The Cosmetic Wars

     

“A Proportional Response,” The West Wing (1999)

Leo McGarry: The President’s personal aide. They’re looking at a kid. You have any problem with a young black man waiting on the President?
Admiral Percy Fitzwallace: I’m an old black man and I wait on the President.
Leo McGarry: The kid’s got to carry his bags and…
Admiral Percy Fitzwallace: You going to pay him a decent wage?
Leo McGarry: Yeah.
Admiral Percy Fitzwallace: You going to treat him with respect in the workplace?
Leo McGarry: Yeah.
Admiral Percy Fitzwallace: Then why the hell should I care?
Leo McGarry: That’s what I thought.
Admiral Percy Fitzwallace: I got some real honest-to-god battles to fight, Leo. I don’t have time for the cosmetic ones.

I like to think I grow and learn on a daily basis and you know, maybe I do.  But lately, I’ve been thinking it happens more in leaps and bounds, when all of a sudden, with a rush of consciousness, something shifts. 

And may I say, nothing shifts a world-view like moving from New England to the south (people in DC don’t think they are from the South, oh but they are).

Not only moving the south, but also working for the federal government and closely with the military.  Hold the phone, stop the presses, my world implodes.  I’ve been called “sweetie,” “honey,” “doll,” “baby girl,” “boo,” and “miss lady” (personal fav) with relative frequency since moving here.

But think on this: the man who called me “doll” – he came by my office to do a hardware inventory that’s going on through the whole building.  He asked me where things were, was perfectly friendly, listened to the information I had to give him, was respectful and polite, (then held the door for me and said, “see, chivalry isn’t dead).  At no point did I feel uncomfortable and let me tell you, I have a pretty advanced creepy radar.

So really, here’s the thing.

Do I care that he called me “doll.”  Not really.  Would I care if he was being inappropriate? Of course.

I’m not here to tell anyone what they should be comfortable with, or to invalidate any situation or experience that is truly distressing, dangerous, or innappropriate…but I wonder how we come to have different levels of comfort with these things and how it alters they way we move through our lives.  How do I define a “cosmetic war” versus “real injustice”? And how do we engage with each other when we define these “wars” differently?  I’ve been enjoying the new tumblr Microaggressions which shows the ways that these small, daily encounters impact the way we see the world and interact with our fellow inhabitants…[insert unfinished thought here]

Images: Anne Taintor