Women are not pre-disposed to own their own views. By that, I mean that women have views, often great, acutely aware views, but after mustering up the courage to proclaim them, to interrupt and push themselves into the conversation, to “disrupt”, against the inherited and ever-present standard of docile women, they are left dangling off a precipice known as the unknown art of debate; how does one defend their views? Does my opinion matter? Do I defer to my male friend who I assume to be more knowledgeable, who may be taken more seriously?
The phenomenon to which I refer is regularly cited in coeducational university classrooms. In fact, a Harvard University study found that male students talk much longer than female when the instructor, and the majority of the classroom, are male (a situation that is common at most coeducational colleges), and that women students are interrupted more frequently than their male counterparts. In Computer Science classes at Columbia, for example, where but 11 female current standing faculty-members compare to a much larger 48 male, it is perhaps unsurprising that the gender imbalance is reflected in the minority of female Computer Science majors at the university.
As a woman, my most recent experience with the phenomenon was online. Jaded by the buildup of photos on my Facebook timeline, I decided to use my social media more “effectively” (whatever that means), and posted an article with my brief opinion elided. As I hit the “share” button, I felt a novel wave of nerves at my potentially “subversive” opinion; I even ran it past a friend for good measure. To my surprise, most agreed with my post, but for 2 comments that looked to catch me out, which I quickly, and urgently, corrected. However, what struck me, throwing myself out there in the public domain, was not the content of the post, but rather that I had never felt so exposed, so keen to have the facts at my fingertips, so on guard. Ironic that I felt more at ease changing my profile picture, publicly disclosing intimate details such as my sexuality, gender and family members on my profile, than I did writing something on what’s meant to be a sharing platform for open discussion.
At the end of the day, my opinion wasn’t particularly subversive; a lot of people seemed to agree with me actually. What felt subversive to me, was that it was I who was making it. What I learned is that I am not inherently inclined towards owning my view. I was not born with that in-built sense of self-entitlement that says “Yes, my view matters”, that doesn’t cower from attacks, and that bobs each opinion up to the dizzying heights of “-and it is as important as any other’s”. I am not a man.
I am, however, a white cis-female. This inevitably endows me with a plethora of privileges that render me ignorant to the insidious discrimination played out against women of color, or transfolk, in the declaration of their views. I am not discounting my own experience as unreal or unworthy; however, I do acknowledge that my experience is most likely one of the better ones. Whilst this discrimination is one that is universal to all women, the nature and experience of it is one that is uniquely defined by the intersection of identities that I largely cannot speak to.
Nonetheless, within the domain of my own privilege experience, I am left with those gnawing questions: What is the solution to this? And why am I even writing this? I’ve always been a firm believer that words can often be just as, or more, powerful than actions. For me, constructive discussion sheds light on an overlooked injustice, and in doing so, makes the reader more sentient to it in future. How that translates into an action, is up to you. But understanding is the first step.
