“I don’t want to get all political” is a phrase I heard countless times while being home last month. It’s a phrase I myself said a few times at family holiday parties and other events where I knew I couldn’t contain myself otherwise. I am also a bit ashamed of that, because I am convinced it is a phrase that helped determine our current president.
Many of us were born in the mid '90s, an era where the notion of “color blindness” was preached in textbooks, children’s television shows, you name it. In my elementary school — granted, I was born and raised in Los Angeles, where “love is love” and “we’re all equal” were just as often gushed as “sharing is caring” and “The Three Rs:” reduce, reuse, recycle. These messages were comforting, hopeful even, but nonetheless extremely detached from the reality of our culture. More troublingly, these concepts dismissed the deeply entrenched and omnipresent effects of institutional problems — racism, sexism and classism, etc. — that remained in spite of catchphrases. Perhaps this is just an effect of my political science and philosophy majors, but I genuinely have a difficult time interpreting anything as apolitical. So long as we operate within greater social structures and interact using behaviors influenced by their respective acceptance or success within these structures, can we truly isolate what we believe, what we say or how we behave from the confines of these structures? More bluntly, so long as America is founded upon racist, sexist principles and retains racist, sexist legal institutions, is anyone produced in this country not racist or sexist by default? Is our “tabula rasa” much less kind and accepting than our millennial upbringing would have led us to believe?
When analyzing the ubiquitous effects of political culture, art is an interesting, albeit cryptic place to start. Is it possible to separate the art from its context? Is it not even more difficult to do so in a time rife with inequity, a time where our leaders are so vocally dogmatic and exclusionary? Art is art, and literature is fiction, and characters should be as imperfect as individuals in order to make compositions meaningful, but that does not dismiss culture from the same standards we hold our peers to. It is largely accepted that we are the product of our environment and our experiences. However, it is also important to acknowledge that of these experiences, some are lived and others absorbed from the narration of media and culture. What is merely contrived to some can become reality if these concepts and works are not analyzed.
Perhaps the arts are held to a separate standard because of cultural perceptions of who produces art. Perhaps artists are seen as troubled in large part because society cannot grasp the idea of how anyone would opt to produce content of little material worth over the comfort and protection that capitalist labor appears to provide? Only someone twisted could choose to be so contemplative or opt to struggle without the inherent consistency that labor provides in our economy, right? Maybe there’s an element of truth in this line of logic: to produce good art, one has to have a mind capable of dismantling concepts, of fabricating entirely new ones, of drawing the connections between each. Yet, that madness is not sadism, nor is it racism, nationalism, sexism, homophobia or any form of bigotry that can become politically relevant. Art is art, but that does not mean we can look to art, or anything for that matter, as a way to escape the more ugly realities of life.
I have often thought about watching films that depict actions I find repulsive and inexcusable: rape, torture and hideous manifestations of racism. I’ve decided that it’s not only all right, but also necessary, because these things happen constantly. Further, so long as the way these actions are portrayed in film are through a critical lens, such interpretations could do more good than harm. Yet, I also think about supporting the art of individuals I find morally inexcusable, and there I am lost. Does it matter if the artist, director or musician is dead? Does it matter in the same way that boycotting the products of a morally reprehensible corporation matters? Do I just not get it? One of my resolutions this year is to stop excusing that which is not openly political for its bad behavior; another is to stop actively sponsoring artists and media groups which perpetuate detrimental stereotypes, many of which are politically salient. Boycotting companies who engage in poor business practices has become widely accepted within activist communities. For the most part, even those who are not typically engaged in civil disobedience understand the reasoning behind these boycotts. In 2017, I can only hope that all aspects of public life could be held to the same standard.
With this in mind, are our own actions, even those within activist communities and social movements, not just as political as what these movements aim to respond to? Recently, I've been thinking a lot about the role privilege plays in activist spaces, particularly in large events where the most marginalized identities are vilified, while many "allies" are praised for even the most minimal engagement. And while I think that it is crucial that as the events of this past weekend unfolded, those whose voices have been most silenced and whose identities have been most persecuted in the course of this election are at the forefront of public demonstrations, I also fully believe that now, more than ever, privileged people must engage with their communities and begin a dialogue of awareness. I honestly believe that activism begins at home, and this is especially the case within privileged communities. White privilege, able-bodied privilege and class privilege is the privilege to be "apolitical" at home or on holidays. It is the ability to have a mind free of fear, or one where other, more urgent thoughts dominate day-to-day function. It is the ability to not be constantly reminded of your identity, to be “neutral,” to refuse to choose sides and to not have them thrust upon you.
In order to be effective, we need to begin to move the language and principles of activist spaces beyond the confines of those who already believe in these principles. This begins, perhaps uncomfortably, with actively engaging our peers, our friends, our families and others close to us who may or may not agree with progressive principles. These conversations may be effective, but may also be uncomfortable, disheartening, difficult and alienating. These emotions and responses are necessary, if only because silence has allowed the voice of hateful individuals to drown all others out. So long as white communities, able-bodied communities, non-Muslim communities, cis-male communities and wealthy communities — like Tufts, where over 60 percent of the student body is white and with families whose income is within the top one percent — are afforded the privilege to feel safe, to feel comfortable, to feel disaffected by this election and its outcomes, being “apolitical” is not an option. Moreover, refusing to actively and compassionately listen to the voices of marginalized groups, either out of disbelief or convenience, is not an option. We have unprecedented access to the experiences and sentiments of all groups, in large part because of the arts, because of the public nature of our culture. Remaining ignorant is a choice.
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