There's a concept I've only ever
brushed against that in my exceedingly tired state having just gotten
off a half hour phone call with the IRS just to schedule a meeting a
month from now I feel like speaking to more explicitly. That concept
is “privilege.”
Mostly of my concerns are the white and male privileges that are supposed to be afforded to me. I get to pat myself on the back for my ability to walk around at night and not habitually think I'm going to get raped, yay! I command respect and attention just by virtue of opening my mouth or stepping into a room. People don't automatically think I'm going to steal something or follow me around stores. I have access to a secret treasure chest of loans or money not afford to the regular person. My oppressive ignorance is to some degree or another significantly contributing to the downfall of your subset of society and the power I command is so unquestionably strangling society I could never dare to be woke enough to adopt my inbred savior complex to do anything real about it.
I find descriptions like these that often attempt to scapegoat and cast wide nets unhelpful for obvious reasons. I too can look at a picture of the “freedom caucus” and see ignorant old rich white men and conclude there's something wrong in Whiteville. I watch the videos of black dudes getting shot for no reason and absolutely don't feel the same way in my interactions with police. I've sat uncomfortably as I've seen the girls in my life get railroaded or spoken over and explained for. What's not in question are certain cultural or behavioral ruts society has adopted that I fit more snugly into than others.
What descriptions that attempt to scapegoat what I was born as fail to do is account for the larger trends that unite us and undermine their indignant posture. I've been, albeit the failing middle-class version of it, poor my entire life. Several times throughout my upbringing my family has been on food stamps. It was 6 or 7 to a cheap apartment at times. I still recall being exceptionally uncomfortable in middle school when we were allowed to buy what was an essentially a new wardrobe from the outlet mall. As if a degree seems to matter in modern society, I wouldn't have one nor have stayed in school were it not for the many years struggle and settlement my dad got after nearly having his arm ripped off at work.
The thing about being poor or “working-class” as it tries to take the stigma off, is that it instills a kind of value system with horse blinders. It is believed that all you have to do is buckle down and get to work! Without irony or the word “dystopia” finding a way into the conversation, the sacrifice of your time and back are supposed to mean your salvation. The rich are to be practically worshiped, emulated, and hoped for. Your approach to money is always needing a bit more than you have, never thinking it's going to last, and spending it in little indulgences here and there or else it's just going to go into something like fixing your shitty car.
I've never spent a day feeling guilty about the opportunities afforded me either because of what I was born as or the support systems I have in place. I look at people crying about their circumstances and insist not that they need to work more, like old rich white people, but that they're being fucked by the same things fucking me and they're making all of us poor people look as bad and stupid as they are by distracting the conversation. It's absolutely nothing to be proud of to work 3 jobs. It's not only inefficient, it's suicidal. It's also what I started doing practically overnight when my study-life came to a screeching halt. I didn't go to school and fail out or skip class even while I was calling to complain to my parents how much time and money I was wasting. I didn't phone it in when running a business required being there every single day after 22 hour days to keep the rent paid.
People are ashamed to think they deserve things. I'm not. By the numbers and hours spent, I not only try to run ahead of the circumstances afforded to me, but try get a jump on learning the actual conversation happening underneath that perpetuates why we're all fucked. I even modify my goals to try and achieve that basic minimum required to live any kind of life worth expressing. If I'm lucky to make 20K a year, I find a way to live on 5 or 6. I might be able to “indulge” in something a little expensive every 6 months or a year, and it likely has to have a dual function, like getting a new phone compatible with an app I need to work a new job. If I got a new car, it'd be for transporting food or people in it all day.
What exhausts me is not seeing a way out. I can't just go into debt by going back to school and crossing my fingers an advanced degree would mean anything more than the one I have now. I have other motivated and intelligent friends who picked up more certifications and tried more “adult” jobs who found their own outlets for getting screwed. They deserve a fuck ton more as well. I don't see a place in the world that valued much beyond fame or endless sacrifice to power brokers and money managers. I can fuck up my sleep, my body, my car, and my finances to try and scrape by and it's not enough. I can talk about it, share the pertinent articles, discuss the nature of the problem with union leaders and representatives, and absolutely nothing hints like people are capable of changing, let alone accurately voicing the problem.
Ultimately, you don't get privileges when you're poor. You're obliged to obey, wait, pay, and die. If you pretend you're doing anything more than that by “deeply appreciating all you have and how others have it worse,” you're going to stay fixated on the wrong things and keep us all down. If you can't respect yourself as deeply as society expects to exploit you, you'll get to spend your entire life playing catch up. I have no special “faith” or “hope” in my ability to keep charging through and trying to figure things out. I have nothing but a deep and unyielding anxiety about everything I've tried to get in front of that has in one way or another kept me down. Every day is the longest day. Every turn is an opportunity to learn why I don't matter. Every piece of advice or offered empathy an echo of the slave ethic and ho-hum shoulder shrugs offering a “relaxing” drink or vacation. I want none of it. I'm fucking done with the distracted excuses and useless conversation, and I'm going to be ruthless in pursuing an exit.
Mostly of my concerns are the white and male privileges that are supposed to be afforded to me. I get to pat myself on the back for my ability to walk around at night and not habitually think I'm going to get raped, yay! I command respect and attention just by virtue of opening my mouth or stepping into a room. People don't automatically think I'm going to steal something or follow me around stores. I have access to a secret treasure chest of loans or money not afford to the regular person. My oppressive ignorance is to some degree or another significantly contributing to the downfall of your subset of society and the power I command is so unquestionably strangling society I could never dare to be woke enough to adopt my inbred savior complex to do anything real about it.
I find descriptions like these that often attempt to scapegoat and cast wide nets unhelpful for obvious reasons. I too can look at a picture of the “freedom caucus” and see ignorant old rich white men and conclude there's something wrong in Whiteville. I watch the videos of black dudes getting shot for no reason and absolutely don't feel the same way in my interactions with police. I've sat uncomfortably as I've seen the girls in my life get railroaded or spoken over and explained for. What's not in question are certain cultural or behavioral ruts society has adopted that I fit more snugly into than others.
What descriptions that attempt to scapegoat what I was born as fail to do is account for the larger trends that unite us and undermine their indignant posture. I've been, albeit the failing middle-class version of it, poor my entire life. Several times throughout my upbringing my family has been on food stamps. It was 6 or 7 to a cheap apartment at times. I still recall being exceptionally uncomfortable in middle school when we were allowed to buy what was an essentially a new wardrobe from the outlet mall. As if a degree seems to matter in modern society, I wouldn't have one nor have stayed in school were it not for the many years struggle and settlement my dad got after nearly having his arm ripped off at work.
The thing about being poor or “working-class” as it tries to take the stigma off, is that it instills a kind of value system with horse blinders. It is believed that all you have to do is buckle down and get to work! Without irony or the word “dystopia” finding a way into the conversation, the sacrifice of your time and back are supposed to mean your salvation. The rich are to be practically worshiped, emulated, and hoped for. Your approach to money is always needing a bit more than you have, never thinking it's going to last, and spending it in little indulgences here and there or else it's just going to go into something like fixing your shitty car.
I've never spent a day feeling guilty about the opportunities afforded me either because of what I was born as or the support systems I have in place. I look at people crying about their circumstances and insist not that they need to work more, like old rich white people, but that they're being fucked by the same things fucking me and they're making all of us poor people look as bad and stupid as they are by distracting the conversation. It's absolutely nothing to be proud of to work 3 jobs. It's not only inefficient, it's suicidal. It's also what I started doing practically overnight when my study-life came to a screeching halt. I didn't go to school and fail out or skip class even while I was calling to complain to my parents how much time and money I was wasting. I didn't phone it in when running a business required being there every single day after 22 hour days to keep the rent paid.
People are ashamed to think they deserve things. I'm not. By the numbers and hours spent, I not only try to run ahead of the circumstances afforded to me, but try get a jump on learning the actual conversation happening underneath that perpetuates why we're all fucked. I even modify my goals to try and achieve that basic minimum required to live any kind of life worth expressing. If I'm lucky to make 20K a year, I find a way to live on 5 or 6. I might be able to “indulge” in something a little expensive every 6 months or a year, and it likely has to have a dual function, like getting a new phone compatible with an app I need to work a new job. If I got a new car, it'd be for transporting food or people in it all day.
What exhausts me is not seeing a way out. I can't just go into debt by going back to school and crossing my fingers an advanced degree would mean anything more than the one I have now. I have other motivated and intelligent friends who picked up more certifications and tried more “adult” jobs who found their own outlets for getting screwed. They deserve a fuck ton more as well. I don't see a place in the world that valued much beyond fame or endless sacrifice to power brokers and money managers. I can fuck up my sleep, my body, my car, and my finances to try and scrape by and it's not enough. I can talk about it, share the pertinent articles, discuss the nature of the problem with union leaders and representatives, and absolutely nothing hints like people are capable of changing, let alone accurately voicing the problem.
Ultimately, you don't get privileges when you're poor. You're obliged to obey, wait, pay, and die. If you pretend you're doing anything more than that by “deeply appreciating all you have and how others have it worse,” you're going to stay fixated on the wrong things and keep us all down. If you can't respect yourself as deeply as society expects to exploit you, you'll get to spend your entire life playing catch up. I have no special “faith” or “hope” in my ability to keep charging through and trying to figure things out. I have nothing but a deep and unyielding anxiety about everything I've tried to get in front of that has in one way or another kept me down. Every day is the longest day. Every turn is an opportunity to learn why I don't matter. Every piece of advice or offered empathy an echo of the slave ethic and ho-hum shoulder shrugs offering a “relaxing” drink or vacation. I want none of it. I'm fucking done with the distracted excuses and useless conversation, and I'm going to be ruthless in pursuing an exit.
