Rethinking “Classism”

Friends, I am running around all day today, but wanted to share a half-formed thought that’s been germinating for the last few days.

What the hell is “classism” supposed to mean?

Seriously though.  I know it’s a fixture in the litany of “isms”: sexism, racism, ableism, heterosexism, colorism, etc.

But isn’t the notion of “discrimination on the basis of social class” a little . . . redundant?

Don’t the existence of social classes already imply discrimination?

Like, oh, it’s okay that you remain lower-class, as long as I don’t make fun of you for being lower-class, or exclude you entirely from my middle- or upper-class institutions.

. . . ?

Does classism boil down to cultural chauvinism, and not much more?  That’s the impression one might get from the “Classism” section (nestled between the “Racism” section and the “Homophobia/Heterosexism” sections — there’s that familiar chorus, again) in famous U.S. feminist Jessica Valenti’s book, Full Frontal Feminism.  I’ll quote it in its entirety.

Classism

I’ll tell you a little story about something that made me acutely aware of classism—it was the craziest wake-up call ever.  I went to a public high school in New York that tested students for entry (it was kind of a dorky math and science school).  The majority of my friends in high school were Jewish gals from the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  They had awesome apartments and college-educated parents who were professors, artists, judges, and so on.  I grew up in Long Island City, Queens, which at the time was not considered the best neighborhood in the world.  My parents grew up in Queens and Brooklyn, got married when they were still teenagers, and never went to college.

But hey, it was all good to me.  My friends were my friends, and we were all the same.  Then one day, after a couple of my girlfriends spent some time at my house after school, one of them remarked, “Your mom is so cute!  Her accent sounds so . . . uneducated!”  They all laughed.  I don’t think she meant it to be cruel, or even realized what she was saying.  But after that moment, it was difficult to be around my high school friends.  I had this overwhelming feeling of not belonging.  I didn’t know if they were laughing at my potty-mouthed jokes because I was funny, or because I was playing up the Italian Queens girl stereotype.  I wondered, when they told me they didn’t like something I was wearing, whether it was because of a difference in taste, or because they thought I looked “trashy.”

Later, in college (at a private Southern university—I lasted a year before transferring back to New York), I would try to tone down the behavior I thought marked me as “lower class.”  I tried to drop cursing so much, the Queens accent slowly disappeared, and I continued to hang out with kids who went to boarding schools and to pretend I knew what the hell “summering” was.  But you can’t pass for long.  I would later realize that a lot of the hellishly sexist experiences I went through in college were completely tied up with classism.  I was called a slut not only because I had the gall to sleep with a guy I was dating, but because I dressed differently, talked differently (no matter how I tried to hide it), and was seen as the trashy Queens girl on scholarship.

So I know this is a little more personal than academic, but hey—the personal is political, right?

I understand that the experience of class stratification manifests partly in moralized judgments, ridicule, vitriol, and warped denial of other people’s humanity.  This is the flavor of class ideology.  But what about the structure?

Perhaps classism is not the real problem.

Perhaps CLASSES are the problem.

From Wikipedia:

The most basic class distinction is between the powerful and the powerless.[1][2] Social classes with a great deal of power are usually viewed as “the elites” within their own societies. Various social and political theories propose that social classes with greater power attempt to cement their own ranking above the lower classes in the hierarchy to the detriment of the society overall. By contrast, conservatives and structural functionalists have presented class difference as intrinsic to the structure of any society and to that extent ineradicable.

What do you think?  Classes, ineradicable?  So we should swell the middle class as much as possible, knowing there will always be people systematically and categorically deprived of equal power because of their economic and social standing?

Reality is weird, people.  Very weird.

Meantime, happy Friday!  And here is a lovely song for you.  See y’all on Monday.

Reality Drama

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Sometimes I really have fun subverting the “reality drama” genre, you know? Because the drama of reality isn’t always about sex, vices, arguments, competition, smack-talking, appraising, or unraveling. (In other words: getting what we want, and disparaging what we hate.) The drama of reality can also refer to explorations of the utterly mundane. Making ordinariness an occasion for attention. In this case, that might mean cooing like an idiot over a cat, and giving a sloppy, unnecessary video tour of the house you grew up in.

Arguably, the boring stuff does not qualify as “drama.” (After all, what’s the purpose of the word if it just encompasses everything?) But my point is that drama is not an objective category. It depends less on the particular content and more on the mind we bring to it.

We think of drama as being juicy, compelling, and maybe a little dirty. That’s what we expect, and in a way, that’s what we want. At the heart of drama is conflict. Non-drama is non-conflictual.

But fortunately for us everyday drama queens, there is a fundamental, inescapable basis for conflict underlying every single experience of our lives.

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Dog Shit Park

Hey friends, sorry this post is so late.  As I mentioned, my dad’s in the hospital, so I’ve been running between SF and Sacramento, juggling work and family and friends and politics — so what else is new? — but right now with more emphasis on the family.

Unsurprisingly, as tough as it’s been to see my dad sick, it’s also offered many opportunities for grounding, reflection, and appreciation.  That’s how this clear-sightedness stuff works, sometimes, in the midst of difficulty.

And it’s reminding me of a less-serious incident, a couple weeks back, when Ryan and I arrived, stomachs bellowing with hunger, at a highly recommended Thai restaurant tucked away in a corner of Oakland, only to discover that it didn’t open for another half hour. (I say this event was less serious, and it was, but I think we can all agree that when crap like this happens to us it can feel pretty damn grave.)

So there we were, ravenous and cranky. But as luck would have it, the same alley that housed the restaurant also contained a tiny, art-filled park.  “Dog Shit Park,” as a wooden sign proclaimed.  (Or warned.)

Busted pianos, colorful sculpture, plants and trees and chairs for sitting. And so, as we’ve seen before here on Kloncke, an inconvenience turned into a lovely opportunity.

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“We Are Real”: Violence, Colonialism, Human Suffering, and Reflections of Palestine and Israel in The Last King Of Scotland

amin-mightyAs you may have noticed if you’ve been hanging around here for any amount of time, I don’t talk much about current events.

Partly because this blog is mainly autobiographical — about my own lived experience — and I haven’t been involved in many “current events” lately. Also, news consumption has been extremely low for me in the past year — on purpose.

Despite my personal media fast, some major happenings (mostly US-centric) inevitably come to my attention. Oscar Grant’s murder. The bp oil spill. Arizona’s racist immigration law. The Gaza aid flotilla killings.

Still, when I am trying to talk about these issues, I don’t try to thoroughly research and analyze them the way I might have two or three years ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with research and analysis: both good and important. But here, for now, I’m focusing on deepening my understanding not of politics, per se, but of suffering. In order to understand suffering, it’s important to be aware of what’s happening around us — including politics and all the harm that’s constantly happening. But there’s more to it than that, I think.

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Introducing the Stat Dragon

by Jeffrey Donato

A stat counter is a common tool that lets bloggers see the number of people who visit their site.  I learned about it back in 2005, when I first became acquainted with blogs, and have interacted with stat counters and traffic graphs in my bloggerly life ever since.  Every day (ok let’s be real: practically every five minutes), I check my traffic chart on Kloncke to see how many people are reading.  I glance at the line graph and its 15-day history, with the current day’s data point climbing ever upward until the stroke of midnight, when its ascending carriage takes a pumpkin-like tumble back down to zero.  New day, new stats.

Within the past few months, I noticed myself monitoring my stat charts with increasing closeness and intensity.  It became sort of embarrassingly compulsive.  I checked my traffic at Gmail-like intervals (read: Too Frequently).  And of course, my heart would soar and sink according to the graph’s altitude.

High: high.

Low: low.

Many page views: “My writing is helping people.”

Few views: “This blogging thing is just a narcissistic waste of time.”

Et cetera.

And then, the real kicker: auto-adjusting scale.

Let’s say I’ve been plugging along on my little blog for a month, and one day I get 25 views, the next day 30, the next day 7, and so on.  The top of the y-axis represents the largest number of views in a single day: 150.  The smallest, one notch above zero, is 3.  Then, one day, the blog is viewed 170 times.  What happens to the chart?

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Friends On Friday

friend of the furry variety
friend of the furry variety

Kind of like #followfriday, only more of a plain old celebration of the folks touching one Black girl’s heart this week.

Above, Miss Maxine, who slowly but surely welcomed me into her life after a rough start on Sunday.  She’s almost as much of a delight as her owners, Chris and Donna.

Adrienne Maree Brown is just tremendous.  Everybody should read her.  You should read her.  Like, starting now.

Aaron Tanaka is also tremendous.  His blog is pretty much brand-new, but already one of my all-time favorites.  Eclectic, on-point, funny, educational.  Solid.

If you ever get the chance, spend some quality time with Carmen Barsody.  Trust me on this one.

Last but not least, word has it that Advance the Struggle is about to publish a piece analyzing March 4th.  Get excited!

And have a fantastic weekend.

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love,

katie

Spiritual Realism

Having used the literary concept of “magical realism” on a few occasions to describe my experience at Goddard, I’ve lately begun exploring an idea of “spiritual realism.”  It’s a phrase that speaks to many of my experiences in the last two years, and to my spiritual philosophy in general.  I’m interested in the spirituality of everyday life, in the most mundane places — ugly, resplendent, boring, and everything in between.  I’m especially drawn to spiritual practices that address the suffering inherent in social oppression.  That’s why I practice Vipassana meditation at donation-based centers; that’s why I sit with a sangha led by and for people of color and queer folks (also on a donation basis); that’s why I live and work with the Faithful Fools, a street ministry in the Tenderloin of San Francisco.

Spiritual realism is the antidote, the flip-side, to the “spiritual materialism” against which Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche warns us.

I’ve got a lot of thoughts on it, but for now I want to share one of its proximate inspirations, left as a gift on my Facebook wall.  Too good not to pass along: especially, I think, for those of us working for justice in some way.  The goals can seem so urgent that it’s easy to overlook the larger realities — the importance of process.  Thanks for the reminder, bk!