In the lead up to this year's International Women's Day, a tag 10 women who inspire you and raise their voices action started doing the rounds on Twitter. I'm the first to roll my eyes at the performative nature of this 'clicktivism', but it did kinda warm me up inside. On an individual level, some people are recognised for the often painful and tiring work they are doing. More widely, increasing people's numbers of followers is increasing their platform. In addition, it makes participating in the celebration of women around this time of year accessible to those who might face barriers to engaging in other ways, such as attending protests. Now, I could write a whole separate piece about the people excluded from these type of lists (another time) but the conversation took another turn which I felt compelled to rant...and then write about. As the action began to fill up my Twitter feed, I watched in utter disbelief as people started tagging the 10 men who they believed to be good allies, compelling us to make sure we celebrate them too. Just sit with that for a second. Once my rage had subsided, it got me thinking long and hard about allyship generally. The word “ally”’s popularity has soared, people - particularly in my bubble - are describing themselves as allies left, right, and centre. It rolls carelessly off the tongue so easily. It certainly has mine. But I have this sinking feeling its meaning has been co-opted so much it’s now distorted and warped. In the gender space (I have no doubt it’s happening everywhere else too), men are literally being given certificates for their 'allyship' on International Women’s Day. They’re using hashtags like #ProudToBeAnAlly all over the place. I was on a panel fairly recently about representation of women in fundraising leadership and in the Q&A an audience member spent a couple of minutes praising the (one) man who was on it just for being there. As my boyfriend will confirm, I regularly chide the men in my life (and on panels) for expecting a medal for their bare minimum efforts (call this sh** out). But very seriously, I am deeply distributed by this trend. I learned a lot at a workshop on how to be an ally we put on for IWD at work*. My main conclusion: it’s basically about knowing when to shut the fu** up and actually listen. It’s about self-education. It’s about working behind the scenes on yourself, in your own institutions, in your own families and social and professional circles, to chip away at all of the things which maintain oppression in all its forms. It is absolutely not about shouting from the rooftops about how proud you are to be an ally or about all the great things you have done 'for the cause'. The centreing of ourselves in the process of claiming to practice allyship is a direct contradiction. The two things simply cannot co-exist. Moreover, it doesn't sit right with me that those of us in positions of privilege - whether that's men or white, cis, able-bodied women like me - have ownership of the word ally. We cannot claim it for ourselves. Practicing genuine allyship can’t feel safe. It can’t feel like the warm glow of pride. It has to feel uncomfortable, vulnerable, awkward, scary, like you’re constantly fucking up, like you’re out of control, like you're renouncing ego.
A tightness in the chest.
If it doesn't, you're doing something wrong.
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P.S. There are a lot of people who write far better than me about this issue. Here's some: - Layla F Saad (http://laylafsaad.com/poetry-prose/white-women-white-supremacy-2)
- Donyae Coles (https://wearyourvoicemag.com/race/comfortable-allies-are-not-allies)
- Sezin Koehler (https://wearyourvoicemag.com/entertainment-culture/stranger-things-2-working-example-allyship)
- http://www.indigenousaction.org/accomplices-not-allies-abolishing-the-ally-industrial-complex/ P.P.S I regularly mess up when trying to do this stuff * this workshop was facilitated by the fierce Shaista Aziz and Alexia Pepper de Caires of NGO Safe Space.