We're All Just Trying to Get By
A very raw and vulnerable rant about class and the blindness of elite activism.
Yesterday, I went on a bit of a rant on Twitter. I have hardly any followers (I don’t seem to have the knack for collecting digital followers online, or maybe it’s the dedication) and I usually feel embarrassed after I tweet because I usually only post when I’m super pissed about something. (Isn’t that what Twitter’s all about anyway?)
But it’s a rant I’ve been on for a while now, so I might as well develop my point.
I recently checked out a book about reducing plastic waste. The reason is that I feel furious and a little bit hopeless about a world where people’s health and the world’s wellbeing matter nothing to the people in power, and where plastic particles are swimming through our blood. I want a world with clean water and good health and safety for my daughter, and I want to do what I can to at least make small changes that make our immediately world a little better, seeing as no one else is going to do it for people like us.
So I started reading this book, feeling hopeful that the little changes it claimed to provide would be within my grasp in some way. I imagined I could take one idea at a time and start transforming my home and life. Early on in the book, the authors state, “Zero waste can be cost effective and inclusive of all budgets.” Yes, I thought, someone who gets it. Let’s present this as something that is accessible to people with little money.
But what is the first thing the book suggests, besides refillable water bottles and non-plastic grocery bags?
A $1,500 mattress.
The authors write, “While these items may be more expensive and require more care, they are designed to last and don’t typically emit harmful chemicals.”
This obviously triggered something deep within me. This comes at a time when my family is so poorly off that we can barely make ends meet from month to month. We have a very strict budget where a mere $100 is set aside for “nonrecurring household.” Everything else is very narrowly organized under essentials: diapers for the baby, rent, gas, groceries, medical bills, medical prescriptions, food for the dog, etc. We set aside $50 for eating out during the month so we can have maybe one very carefully-selected treat. I’ve been to a food pantry four times this year so that we can pay for plumbing disasters and our daughter’s frequent doctor visits that aren’t covered by our expensive and utterly worthless health insurance.
Did I mention my husband works full-time and I work part-time, as well as additional freelance gig work? And yet we barely have enough to live.
And then I’m told, “Your health is more important than money. Buy this special kind of non-toxic mattress that’s $1,500!” (If you do the math, $1,500 is more than an entire year of our budgeted nonrecurring household expenses.) It wouldn’t bother me so much if the authors weren’t claiming that their ideas and suggestions are budget-conscious. Whose budget? Someone making six figures and who decides, “Well, I can just take the kids to Disneyland twice this year instead of three times so I can get this healthier mattress.” And who cares if it lasts longer, if you can’t afford it in the first place? But this isn’t something people who can afford things can understand.
This is what I see within so much activism these days. People claim that they care about the disadvantaged, but it’s just that the words sound nice—doing something about it would be too much work, money, time, and effort. As long as you use trendy words like “disproportionally affected” and “underserved communities,” you’ve passed
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