When I first came to Springs in 10th grade, I distinctly recall a certain distaste I had for heavy topics that abruptly jarred the flow of casual conversation. The topic of race, for example, was an object of common complaint. As I’d griped, “not everything has to be about race.” This concept of “otherness” was not one of which I was familiar with then, the convoluted theories of gender, race, and sexuality only marginally understood by me today. But in recognizing the inescapability of the “other”–categories that exist in opposition to the Western world’s norm–I’ve come to see this all-too-familiar statement and its relatives as an alarming marker of unrecognized privilege. 

Defined by our relative distances from the “default” or “normal” states, it is most commonly manifest as woman (or “woman”) who is the other in hierarchical relation to men, racial minorities in relation to white people, and queer individuals to cisgender/heterosexual ones. The concept of deconstruction looks closely at ideas and concepts around us we take for granted, arguing that most (if not all) objects, theories, and such we can think of have a basis in the patriarchy, colonialism, or capitalism. Feminists in the 70s began turning this scope on language itself, asserting that language in itself was built for males. This was soon followed by Critical Race Theory and Queer Theory, both of which utilize similar–and additional–bases for their arguments. In the Venn diagram of all three, however, lies the argument that the tools of contemporary society–discourse, schools of thought, and most importantly, language–have been irreversibly marred by dominant groups that have shaped them for themselves. The sort of oppression discussed here is more abstract but no less tangible. It exists in every word, every phrase, even this article that you are reading at present. It is unconsciously felt in the everyday, just not by everyone, and especially not individuals that believe we live in a “post-racial” society. 

These ideas manifest in a variety of ways. Examples include affirmative action abolishers and political activists, but most commonly–and most dangerously–it is manifest in the common complaint: not everything is about race, or alternatively, why are kids so political these days? Deceptively unimposing, this statement is a simple offhand remark to some but a painful delineation of privilege for others. As a result of this jaded, casual cynicism directed towards social justice advocates, essential conversations about the “other” are increasingly difficult to have despite the veritable flood-light shining on these topics in today’s contemporary West. In addition to language that entraps, we are now held back too by stubborn resistance to these paramount conversations. Clearly, a definitive line has been drawn between those willing to have these essential conversations and those unwilling to. 

Discrimination and oppressive euro-, male-, cis-centric ideals need not always be tangible or defined for their impacts to be recognized and felt. In basing our understanding of inequality in the tangible, one pins a badge of privilege on oneself. Tangible discrimination is the tip of an immense iceberg, and so, at the end of the day, everything is about race. And gender. And sexuality. And all categories of “other” that are imaginable. If the words we speak are not made for us (even this article I’ve written is an entrapping of sorts), how can we truly have productive discourse? Going forward, how can language be reconstructed for everyone? That is the question for the 21st century.