law enforcement and the judiciary when women are the victims? I think it’s because women have been well trained.
As the chimera of my father’s creation, opening my own checking account and being controlled by Steve were not mutually exclusive. His control required permission from me that I granted (without his awareness) via silence. The hypocrisy is astounding. The emotional distress it caused was crippling. If Steve was deliberately controlling me, he would have denied my request. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to face that possibility. If he said no, I would have had to make a choice and I needed time to prepare for that responsibility. All of this was a game I played in my mind. It was not, as I discovered, my reality.
But it could have been. The problem with systemic oppression is that it lurks behind every façade whether we want it to or not. Women don’t stand up for themselves for fear of facing the monster head on. It’s like a snake in the garden. You know it’s there. You know it probably won’t hurt you if you don’t poke it. You know it may do some good by killing rodents, but it makes you awfully nervous because you can’t quite see the shape of its head in the shadows. Regardless, even if it’s not poisonous, you believe it will bite if provoked. Men are similar, or at least that’s what we’ve been told, and safe is better than sorry.
This creates a problem for both women and men. If women behave in a way that supposes men are, by nature, snakelike – dangerous, unpredictable, and animalistic – then men are being blamed for actions outside their purview and women are relinquishing power to men who don’t necessarily want it.
Most men today believe in women’s equality. They want to do more around the house, help raise their children, and support their wives’ ambitions. Many now recognize traditional masculinity for the toxic stew it is. However, even as women say they are confined to traditional roles by men, men are confined by women’s expectations of them. As long as we perpetuate the myths of our forefathers and mothers, we condemn ourselves to their beliefs and behaviors, regardless of our standing under the law or the progress of our nation.
In her book, I Thought it was Just Me (but it isn’t): Making the Journey from “What will people think? To “I am Enough, Brené Brown suggests that one reason we don’t make a connection between personal struggles and larger cultural issues is that we don’t talk about shame. Shame is a driving force for many of us because society expects so much.
Not only are women to be beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and capable, we must be compliant, soft, endearing, cute, generous, caring, educated, and successful. Our homes must be clean, the laundry folded, the cupboard organized, and the wine relatively untouched. God forbid we drink too much. Laurie Penny says, “The best way to stop girls achieving anything is to force them to achieve everything.” For those of us who try (and fail) shame can be excruciating.
While I lived with a constant fear of poking the beast, I also lived with shame that prevented me from speaking. How could I ask Steve for access to his checking account when I wasn’t contributing an income? It took building a new business and having confidence in its success before I could broach the subject and prepare myself for the consequences of my action. Until then, had I asked and Steve denied me, my lack of economic independence would have kept me tied to him. I couldn’t face that any more than I could face his potential wrath. The prison I created for myself, though imaginary, was profoundly effective and deeply unnecessary. Its walls were made of memory, its bars of shame and fear. I alone possessed the key that would get me out of there.
