During the opening ceremonies of this year’s Women’s March, women delivered empowering messages. There were messages directed towards the #MeToo movement, against violence, and for solidarity. As the march began, organizers asked Indigenous drummers, members of the LGBTQ+ community, other minorities, and then the rest to proceed, in that order.
At that point, my first thought was that it’s great that marginalized groups were selected to lead the march; they deserve recognition. But it wasn’t until I talked with Holly, a trans woman who attended the march, that I realized not one person from the LGBTQ+ community spoke prior to the march itself.
That is when I realized, my privilege is showing.
Being white, it’s easy to forget about the privilege stowed inside of me. I grew up with white parents and although I have faced personal difficulties, they were completely different from those that have carried the oppression of being a person of colour; the oppression of the past, present, and future.
I have never struggled with my identity due to society’s gender and social norms. But I have stood beside childhood friends while they had found the courage to come out as trans, gay, lesbian, or bisexual to family members and peers.
Nor have I ever felt uncomfortable in my skin. Especially not at Ottawa’s Women’s March. That being said, shouldn’t issues such as these be something that white feminists use their privilege to help eliminate? If feminism is, by definition, equal rights for all, then the feminists with privilege should adhere to that—respecting the groundwork that has already been paved in the movement, yet continuing on the road forward. White feminists need to find their voice, but make sure it doesn’t drown out other groups.
So, how can white cis feminists use their privilege in a positive manner? For starters, we can make sure that other groups are being heard. Holly, a trans woman who attended the march, told me she believes the march could have been more inclusive. She talked about the importance of queer voices at such events, and said she believes that the movement needs to bolster diversity by highlighting LGBTQ+ experiences.
How can we expect to make ground within the feminist movement without opening a space for everyone—a space where we listen, and truly march together?
I also met an incredibly strong woman named Rose Petitfrere. Rose is from Haiti, and moved to Canada 20 years ago. She told me about her struggles in the job industry as a woman of colour, speaking from her experience with police training at Algonquin College.
Perhaps what stuck with me most were Rose’s words: “There are feminists with privilege, and there are feminists that still have to fight for basic human rights.”
Perhaps Ottawa could learn more from my hometown of Halifax. Haligonians created a counter-rally against the Women’s March. Walk the Talk was an event organized to highlight the voices of marginalized feminists; a way to make sure that they had the chance to talk about the problems they, as feminists, face daily.
Coming from a place of privilege myself, I know that I need to do better—white feminists need to do better. We need to listen, encourage, and share the spaces our privilege has opened for us, so that we can stand together and put our loudest roar forward.
Let us pledge that as feminists in 2018, we will make sure that the Hollys and Roses of our community are not just arbitrarily placed forward at a march, but that their voices are truly placed where they can be heard.
Photo by Meagan Casalino
