Actions speak louder than pins
To put things lightly, it’s been a rough few weeks for everyone, and not just for the reasons we anticipated. Usually, November brings papers, midterms, and the somber but unavoidable conclusion that we’ll all hav
e to go home for the holidays and attempt to explain to our anxious relatives why we’re still single. This year, we’re all still reeling from the effects of a divisive election that has produced animosity throughout the political spectrum. We’re still trying to figure out how to respond to everything that’s happened since Nov. 8.
In June of this year, the outcome of a British referendum determined that the U.K. would leave the European Union (E.U.)—an unexpected development known as “Brexit.” This decision was followed by a period of xenophobic tension and specific attacks towards immigrants and E.U. citizens. To combat feelings of fear and helplessness, a Twitter user, identified as “Allison” in an interview with BBC, suggested that sympathetic individuals could show solidarity by wearing safety pins, identifying themselves as supportive resources for those who felt scared and disenfranchised by the destructive aftershocks of general political action.
Many Americans have associated aspects of the June Brexit decision with the Nov. 8 presidential election: Both were surprising outcomes to general elections with the potential to threaten the futures of certain populations. In response, Americans have adopted the safety pin idea in an attempt to provide pillars of security to those who feel stripped of any shields they previously had. While it’s certainly an honorable measure, I’m here to offer some things you might want to consider before you make yourself a walking pincushion for the sake of the disenfranchised. Advocacy is never as simple as it seems.
I’m going to start off by saying something you might not like. You cannot declare yourself an ally. You also can’t declare that you have a medical license, walk into a surgery suite, and hold out your hand for a scalpel so you can perform an emergency splenectomy. Yes, that seems like an extreme comparison to make, but here’s the gist: Some distinctions require action. There are certain things you need to know before you perform a splenectomy. First, you have to know what a spleen is, but you also must go through a rigorous process in which respected medical professionals have determined that you are qualified to perform a potentially dangerous procedure on patients that trust in your competency to remove their spleens and also not kill them. You also have to pay a metric ton for medical malpractice insurance.
Likewise, being an ally is not a decision you make. You can’t just put a safety pin on your sleeve and designate yourself as someone who is trustworthy and caring. Your status as an ally is earned, and it’s earned through action. Your safety pin can’t speak against oppression, but you can. Your safety pin can’t chastise your friends when they make “harmless” remarks about your Muslim neighbors, but you can. Your safety pin can’t wash swastikas off windows, donate money to Planned Parenthood, or politely flip off a group of men harassing a girl who’s just trying to get home safe—but you can.
Essentially, my problem with safety pins is that they don’t do anything. They’re the laziest form of advocacy, to the point where I wouldn’t hesitate in calling them self-serving. They’re exceptionally “othering”, and I say that because they designate the wearer as someone that doesn’t see themselves as part of the problem of systemic oppression. Someone who wears a safety pin might be white, straight, cisgendered, and vaguely Christian (if they have religious inclinations)—essentially, a part of the “tyrannical majority.” However, they do not identify with the “bad white guys,” because the safety pin means they’re “a good guy,” without any basis of action that confirms that they deserve that distinction.
These symbols are also “othering” in another, subtler way: They operate on the assumption that oppressed individuals need and want the help of a White Knight Safety Pin Savior. Such saviors simultaneously designate themselves as “greater than” the oppressed and the oppressor by declaring that they themselves do not need help but are blameless for the situations of others. Unless you’re prepared to actively fight against the oppression you demonize, you cannot declare yourself a savior.
I do think that the safety pin movement has come from a very pure and very noble place, but if you plan on wearing a safety pin, you must ask yourself why you’re wearing one. If you want to wear a safety pin because you feel helpless and guilty about the privileges you have and how you may come across to someone with a different background, it might be a good idea to reconsider why you feel that way.
If you feel helpless, you are not. You are capable of working for real change, and symbolism is an ineffective surrogate for advocacy. Safety pins are quick fixes, but eventually you’ll have to break out a needle and thread to make an alteration that won’t fall apart.
Are you going to be part of something permanent?
