The fallacy of privilege

(This post brought to you by the comment thread on Dear Author’s new commenting policy–some screencaps at the end–though it’s something I see happen all the time elsewhere, such as here)

I have seen many comment threads in many forums devolve into statements of privilege and entitlement being flung about, often with little provocation¹. In some cases, there is history between the people commenting, and so there’s some, if often shaky, justification for these exchanges–however uncomfortable they make the innocent bystanders trying to have a rational discussion on difficult and/or uncomfortable topics.

The problem arises when people who have long been part of the community of commenters in one particular venue feel their points of view are more valid and/or important than everyone else’s, and that they have the right to not only dominate the conversation but to express themselves in any way they see fit–and if their host is uncomfortable with their behaviour, or their tone, or with the fact that often their comments cross the line between disagreement with a person’s beliefs and statements into humiliation, shaming or dehumanization of that person²…

Well, more’s the pity.

For their host, that is.

Hits a nerve

Today I reacted just a tad sharply to a (probably very innocent) comment over at Dear Author.

Jane posted links to some daily deals, centered around ménage stories, and the comment asked if someone could please explain the appeal of these types of stories. I replied and then spend a while wondering what about the original comment (and another response to it) bothered me so.

People like, and dislike, tropes and themes, and sometimes all the open mindedness in the world won’t make you enjoy what doesn’t appeal to you–even when you understand why it does appeal to someone else. I know this and own to is, as there are plenty of genres and subgenres I won’t even try (how’s that for close minded?)

After some thought, I realized what bothers me about that first comment: it’s reminiscent of Ridley’s “aren’t we above these?”

Fall off the face of the earth, you old hag!

I admit to being old–particularly when compared to the eternal youth of a recent college graduate embarking on a first job–but I confess that even my usual lack of vanity winced a bit at the “hag” moniker.

Then again, if old inevitably means ugly, and if not giving in to temper tantrums makes me mean, then I guess that hag would apply.

What I’m going on about?

Ah, little grasshoppers, gather around and listen to a story.

(Be Ye Warned, all those who do continue reading: it’s longish, and quite likely not very interesting, as pettiness rarely is)

I am not racist, because I say I’m not!

Thanks to the Dear Author thread that still hasn’t died (dear Lord, 812 comments and counting), I found out that the imbeciles who can’t shut up (aka the assholes behind Stop the GoodReads bullies site) are championing a book¹ that has been declared, by the overwhelming majority of its readers, as incredibly racist.

As usual, our crazy über special snowflake fidiots can’t accept that, when the majority of the consumers of a product have the same verdict, those consumers may be right–no, of course not. If two hundred plus reviews (on GoodReads alone, mind you, dog only knows what else is out there *shudder*) declare the book racist, it must be because they are all heartless bullies, not because the book–and probably its author–is, you know, racist.

After all, the author has said neither she nor the book is racist², so it must be so³.

In special privileged snowflake land, it’s the people doing the oppressing–you know, Anglo-Saxon blonde babes–who get to say whether or not what the people being discriminated against–say, black people (or really, anyone not lily white)–perceive is correct.