Standing on the Sidelines
A microaggression by any other name would smell as sweet… so any act of aggression would. I know this isn’t Shakespeare’s intended use of this metaphor, but it works (right?).
The New Oxford American Dictionary defines a microaggression as “a statement, action or incident regarded as an instance of indirect, subtle, or unintentional discrimination against members of a marginalized group, such as a racial or ethnic minority.” I could list examples of microaggressions, but this article does just that.
The thing about microaggressions, is that they are only small to the aggressor. The people committing the action usually don’t realize the impact of their actions, and don’t have negative intentions. Your intention does not matter. Your impact does. For the people on the other end, those that are impacted, the pain lingers and often builds on itself.
It’s never just one microaggression. These instances build on a foundation of harm and oppression. Where there’s one, there’s more.
In my own experience, it becomes the impacted individual’s responsibility to speak up and educate the aggressor. And if said individual doesn’t process the harm and emotions and calculate an appropriate response in what’s now confirmed as an unsafe space and in record time, then the microaggression just sits there. If no one else speaks up or addresses the aggression, the ignoring of - the ignorance, becomes another microaggression in itself. Thus another brick is laid and the pain and oppression are internalized.
Why does this matter? A silent bystander is an aggressor. There are no sidelines in social justice.
I’ll share my own experience to provide context. I was in class (a class on diversity, equity and inclusion), and a comment was made. I won’t repeat the comment, but it was loaded and brought up issues of Islamophobia and racialized women’s bodies. Immediately, I gasped for air. The comment was made out of rash ignorance, and not intended to harm any of us in the class. I’ll note that the comment was made in the zoom chat for the class.
The rest of the class kept going, but I lost focus. I saw the comment sitting there and I was on edge.
Am I the only one who finds this offensive? Is anyone else going to say something? If I say something, will I disrupt the class? Should I just let it go? Can I let it go?
These and other questions ran through my mind, a mile a minute. I was disengaged. This affected my learning experience, in a class where I had as much right to learn as anyone else. I made a quick judgement and addressed the comment in the chat. I explained my understanding that the intention could be different, but that the impact of the comment was harmful and reinforced Islamophobic and misogynistic beliefs on women’s bodies.
Minutes passed by and my response sat there, unacknowledged. My first thought was “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Then, I started getting private messages thanking me for addressing it. Others felt it too, and chose to message me privately while my response stood alone publicly.
Instead of appreciation for the private acknowledgements, I felt anger. “Why did I have to be the one to say something? Why didn’t you stand up and call out the microaggression? Why won’t you back me up publicly?” I fought through a flood of tears and half a dozen emotions due to a passing comment, and now I had to be witness to bystanders standing by, and then thanking me for letting them sit comfortably on the sidelines.
In this specific instance, I responded to the private messages and asked people to back me up and they did. All of this occurred in the zoom chat, and the class presentations were still going. People seemed to move on. I didn't. I was still fighting through the tears.
It took multiple people privately messaging the professor to bring attention to the issue. Then, something unprecedented happened. Our professor asked us to give this issue space and to uphold our promise to keep one another accountable.
My peers and I shared the emotions and harm that came from the original microaggression. The individual that made the original comment acknowledged the impact, apologized, and committed to learning from the experience and changing the behavior. People also shared why they didn’t speak up. As a cohort, we gave each other the grace and space to be vulnerable and learn from the experience, together.
I realized that my response to the microaggression was compounded by so many other instances, and I understood that this is how it could be. If you find yourself a bystander to a microaggression, here’s what I recommend:
How do you identify if the instance is a microaggression? If it brings up feelings of discomfort or is directed towards a member of a marginalized group, acknowledge it. Sometimes, you’ll feel it before you find the words to explain it.
See something, say something. If you don’t know what to say or worry that you’re going to say the wrong thing, start with an invitation to clarify. “What did you intend to express when…” Don’t wait for someone else to bring it up first.
If someone does bring it up before you, back them up. Share the impact it had on you or share a comment of support/agreement. Don’t let anyone stand alone in this.
Give a name/label to the action and resist the urge to place sole blame on the aggressor. Invite the aggressor to learn and change their behavior. These are humbling experiences and learning doesn’t happen by attacking one another.
Most importantly, remember that you might be an aggressor and commit a microaggression. If you find yourself on the other side and called to change, own up to the impact, apologize, and commit to restorative action. None of us are immune.
The dismantling of racism and oppression is a shared responsibility. There are no sidelines. Get up and stay up.
