A cartoon by Ronnie Ritchie explains this nicely, with the example of feminism. The heading is, “What they mean when they say they’re not a feminist.” One example shows a white girl saying, “I don’t need feminism. Women aren’t oppressed anymore.” The next panel shows what she means: “I don’t realize how privileged I am that my race/nationality/sexuality/assigned sex/gender identity/size/ability minimizes the effects of the Patriarchy to the point I don’t think it exists.”

It can be easy to deny privilege when it is invisible. We are used to a set of defaults. White people can easily walk through city streets without noticing the sea of white faces on billboards. bell hooks writes about this in her essay, Representing Whiteness in the Black Imagination. She writes that white people are able to think their whiteness is invisible, and that whiteness can exist without knowledge of blackness, while still asserting control. hooks also writes out that white students in her classroom often erupt with rage when their whiteness is looked at, “they believe that all ways of looking that highlight difference subvert the liberal conviction that it is the assertion of universal subjectivity (we are all just people) that will make racism disappear.”

Excerpt from Ronnie Ritchie’s comic. Read the whole piece here.

Heteronormativity is everywhere and not questioned. We’re presented with only one seemingly acceptable variation, which is if a queer couple acts heteronormative: gets married, buys a house, practices monogamy (this product of heteronormativity is defined as homonormativity). Heteronormativity is still the dominant narrative; it pins down people, labels them, and fits them into heteronormative roles.

On the same note of default settings and Othering people:

An all-male movie cast is normal, an all-female cast gets an automatic “chick flick” label (or worse, a feminist label!) Western culture is “normal” and everything else is “exotic” and “barbaric.”

Pretty much, #capitalism.

It can be hard to realize one’s own privilege, and even harder to accept it. A white person living in poverty, or a male person of colour, for example, still face oppression despite the colour of their skin or performed gender, so how can they be privileged? This is where intersectionality comes into play. Factors like those mentioned in Ritchie’s comic determine certain privileges and oppression. Yes, Patricia Arquette was right when she said sexism needs to be addressed. No, she was not right in alluding that sexism only oppresses white, hetero women.

At risk of showing my keener attitude as a first year undergrad, I’ll link to Peggy McIntosh’s White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack. Starting with, “I was taught to see racism only in individual acts of meanness, not in invisible systems conferring dominance on my group.” She then lists privileges she has a white person, that she may not have noticed before. Privileges like: being able to challenge a situation without being called a credit to her race; knowing her voice will be heard in a group of white people; and knowing her children will learn about their race’s existence in school. These privileges can apply to other privileged and oppressed groups, too.

So, what if you understand that oppression exists, but as a person in a certain place of privilege, you want to be an ally? This can be tricky at times, but there is a solution: shut up and listen. Certainly, stand in solidarity and show your support. But, realize that there are times where those you’re being an ally to do not have the same chances to speak as you, so let them have their chance. This can be hard when you want to show you care or are passionate about equity among people. Remember, in these situations, where you are a member of the dominant group, it isn’t about you. The best thing you can do is listen. That is more important than feel goodism.

But, but, it just doesn’t seem fair! What about men’s day, white history month, a straight pride parade? Well, a straight pride parade is any time a passing heterosexual couple can walk into the store without being harassed. White history is what we are taught right away in school. And since we live in a patriarchy, every day is men’s day. Again, if we are already in the dominant group, we may not notice these things in our lives. And if we are oppressed in other ways, it can be hard to understand that we have any upper hands in life at all.

Excerpt from a comic by Jamie Knapp.

Read the whole comic here.

When we do notice our privilege, it can get pretty yucky feeling. This doesn’t mean we get to run from it, we need to face it and deal with all the nastiness so we can properly understand. Recognizing our own privileges doesn’t demonize us; it doesn’t mean we exploit our privilege purposely. It does mean that we benefit from privilege. It is up to us what we do with it and how we can build an equitable world.

A former This intern, Hillary Di Menna is in her first year of the gender and women’s studies program at York University. She also maintains an online feminist resource directory, FIRE- Feminist Internet Resource Exchange.

From its major lack of racialized characters to helpless screaming women running through the night in their underwear, horror is notoriously problematic genre. Still, at 20-years-old, I’ve gone from avoiding all horror-related things throughout my adolescence (I will always be teased by my family for bolting out of a cheap haunted house in terror) to watching several horror movies a week. I’m still an incredibly easy scare, but I just can’t resist horror: the opportunity to see society’s deepest fears and  to examine society’s deepest prejudices—acted out in hyperbolic spectacles of evil and terror. And so, for the next six weeks of my internship, I will examine my most favourite horror films, the most loathsome, and everything in between, all to combine two equally scary things: horror movies and politics.

First up, let’s look at a classic: George A. Romero’s iconic 1968 zombie flick Night of the Living Dead. Romero’s choice to cast black actor Duane Jones for the lead role was hugely significant. The main character, Ben, was initially written as a part for a white actor (they were going to cast Rudy Ricci, who was one of the writers of the film). Needless to say, it was kind of a big deal that a black actor landed the lead role, in a movie that wasn’t explicitly about race, nor part of the Blaxploitation trend of the 60s and 70s.

Now, had the character been explicitly written as black, there’s a chance the script would’ve been littered with racist stereotypes. But the script was left unaltered even after Jones was cast. His character Ben, is by far the most capable person in the film. While other characters bicker and wail, he gets the job done. However, one very problematic scene occurs when Ben lays the lightheaded and overheating Barbara, played by Judith O’Dea, down on the couch and attempts to take her coat off. It’s a scene that certainly made some viewers uncomfortable, or at least those who internalize racist suspicions of the black man that lusts for white women. Barbara then smacks Ben, and Ben proceeds to punch her in the face. The scene is also odd—it doesn’t really fit with Ben’s character. He’s tough and takes no shit, that’s for sure, but this scene is overboard, and was apparently, not an original part of the script.

The sad part is in 2014, if a black actor were cast in the lead role for a horror film that was not explicitly about race, it would still be a big deal. The presence of racialized characters in lead roles in horror is an area in which the genre is still lacking—something that can be said about many genres, such as fantasy and sci-fi.

Other then the Night of the Living Dead 1990 remake starring Tony Todd,  two more recent films with black actors in the lead are Def by Temptation (1990), and The People Under the Stairs (1991), neither of which match the commercial success and cult following of original Night of the Living Dead. Todd also stars as the Candyman in the Candyman movie franchise—not the lead per se, but the villain. There’s also British horror/comedy gem Attack the Block (2011), which follows a group of underprivileged teenagers in Brixton fighting off monsters, but the movie falls more closely into the sci-fi genre. Forty-six years later since Night of the Living Dead was released it seems little has changed.

Mention black characters in the context of horror movies, and everyone jumps to the go-to “joke” that “the black guy always dies first.” Unfortunately, it’s true: black characters, and most racialized characters for that matter, tend to play minor side roles in horror films and are quickly killed. It’s this horror movie reality that everyone pretty much laughs about, despite the fact that it has deeply problematic connotations as to the way we view black and other racialized characters: as unimportant, disposable, laughable side tokens available for the first kill.

While Night of the Living Dead was in no way a perfect pinnacle for diversity—especially concerning the portrayal of the female characters—it’s still, unfortunately, more progressive then so much of mainstream horror today.

Next week, I’ll be exploring the demonic possession genre and its obsession with female sexuality. Cue the theme from The Exorcist.

Hana is an intern at This Magazine, and a self-described angry feminist. She spends her time blogging, illustrating, and re-watching Lord of the Rings.