September 4, 2016 - 16:24
In the essay Report from the Bahamas, 1982, by June Jordan, the author discusses the various ways our identities can united us or drive us apart. Jordan often reflects on how other people’s stories and identities cause her to become conscious of a certain factor, like race, class, or gender. In particular, when Jordan is visiting the Bahamas and decides to bargain for typical tourist souvenirs, the contrast between herself and the women who make and sell these items is striking. Everyone involved in this transaction is a Black woman, but despite this shared identity, their differences are far more pronounced, at least from Jordan’s point of view, than their similarities. For one, they are on exact opposite ends of a transaction, with Jordan trying to get the sellers to part with their creations for as little money as possible, as the sellers bargain in the opposite direction. Beyond that, there is a stark gap between the consequences for each side if they fail to successfully bargain with the other. As Jordan writes, “This is my consciousness of race and class and gender identity as I notice the fixed relations between these other Black women and myself. They sell and I buy or I don't. They risk not eating. I risk going broke on my first vacation afternoon.” (41) They are sharing a single interaction, but what’s at stake for each side couldn’t be more different.
I’ve experienced my own version of this, albeit under different circumstances. For much of high school, I was in a relationship with a boy who, in many ways, was very similar to me. We were both white, Jewish, upper-middle class, and attending the same school. There was also some overlap in our interests, most notably with both of us having a passion for arguing. I tended to argue only for things I agreed with, while he usually preferred to be the devil’s advocate, but this worked out fine most of the time. Issue arose, however, when the topic of a debate would involve an identity I had that he didn’t, or vice versa. As a queer woman who has struggled with her mental health, discussing issues around social issues with a straight, neurotypical man who would vehemently disagree with me just for the fun of it was a recipe for trouble. For months, I struggled to articulate exactly what it was about the situation that bothered me. I didn’t want him to feel guilty about being privileged or prevent him from discussing certain topics with me. But these arguments were wearing on me. I would often be reduced to tears by the end of them, whereas he was mostly unaffected, and usually confused about why I was taking it so hard.
Finally, I came to a conclusion not far from June Jordan’s, that the issue was not so much about identity as it was about what’s at stake. I was coming into these arguments with a whole lifetime of personal experiences and emotions related to the issue. For him, it was just a debate. He was never trying to offend me, just like I wasn’t trying to offend him, but I was vulnerable in a way he wasn’t. If he defended someone who was being sexist or homophobic, then he was actively protecting a system of power which puts me at a disadvantage or possibly in danger. There’s nothing wrong with playing the devil’s advocate from time to time, the issue comes when taking that side means hurting somebody else.
Our differences hadn’t generally caused problems for us. Most of the time, I felt safe talking to him about being depressed, queer, a woman, etc. In a regular conversation, he was able to listen and accept my experiences as valid. But, for some reason, it was difficult to have that same level of respect in an argument. When we were debating, nothing was off limits, including questioning my personal experiences or accusing me of being overly sensitive to certain situations. He would also claim to have a more objective view on the issue than me, since it didn’t affect him as much as it affected me.
It became clear to me that if we ever wanted to have a fair argument, we were going to have to acknowledge these differences and set some ground rules, in order to even the playing field. This mainly involved respecting points made when they were tied to a specific personal experience, and more checking in with each other about if we were still comfortable with the argument. I’m definitely not the first to apply the language of consent to situations outside of sexual encounters, but applying it to this situation ended up being really helpful in making sure we were both okay with what was happening and that neither of us was in a positon that made us more vulnerable than the other.
When considering how my story related to June Jordan’s, I was struck by her quote that read, “even though both "Olive" and "I" live inside a conflict neither one of us created, and even though both of us therefore hurt inside that conflict, I may be one of the monsters she needs to eliminate from her universe and, in a sense, she may be one of the monsters in mine” (47) This realization of Jordan’s was essentially the conclusion my boyfriend and I had to come to. Neither of us were solely responsible for conflicts of gender, sexuality, and ability. However, we were affected by these conflicts differently, and we had to keep that in mind. Jordan discussed how people on all sides of social conflicts can be brought together or torn apart by their identities. In my case, a difference in identities put my boyfriend and I at odds, but by acknowledging that difference, we were able to work through it. We cannot heal without acknowledging we are hurt, and we can’t transcend social inequalities by pretending that we are all the same.