During a casual conversation at my friend's work, the question came up: Who is person who makes the decisions in the relationship, the man or the woman?
They proceeded to go around the office, asking each of their co-workers to respond. The cis-gender, male-identified folks responded some version of "the woman" or "the wife"—amongst winks and giggles. They asked everyone in the room, except for my friend, who happens to be queer.
She has had a lot of these moments at work. There was the time for example, when outside of work, one male co-worker told another to keep her sweater on. The latter had been harassed in the street earlier, and her co-worker explained that this was expected if she was doing things like taking off her sweater like that in public.
Or, there was the time that her supervisor could not understand why a young homeless person of color might be distrustful of the police, and may not see the police department as a place of safety and comfort. They work precisely with this population.
Whenever she tells me these stories, I always ask her: What did you say?
She responds to me that these are the moments she finds herself deciding whether to make an intervention and create an uncomfortable situation, or to be quiet and let the moment pass. Most of all, she thinks about the personal consequences of speaking out, which to her include being ostracized by her co-workers and being labeled 'that girl in front of whom you can never say anything fun' or anything that is not 'politically correct.' Being a queer woman of color, I remind her, could also mean that she could also have the fun titles of the 'angry Latina' or the 'angry dyke.'
Neither option is comforting, especially as this is her place of employment, where she spends a majority of the time.
I have had similar moments at work. And at each moment, for me there has been the same negotiation happening in my head: Am I willing to risk my personal comfort/safety in order to make a point?
There are times when I have chosen to stay quiet. Several of these times took place while I was working at a Spanish-language newspaper in Chicago, where most of my co-workers were older, heterosexual, Latino cis-gender men. I talk about their identities not because it is what caused them to say things that were uncomfortable, but because it is part of what made me feel so alone. And so the many times that the men stood around the cover of the entertainment section of the newspaper, which for some reason always featured a woman in a short skirt, and they judged her on her looks, her behavior, and her sexuality, I stayed quiet.
And it wasn't just that I felt alone, and feared being slightly 'uncomfortable.' I write these words meaning the full weight of the word 'uncomfortable'—one that connects not just to this moment, but also to my experience, in this case, as a woman who has experienced sexual objectification, harassment, and violence. The moment itself is a trigger, but so is the conversation that is sure to follow.
A similar thing happens to me when people speak about immigration, or use the word "illegal." Being an undocumented immigrant myself, I feel like no matter how macro my response is, it is always about my family and me.
Thinking about this has made me realize I am more likely to speak up when the issue is more removed from my personal experience—especially when it is about people I consider myself an ally to. Even though I still ask myself the same question, there is most often no personal trauma attached. I feel like this is a privilege, and in my mind, it becomes a responsibility to speak if there is no one directly affected by those comments responding, or to support them (I strongly believe people have a right to speak for themselves, before anyone has a right to speak for them).
But just because something is hard, doesn't mean we shouldn't do it. Hard things are often the ones most worth the risk. And the times when we make people uncomfortable—including ourselves—are when we grow the most.
My friend has decided that she is going to work through her worries of being considered an 'angry Latina dyke,' she is going to find healthy ways to process her frustrations and traumas, and she is going to challenge them on their ways.
"I'm tired of being the only one who feels uncomfortable," she said. "They need to feel uncomfortable too."
My friend wanted to remain anonymous and does not work in Chicago. Follow me on twitter at @_LaTania.
Tania Unzueta is co-founder of IYJL and an organizer at the National Day Laborer Organizing Network. Follow her on twitter at @_LaTania.
