The Achill Island Essays 3
An Unwitting Oppressor
...white males must accept the truth of the charges that we have been overbearing, destructive, insensitive, sexist, and racist. To the degree that such acknowledgements usher us into a newly sensitized state, we must begin to find ways to redress the wrongs we have committed. This will be a lifelong undertaking, because one does not shed the role of "oppressor" in a fortnight.
Robert MaAfee Brown
As I wander about the countryside on this beautiful Irish island, thinking great thoughts about the universe and the meaning of life, I am vaguely aware that the very boots on my feet are likely the products of exploitation. The boots are of reasonably high quality that I got at a relatively low price. They were quite a bargain. The label confirms that they were made in a south-east Asian country notorious for the exploitation of its labour force. This suggests that my bargain probably came at the expense of some human being who was paid low wages, for working long hours in unpleasant working conditions.
While I like to think of myself as somewhat enlightened, I must acknowledge that I am a member of a privileged class. I'm male. I'm white. I'm Christian. I'm English-speaking. I'm financially successful. I am a chartered member of the most powerful group on Earth. That makes me one of the vilest and most exploitive creatures on the face of the planet.
My parents emigrated from England to Canada at a time when immigrants were good, especially from white English speaking countries. As a young white male growing up in downtown Toronto, doors opened for me in much the same way as the automatic doors in the supermarket open when you're loaded down with parcels. Recognition in school, part-time jobs, and friends all came quite naturally with virtually no effort on my part.
When I entered the working world I was taken in hand by the community of white males who seemed to be in charge of everything. They taught me the ropes, gave me opportunities to develop, and forgave my mistakes, chalking them up as learning experiences. As I graduated to management and executive level positions I was most comfortable sitting around the boardroom table with my bosses and colleagues. It seemed that we all had so much in common. I blithely accepted this good favour, thinking that it had something to do with my innate skills and abilities. It never occurred to me that I might be the unwitting beneficiary of systemic discrimination.
When it came time to build my home, I wasn't bothered with having to throw native people off the land. That was done for me hundreds of years ago. I can be smug about it now. I can criticize and chastise oppressive regimes around the world who oppress indigenous people and deny them their birthrights; who expropriate their land and give it to wealthy foreigners. But the land and freedom that I enjoy today is the legacy of the exploitation and violence perpetrated by my forefathers.
As I sit down every Saturday morning with my selection of weekend newspapers, the products of a Canadian forest, I can read with righteous indignation about the destruction of the environment. If I need a little more light, I can switch on the lamp next to me which is powered by electricity from the Pickering Nuclear Generating Station. I might get up to help my wife in with the groceries, which are all neatly packaged in what used to be trees. Lunch will be served on a table that used to be part of a Malaysian rain forest. After lunch I might get into my car and drive off somewhere, burning up the remains of plants and animals that lived millions of years ago.
I can sympathize with those who challenge affirmative action and employment equity programs and who charge the proponents of such programs with reverse discrimination. No one should be denied opportunities because of sex, race and class...even me. I can feel quite justified in criticizing countries that permit the destruction of their rain forests. Don't they realize that I need to breathe the oxygen that the forests produce? I can support governments whose policies include restricting immigration to those whom we deem desirable (which usually means that they are either white or have money). I can support tax cuts knowing that they can only be paid for by reducing services to the poor.
Is it possible...I mean, could I be...a hypocrite? With the lifestyle I live, the opportunities I gladly accept, the political and economic systems I support...if I was truly honest with myself, shouldn't I count myself among the oppressors on this planet, albeit unwittingly?
I am haunted by a photograph I saw recently of a two year old Eritrian child, clutching its mother in a Toronto refugee hostel. Almost 40 years ago I arrived in Toronto as a two year old immigrant child, clutching my mother, and found the gates of opportunity wide open. I can bet my house that the child in the photograph won't find our society, which is now dominated by me and my contemporaries (i.e. white males), quite so welcoming.
March 1996
About the Photograph: A snow sculpture at the Quebec Winter Carnival, Quebec City, Canada.