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| Trayvon Martin in his hoodie with Skittles & Arizona Tea (a menace). While the expectations of Bolivian women are often that they make great sex objects, that they should leave men alone when men want to party and drink, and meanwhile clean and raise children, in the US our expec- tation of black men is that they are threats, lazy, and "should learn to be, act, and dress more like successful white people" if they want to be better and well- adjusted human beings. |
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| Oppression has much to do with EXPECTATIONS of what you are or should be. This MISS BOLIVIA photo obviously demonstrates a perspective of ideal "woman." Recently a similar photo was side-by-side with an article on pregnant teenager girls being expelled from their villages or beaten, because of the "bad example" they set as victims of rape. Yes, beating rape victims in front of the village and their families, then burning the fetus in front of the girl's eyes. So...what is the ideal Bolivian woman supposed to be? |
I won't pretend to understand the daily plight of being a black man in North America. However, a year and a half in Bolivia has given me—as I naively hoped in would—some experience of being a minority, even of being oppressed.
Granted, I certainly receive the benefits of my white skin and gender. I can walk into a cafe and use the bathroom, without anyone first demanding, "If I'm going to buy something or not." That wouldn't fly with an indigenous cholita. While walking a hot mile in the sun on a blockaded highway, a trucked graciously picked up my white companion and I, though we were carrying very little cargo, and charged us nothing for the lift. The same truck zoomed by indigenous grandmas with heavy loads on their backs, the driver's generosity reserved for the "privileged class." Differing from the discriminatory experiences noted last week by Barack Obama, no one "locks their car doors as I walk by" or "follows me in department stores" (ok, full disclosure, I've never been in a Bolivian department store). However, I have come to know the daily anxiety of passing down the street--awaiting stares, whistles, catcalls, physical sexual harassment or violence. Before my time in Bolivia, never before had I experienced the weight of such palpable daily oppression. You might think it gets easier—you get used to it and learn to shrug it off. That's not true. Quite the opposite, you see deeper into it—into the lack of human decency and compassion, into the animalistic heart willing to tear you apart. Even when there is obviously no danger, the feeling emitted nonetheless chokes you. In spite of its normalcy the weight never lifts. After eighteen months I feel heavy, especially when I have to defend myself to supposedly non-sexist men.
The last piece is the greatest surprise. The inhumanity of men on the street still shocks me at times, but I've come to expect and accept it—even as I actively resist it. But one would assume I'd at least find allies in the men who supposedly are not sexist. The anxiety I feel in being harassed by a truck-full of men is matched when I have to defend my position, my pain and experience to the men blind to their own gender privilege and their passive participation in oppressing half the population.
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| Getting them ready to be princesses for life (until they stop being pretty). |
"Julie, you have to understand that you're blanquita (white). What's more if you're dressed for running, they're going to whistle..." (As though I were stupid to the fact of my race, gender and clothing). The logical derivative of their statement being: therefore it's understandable and justified for men to sexually harass you. If you don't want to be sexually harassed, stop being white, young, stop running and biking. Go lock yourself in an ugly room.
"Julie, it's the culture here – if you can't handle it, you probably should live elsewhere." The logical derivative being: It's not about changing what's evil in our culture, it's that the people who have the courage to confront and complain about injustice should simply leave or learn to welcome oppression.
"It's not that bad." This one being my favorite because it invalidates my feelings – as though a man actually understands what it's like to walk the streets as a woman and feel the cumulative months (or a lifetime) of oppressive harassment and violence.
Nine out of ten Bolivian women are victim to some form of sexual violence. Nine out of ten. Which, is likely a conservative statistic, considering how much goes unreported. Yet despite the statistics, despite my sharing of the painful weight of my experience, instead of standing by my side as a friend, as a fellow brother in Christ, as a fellow human being, most men choose to undermine my experience (see above statements). They are blind to the experiences of women due to their lifelong experience of dominant privilege.
Machismo is a grave cultural sickness. What I've tasted is minimal in comparison with what most women undergo their entire lives. What I've tasted here is minimal in comparison with what most American minorities have experienced for generations. Over a year ago, after realizing that harassment was now part of my daily life, I began imagining the experience of black women in the US. What would it be like as a black woman to walk down the block approaching a small crowd of white men? The constant anxiety, the constant helplessness--knowing that it's unlikely someone will stand up for you (I've only seen one male friend here—one!—actively confront machismo). Or, what is it like to be a black man approaching a group of white police officers? The anxiety of "Will something happen this time? Will they make comments, will they whistle, or worse? Or will nothing happen, save the uneasy pounding of my heart until they are out of sight?" That anxiety is what I'm talking about – that of constant potential victimhood, of being a target.
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| A painting on a more Andean/indigenous take on the (male) Holy Trinity. |
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| The Bolivian/Latin American obsession with THE (or various) VIRGINS. I've heard some men say that they prefer to pray to the Virgin Mary--that they feel a connection with her where they cannot connect w/God. Considering the machismo expectations of males, that's understandable -- why would you cling to a (male) God when the image of males is one of dominance and violence? In contrast, among males there is a typical 'neediness' of females (whether in the form of mothers, girlfriends, sex-objects, or desexualized Virgins that protect them, caress them & emotionally tend to them. |
Black friends of mine who are mothers tell their boys, "If a police officer comes near you, put both hands in the air," not, "if you've committed a crime and an officer nears you, put your hands up." I guarantee you my parents never fearfully warned my brother this as he entered adolescence. He was white; it wasn't necessary. But a black mother knows they live on the defensive, so she protects the life of her boy even though she knows it's not fair. As my skin color and running shorts invite one kind of harassment, their skin color and hoodies invite another.
Instead of telling me I should be less white and bike less, or them that they should be less black and dress more "white" let's begin listening. Really listening. Really learning.
My former roommate Christena Cleveland wrote this month in a Christianity Today article responding to the murder of teenager Trayvon Martin:
"Privileged folks typically benefit from being the dominant voice in any conversation between groups. As a result, the blind spots of the dominant privileged group are rarely addressed. For this reason, privileged people have a lot to learn from oppressed people. Oppressed people have a unique view of the world and possess important insight that is otherwise unavailable to privileged people. If oppressed people are angry, they have good reason to be so. If oppressed people perceive an injustice, they have a good reason to do so. If oppressed people make a connection between race [or gender] and a particular incident, it's because they know something about race that privileged people don't know.
I have the good fortune of having grown up in a society that considers (some) women full human beings. That perspective enables me to stand my ground in a twenty-minute discussion (or argument) about Bolivian machismo culture, like the conversation which recently overtook the 12 passenger van of my hiking club as we climbed through the mountains. After the discussion I was so exhausted I nearly cried. But here's what made it all worth it:
-I would rather suffer vocally than silently. So when a subtle but telling comment slipped out of the man sitting beside me, I would have been suffocating myself and actively supporting the oppression of women had I let it go.
-To my other side, sat a man who (though seated) "stood by me" throughout the entire discussion. Not only with his thoughtful words spoken from his own perspective, but also by the occasional supportive shoulder squeeze, nodding, and "well spoken" – he was, simply, a true friend and fellow human being in the moment.
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| The final 3 photos are from a recent art project aimed at using art (more than 25 murals) to overcome neighborhood violence and dispassion. Interestingly, ALL of the murals featuring non-specific people (one mural featured various historical figures), were of WOMEN. Women, as the sign of the culture's strength. Women as the protectors of the environment, children, and the people's rights. Women as the strong peacemakers. Not at single mural featured a man/men. What does that say about cultural perspectives of men? Machismo is hard on men, just as it is on women. |
-Afterwards, as we began our hike descending from the high Cochabamba mountains towards the jungle, Luis, the man who had been the most dismissive in his language, pulled me aside. "Julie, our discussion really made me reconsider: I used to assume that by simply not participating in the harassment of women I was golden. But I realize—I'm a father of a woman, I'm the grandfather of young girls—they (and their daughters after them) are going to grow up in this oppression unless I actively confront it. I have to speak up when I'm among other men, not merely 'abstain.' I have to quit being passive, as you did, any time I notice machismo." Luis made day--my year. His ultimate willingness to listen made every second of that tense 20-minute discussion worth it. I thanked him.
-Speak up. Don't let the supposed "little things" go; they're endemic of something deeper.
-Be a friend. Stand by those who have the courage to speak—you'll help keep them on two feet, and my friend Leon did for me.
-Have the courage and humility to listen and change, as Luis did and sincerely shared with me afterward (I can't tell you how much that encouraged me!), which he then echoed the following day among the group. Become an advocate where you didn't use to be one.
In honor of the suffering of black North American men, and Latin American women.
