"I am not a bad man."

When one reads shakespearean tragedy, it can be drastically illuminating to look for "I am" phrases. The moment of not-so aristotelian recognition of the self. Shakespeare practically invented the deep exploration of identity.

"I am a good person."

We often like to see the world in dichotomies, a neat moment of sharp contrast with righteous causes opposed by ones of evil. This tends to create circles of society, where one not steeped in the social graces is quickly caught and labeled other. It is a fevered paranoia, and a great sickness that prevents the triumph of human kindness.

"I am white."

Here I must clarify. I do not have anywhere to retreat to, I am a mutt. I have no pedigree of great breeding, I have no great national traditions or family crest. I am just a white male, that is my heritage. I am a white male intellectual who has dabbled and tried to escape every label I can, but in studying these issues I have become stooped in the lore of letters.

So this is my heritage now. Somewhere between Milton, Butler and Douglass. I read, I write, I watch the world weep and I weep with it. But I do all of this from a position of privilege. I do all of this through the filter of abstract reckoning. I do all of this without the visceral fear of oppression. I am queer, but I am a virgin. My orientation also to me an intellectual mator. It is nothing that someone looks to me and says "You are queer, Irick. This is your role in life."

But they do expect me to be white. They do expect me to be male. They do expect me to be an intellectual. So I take on this mantle, and I think. In my thoughts I come to know of virtue. In my thoughts I come to know or morality. In my thoughts I come to know of justice and injustice alike and in my heart I feel anger rising, a deep empathy. It is a natural reaction when we see injustice to be quick to anger... but on what authority can I rest my claim?

On what authority can I speak? Surely, as one who thinks I should speak out on this subject. I should use the mind I have cultivated for justice. I should stoke and moderate, I should draw on my cultural context to try and right the wrongs around me... but all I have are words. Yet in my crisis of identity, in the rampant cries of outsider deep within myself, they are rendered dry and lifeless.

How can I speak with legitimacy? How can I be frank and meaningful when I know nothing of the deep and systemic persecution that I, even if I protest, will be called to account for? I feel /deeply/, but I am terrified to paralysis to participate because I do not tow lines. I analyze. I contradict. I probe. I infuriate. I test each claim and debate to strengthen the argument...

"I am not that."

Race and Gender are such personal things. I hesitate to engage in their activism. I hesitate to voice opinions. I hesitate, because I am told I am not allowed to be a soldier. I may only be an Ally. Allies are those who sit down at the negotiation table to help you draft a treaty. They are for negotiation. Allies do not engage in Direct Action.

Direct Action is for comrades.

I can not sit by as my brothers and sisters die. I must do something, but I am trapped by my own labels in a sort of schizophrenia of identity.

I hope, maybe, this is the first step to resolve my doubts.