When the Abused Become Abusers



Remember when you were a little kid and you saw a classmate taking a nap during class? Feeling envious, you lay your head down on your desk and close your eyes. Suddenly the teacher taps you on the shoulder and reprimands you for not paying attention.

"But so and so was sleeping during class!"

I don't know if it's a part of black culture, but many of us have heard our parents/authority figures respond, "Don't be a tattletale. I caught you so you're being held responsible." The rush of anger would take over as so and so smugly smiles, satisfied that they got away with it. I've always been anal about fairness and justice so I would simmer.



"If the first person escaped punishment, then so should I."

This pattern repeated itself throughout schooling and my interactions with people. It even reared its ugly head as a defensive mechanism in the context of social justice. After I read and personally observed a lot of microaggressions that men and white people get away with, I decided that the only way to right this wrong was to mirror their behavior unapologetically.

For a while, I felt powerful because it worked. I finally felt like I'd successfully reclaimed the power I'd lost from social domination like I existed on an equal level with my dominators. Then I noticed that whenever I'd commit a selfish action toward someone, I'd justify it by using my marginalization as an excuse.



"If I was a white man, it wouldn't be a problem. I'm only being held responsible because I'm a black woman."

Which is partially true, studies show white people and males lack empathy for other groups which weaponizes accountability for everyone else.

After suffering from abuse and identifying with it, I'd listen to my friends complain about how they're treated by loved ones. While I consciously knew they didn't deserve it, I subconsciously found myself empathizing with the abuser.

"I wish I had someone like that to put up with all my shit and love me unconditionally."

Instead of focusing on eradicating toxic behavior, I was secretly envious of those who got away with it. I wanted to be free from accountability for my actions. This feeling is more common than people are willing to admit, especially for groups who have identities of both oppressed people and people who are actively oppressing others. One example is the infamous hashtag firstthem, where black men argued that they should escape the accountability of the sexual assault of girls and women because white men had. Here we can see that despite the empathy they should have from their experience of racial oppression, they actively seek the domination that white men enjoy. Another familiar example is white feminism. Famous suffragettes used racist stereotypes as an argument to prove why women should have the right to vote. It took Sojourner Truth proclaiming "Aint I a woman?" for some white women to see how they weren't fighting for their freedom but fighting for the right to dominate like their male counterparts. Cishet LGBQ folks routinely remind the trans community that they don't belong while struggling to normalize gay and lesbian cishet relations in American culture. By excluding trans people, the gay community has transformed their plight into demanding the right to oppress alongside heterosexuals. It's the intersection of identities, where the taste of privilege and the absence of it, clashes.

Thankfully, there are people in every group I mentioned who practice intersectionality, to hold the door open so that those behind them can walk in too. Unfortunately, they're outnumbered by the ones who want to lock the door behind them and savor exclusive social power with white cis men.

This is how the oppressed simultaneously becomes the oppressor. We all must remain vigilant and self-aware of the suffering of all demographics, listen to understand them and offer support during their battle for equality. Instead of dreaming of gaining the position of social dominators, we have to weaponize our trauma as a tool for the dominated. As a society, Fannie Lou Hamer advised us all when she said:



 "Nobody's free until everybody's free."

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