

Privilege
A poem for men who don't understand what we mean when we say that they have it.
-
- privilege is simple:
- going for a pleasant stroll after dark,
- not checking the back of your car as you get in, sleeping soundly,
- speaking without interruption, and not remembering
- dreams of rape, that follow you all day. that woke you up crying, and
- privilege
- is not seeing your stripped, humiliated body
- plastered in celebration across every magazine rack, privilege
- is going to the movies and not seeing yourself
- terrorized, defamed, battered, butchered
- seeing something else.
- privilege is
- riding your bicycle across town without being screamed at or
- run off the road, not needing an abortion, taking off your shirt
- on a hot day, in a crowd, not wishing you could type better
- just in case - not shaving your legs, having a good job and
- expecting to keep it, not feeling the boss's hand up your crotch,
- dozing off on late-night buses, privilege
- is being the hero in the TV show, not the dumb broad,
- living where your genitals are totemized not denied,
- knowing your doctor won't rape you.
- privilege is being
- smiled at all day by nice, helpful women, it is
- the way you pass judgment on their appearance with magisterial authority,
- the way you face a judge of your own sex in court and
- are overrepresented in Congress and are not assaulted by the police
- or used as a dart board by your friendly mechanic, privilege
- is seeing your bearded face echo through the history texts
- not only of your high school days but all of your life, not being
- relegated to a paragraph
- every other chapter, the way you occupy
- entire poetry books and more than your share of the couch unchallenged,
- it is your mouthing smug, atrocious insults at women
- who blink and change the subject - politely - privilege
- is how seldom the rapist's name appears in the papers
- and the way you smirk over your Playboy
- it's simple really. privilege
- means someone else's pain, your wealth
- is my terror, your uniform
- is a women raped to death her or in Cambodia or wherever
- wherever your obscene privilege
- writes your name in my blood, it's that simple,
- you've always had it, that's why it doesn't
- seem to make you sick at stomach,
- you have it, we pay for it
- now do you understand?
This anonymous poem was distributed at a reproductive rights march in March of 1988.
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Last updated: 2/5/96
Created and maintained by Sarah Borchers '96