(C) Tennessee Lookout
This story was originally published by Tennessee Lookout and is unaltered.
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The white patriarchy in Tennessee – Tennessee Lookout [1]
['More From Author', 'August', 'Maryam Abolfazli']
Date: 2023-08-29
This week, the Tennessee General Assembly gave me a lesson on the white patriarchy. I had not understood the term in a meaningful way until this week, until I could feel it viscerally in the silencing of our dissent, in the ignoring of our presence, and our silent and present plea for gun safety — in the day-in and day-out legislating despite our desperation.
We were shushed, not just our voices, but our deepest most human request: Please save my child.
It is a basic, maybe the most basic, human request. It is asked by parents when they get on a tiny boat to traverse dangerous waters to come to a shore that is not torn by war:
“Please save my child.”
It is asked of a parent when their child is diagnosed with cancer and they are at the mercy of doctors:
“Please save my child.”
And last week, we asked every minute of every 12-hour day:
“Please save my child.”
And time and again, their answer:
“No.”
But that wasn’t even when I realized what we were up against.
Some of us have had a longer journey with this legislature. Some of us have been in conversation with them for years. Maybe it’s been about our trans children needing healthcare, maybe it’s over our sisters needing to abort a fetus that is causing harm to her body. Maybe it was over school testing, healthcare, control of our city, or protection for rape victims. Some have been working tirelessly for criminal justice and preventing increasing punishments for youth.
Some of us have been told one thing and had another thing be true, more than once. Some of us are tired of the rules changing, the promises failing, and mostly, the pretense of collaboration. For some of us, this isn’t the first time we’ve asked for something and haven’t gotten it. But for all of us, this is the first time a session has been devoted to the biggest ask of all:
“Please save my child.”
And the deafening, resounding, unanimous:
“No.”
Notwithstanding this, the House began the week emboldened, changing the rules — not just for this special session but for every legislative session moving forward. It reminded me of my parent’s home country or another place where, when they learn where the cracks of expression are, instead of letting them be, they fill them with concrete so no light can get in. There were more punishments, less expression from the people and from the representatives with whom they don’t agree. At the time, we knew what was happening, we knew it wasn’t good. But it would take the next day for us to understand what it would mean to us.
The next day — Wednesday — we were in the civil justice subcommittee. It was late in the afternoon and we were fatigued. The meeting began, and all signs came down, as deemed by the new set of rules announced less than 24 hours before. A volunteer decided to listen to her innermost voice, telling her: “This is your right. You have a right to speak in America.”
Some of us have had a longer journey with this legislature. Some of us have been in conversation with them for years. Some of us have been told one thing and had another thing be true, more than once. Some of us are tired of the rules changing, the promises failing, and mostly, the pretense of collaboration.
Her body shaking, yet she couldn’t unhear her inner truth. She listened to that voice. She kept her small, 8 1/2 x 11” sign that read “1 Child > All Guns.” And was removed from the room at the order of the House committee chair by state troopers. Nothing else mattered to her than the right to tell the legislators:
“Please save my child.”
She broke from the white patriarchy that wanted her to shush. She, aware of all of her own privilege, also aware, because of that privilege, that she has this right regardless of whether a representative says she does or not. She, a white woman, was certain in her right to expression and stood for it. The structures and systems around her that typically support her that day they were failing her. They denied her expression and ignored her plea:
“Please save my child.”
The following day, I let go of another brick in the structure of control: composure. Composure is the way that one demonstrates self-control, trustworthiness as a reliable partner, and the ability to fall in line regardless of how painful it is.
I lost my composure at the end of a two-hour committee meeting when the committee voted to allow anyone with an enhanced permit onto school grounds, eliminating “gun free zones.” From the depths of my stomach, pain and disbelief came together and catapulted into one word “sick” and I couldn’t stop saying it. I had broken with the rules of society and the rules of that committee. I showed everyone the truth of my tears and anger.
Fighting this patriarchy isn’t binary or a one-time thing. It is a process, but the compass remains the same, listening to the truth inside. It is different for everyone, depending on one’s relative privilege in our society. White women, as Shannon Watts, founder of Moms Demand Action, has explained, have their own responsibilities. Despite what is said and told about Tennessee, many women here, many women in those galleries and committee meetings are eyes wide open about their relative place in this world and how to use it. They also know to look through ALL the lenses before supporting or enacting policy. They know that many policies disproportionately harm communities of color and individuals of different genders and on and on. They ask those questions first and they are wide open to not knowing and being wrong, to get it right.
They are not fooled.
Many of us once followed all the rules, even as they changed, we held composure, even as we hurt, we did what we were told, and we did this for years. We did this knowing, hoping, that certainly we will succeed and achieve our goals. I, too, have felt this way, in my life, many times.
I have collaborated with the patriarchy, I have received access and income thanks to it. It has made sense to me and made me feel safe and protected. Until the moment I wanted something else, something it didn’t provide until I went too far, until I wanted equality. Then I was very clearly told:
“No.”
All along, I thought I was powerful and respected for how well I followed rules and didn’t disrupt. How I tempered my emotions to sound rational and measured. I thought I was equal to them. But I was wrong. I had never achieved equality, I was only given the illusion of it, while serving them.
Is liberation always on offer once you eschew the systems of patriarchy? No. It is constant work to listen and respond to what is true. But I know that in order to live our fullest life, be our truest selves, and be agents of change towards opportunity, freedom and safety for all, we must not dim the voice inside, no matter how much we believe it will bring us success. That success will always be hollow, and wins on the margin, because it will never respond to our deepest beckoning.
“Save my child.”
[END]
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