Sculpin

A few years ago, we decided to put in a more useful hatch to the attic so we could use it as storage space. There’s a ton of room up there, all unused. My mother was moving from a three-story house to a two-bedroom apartment, and I assured her that she shouldn’t worry, since we’d have plenty of room to store her extra stuff. “Sure, bring it on by. No problem.”

Hah hah. And thus began a long, stupid saga of not being able to get it done. But at last we had the spot all picked out; we had some pull-down stairs; we had some expert help. There was just one thing. Josh wriggled up to the attic to move one puny light fixture, and realized that the wiring here was kind of bizarre. We decided to hire someone.

And thus did our troubles really begin: we’d call people who swore they’d show up to give us a bid, and they wouldn’t show; we’d get bids from people who swore that they’d have to rewire half the house (which is not so bad, as we’ve meant to do that anyway), and then they wouldn’t return our calls. It was almost pleasant, by comparison, to deal with the people who simply never returned our calls in the first place. Meanwhile, I was often heard to mutter grouchily about living in a storage depot. Clutter can make me crazy.

The Electrician Problem became a running joke, because pretty much anything we wanted to do around here was stymied by all the junk we own getting in our way, and getting that out of the way had reduced to an electrician problem. (“Hey, let’s make ravioli! Well, first we’ll need to get an electrician…”)

So finally we joined the Home Owners Club, which I’d heard some good things about. It was a dream: they sent out a very nice electrician (Current-Flo from Snohomish) who showed up on time in a small time window, took a look at the problem, and just went ahead and fixed it (without rewiring half the house, thanks). The Home Owners Club called us within a few days to be sure we were happy. I’m pretty sure that the membership has already paid for itself. It was incredibly easy and hassle-free.

Next Tuesday we’re scheduled to start working on getting the stairs in. Hot damn. We might actually be able to eat in the dining room again by Christmas.

Like a lot of folks, my journal’s gone pretty quiet lately. Part of it is the usual move to Facebook. But a lot of it, too, is that for the last several months I’ve been thinking things that I’m not quite sure are ready for prime time. Things about authority, power, racism. Things that would piss off a whole lot of people, including people I’m fond of, and that I’m not sure I’ve really got worked out anyway. It’s not exactly what I envisioned for this journal. I’m basically a no-longer-political person who’s mostly interested in what to do with all that extra eggplant. But once in a while, something gets under my skin and sticks.

Such as. There’s a guy I’ve met who makes a great big deal over what a great big feminist he is, but the idea of actually listening to a woman like she’s some kind of human being — he’d rather drink bleach. (I know I’m not a mind reader, but eventually one does have to say Oh come on.) It’s not about being a feminist, for him. It’s all about using the righteousness of feminism as a club to beat other men into submission so he can be King Dude. He can talk all he likes about Marginalization and Otherness and the Discourse, and it still doesn’t count for a goddamn thing. It’s just a more sophisticated way of exploiting women, and I hope his head falls off.

I’ve met plenty of men whom I’d consider basically feminist, and it’s interesting how few of them have made hay out of being feminist or even identify as feminist. Their feminism — like mine, in a lot of ways — tends to be a particular case of their general commitment to the idea that authority should be prepared to justify its existence in some kind of way that makes sense. Patriarchy is nonsensical and harms people; therefore it should be burned down. If you really have a gut-level commitment to egalitarianism, a whole lot of sexism hits you where you live, especially when you see it screwing over your friends. Where I say “feminist”, these guys might say “not totally full of shit,” and it’s more or less the same thing here. It’s not about expertise in the discourse of feminism or gender; it’s not about whether they’ve got their “knapsack” memorized. It’s about the click. It’s in the gut. It’s personal.

I’ve noticed that when I read something about racism that strikes me as sane and true and real, I’m often rooting that oh just this one time let this sane thing be by somebody who identifies as white and it pretty much never is. I’m coming to the conclusion that when people of color talk about racism, they’re generally talking about, y’know, racism, and that when white “allies” talk about racism, they’re generally talking about the dominance game they’re playing with each other. White people in the left talking with other white people about racism are, too often, much less interested in racism than they are in getting out the long knives. (Again, not a mind reader, but again, oh come on.)

Sure, I can do that knife-fighting too, but it’s stupid and wrong. It’s a distraction at best; it pretty well guarantees the shutdown of any deeply felt statements (especially by naive white people who aren’t trained to the knife) that might actually get somewhere; it usually privileges talking prettily over doing anything useful; it tends to put racism into airy Theory Land. And above all it’s a way of using people of color to get an edge for ourselves. Meanwhile, people I like are dealing with the actual fallout of actual racism. I put the one dynamic next to the other and it makes my teeth grit hard. I try to think about how I can be part of a conversation about racism without being another asshole “ally” type.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity. And I’m sick of it. So knock it off, assholes. Just stop. Drop the shit. Remember how we were going to have a better national conversation? Did you really imagine that the obvious racist wingnuts were the only white people who were going to have to change?

Anti-racism… It’s not so you can display your social capital, and it’s not so you can have a really righteous way of Coming To Voice, and it’s not so everybody can know that you’re the smartest and bestest person on the block. It’s not about your expertise in saying “structural oppression” unselfconsciously. It’s not about having a really sophisticated mental machine with which to perform a calculus of racism on the naive statements of people you wish to dominate. This is really, really not about your lack of vulnerability. This is personal.