One of the most nerve wracking experiences any
marginalised person can face is being the only “X” person in the room.
You know what I mean, being the only GBLT person in a
room, or being the only POC in a room. That moment when you look around, especially
if it’s a large crowd, and realise that you are the only one of that
marginalisation in the room.
Especially if it’s a large crowd. If it’s a huge
gathering, maybe a public event, or a party or something similar, then the
feelings ratchet up to the max.
There’s that chill, that sudden realisation that there’s
no-one here like you. You are the only one.
There’s that sense of not belonging. That sense of being
the Other. That sense of being the stranger, in alien territory. That
realisation that there’s no-one like me in the room. That sense that this is
“not my space, not my place, not for me.”
You are the only one who has this lived experience. You
are the only one who understands being X. You are the only one in the room without
the blinkers of privilege – blinkers that make it impossible for people to
understand, blinkers that will always leave ignorances.
And, let’s face it, there’s the instinctive fear. After
all, marginalised people in a crowd full of privileged people have had plenty
of reason to be afraid. And that’s an instinct you can’t just turn off.
And there’s the fear of what people will say – especially
if you are recognisable as the person of X group in the room. Will they talk
about it? Will they speak in clumsy, privileged terms? Will I be able to speak
up? Can I do so, in this room, where I will be the only voice? Is it worth the
risk? Is it worth the discomfort? What if I overhear something I can’t ignore?
It’s intimidating. It’s isolating. It’s deeply
uncomfortable. It’s alienating. It’s nervous making. It’s tense and you can’t
relax. It doesn’t feel safe. And it’s even frightening.
And, I hasten to add, this isn’t the fault of the crowd.
Those privilege people who outnumber us several times over and make us the only
one in the room. They can be the nicest, most tolerant, most accepting, most
passionate allies mankind has ever seen. They could be living saints. It
doesn’t change that sense of discomfort that comes from being the only one in
the room.
Even if they are nice people, even if they do everything
they can to be welcoming and wonderful as possible. Because it’s not about the
individuals, it’s about privilege. It’s about societal forces. It is about a
society that has branded us as other. It’s about history and context and a
sadly messed up world that is so soaked in privilege and prejudice that just
doesn’t go away no matter how nice the people are.
It’s a sense of not belonging that will not go away until
we do belong – not in the crowd, but in privileged society itself. It’s a sense
of nervousness that will not go away until privilege is not a threat or
detriment to us. The people in the crowd cannot change that – society has to
change to make that privileged crowd a comfortable place to be. The privilege
has to be no longer relevant to our lives for that crowd to be our place.
It’s sad that many times marginalised people will not be
comfortable in these crowds, that they will feel alienated, nervous, unsafe,
ill at ease and out of place in a society that has spent so much time declaring
us as other. It’s not the fault of the people in the crowd, it’s not them being
prejudiced or bigoted or oppressive and it’s not the fault of the marginalised
person being paranoid or touchy. The only way this will really change is when
the privilege is gone – when we’re all just people and the marginalisation is
no longer a cultural or societal factor.
And that’s not happening in any of our lifetimes.
