Some days, I just get really tired of it all. All the sexism, all the racism, all the undue hatred toward other people. I get tired of fighting it, I get tired of other people fighting it, and I get really, really tired of people just expecting others to believe that they are right just because they think they are.
It’s on these days that I remember that one of my closest friends can also be a misogynistic ass, despite all his claims that he is for strong women. He lies to them, he thinks that they’re just toys to be played around with at his own amusement, and then he wonders why he’s all alone at the end of the day. He also looks down on feminism, and every time a girl he knows/claims to care about does something that makes her feel powerful, he belittles them, calls them a child, or just brushes it off as something insignificant. He puts no effort into understanding and he ignores all the damage that he causes.
These days are the hardest, because they remind me all too much of the fact that there is no one right answer to any of these questions. Yes. Racism is inherently stupid—really, does having black skin make you any different than a person with white? Why does being able to burn really fucking easily in the sun make you superior? Sexism is equally as stupid—outside of genitals, what really makes men fundamentally different than women? We all have needs, desires, wants, dreams, and ideas that are all equally important. And really, who gives a fuck who loves who? What business is it of yours that I like dicks or one of my best friends loves her girlfriend to the point of insanity? But at the same time, people were born and raised with the ideas that white people were superior—for whatever stupid as shit reasoning that might be (I’m sorry, but I do not understand why white privilege exists, because it makes no sense whatsoever and as objective as I’m trying to be here, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY MY SKIN COLOR MAKES ME INSTANTLY BETTER/WORSE THAN SOMEONE ELSE.) They were born with the ideas that women were to be in the kitchens or looking after the children at home—doing what they consider soft work. They were born with the idea that two men loving each other was wrong. I’m not saying it’s right—because it’s not—but it is very hard to combat the ideas that people are ingrained with since birth.
And it’s on these days that I wonder why we fight against human nature. We are so fucking stubborn, so convinced that we alone are right, and that everyone else is wrong, that it’s impossible to argue with other people or other viewpoints. No matter how hard you hit your fist against that wall, it’s going to stay standing, with barely a dent in it where you pounded against it. And it’s so frustratingly stupid, because it’s like… if all of you could just take a step back and just look at yourselves and consider what exactly it is you’re fighting about—skin color, what hangs or doesn’t hang between your legs, and who makes you feel most important in the world—you’ll realize just how utterly ridiculous it all is. There is nothing special about white people. There is nothing special about men. There is absolutely nothing special about the fact that that guy is in love with his college roommate and they fuck like bunnies three times a day. Seriously. THERE IS NOTHING SPECIAL ABOUT ANY OF IT. But we fight anyway. And it’s exhausting.
But there are the days that I remember that although my dad can be a terribly homophobic, pro-life, white-privileged male Republican, he can also be one of the kindest, gentlest, most caring people I’ve ever met. And since he’s realized that he has a feminist ally for a daughter, he has legitimately tried to understand things better. He’s made steps (granted, tiny, almost invisible steps, but still, very important ones) toward trying to understand my view of things. He is no longer completely against abortion, nor is he completely against gay marriage. He has accepted that while he can disagree with it all he wants, it’s not really up to him what people do. He still rants about why he thinks it’s wrong, but he has at least come to realize that there is another side to the issue, and one that has a lot of merit, and he is trying to understand all of that. He might not be in agreement with all of my views, but he at least has a better respect for them now than he did six months ago.
There are days that I can call my best friend on his bullshit and explain to him that no, it’s not just Blurred Lines that I hate, it’s the entirety of rape culture and all of the music that supports it, and have him realize that maybe, just maybe, I’m a little justified in my anger against that song. These days go along with the conversations about how Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer might just be the most sexist movie ever made, and how he realizes that yeah, that might actually be true, and that I might actually have a fair point. He’ll never be one to wave the feminism flag, but he does realize that things are wrong, and maybe, he shouldn’t bury his head in the sand and hope these issues go away.
Unfortunately, the former days far outweigh the latter. And they always will, because it is really fucking pointless what we fight about. But the days where the people who I consider the most static, the least willing to change can slowly come around to the idea that maybe, just maybe, the other side of the argument could be right—those days do make the pointless, stupid fight worth it. Because they do give me hope that maybe one day the world will wake up and realize that it really doesn’t matter who marries who. It doesn’t matter what color your skin is. That what your chromosomes declare you as doesn’t inherently make you better or worse. That we are all fucking people. Just people. And we’re all stuck in this universe together and we might as well just get along.
Rachelle Manning 