Rebecca Solnit explains it to usFlickr: Charles Kremenak

'Mansplaining’ is a term I’d often encountered with a sense of ill-defining comprehension, before recently receiving a collection of Rebecca Solnit’s essays. Men Explain Things to Me argues not that an individual man is never better positioned to explain a particular phenomenon to another listener, of any gender. Nor does it argue that women are, in every case, wholly informed of the arguments they propound. It does, however, argue that incidents where something within your experience is explained to you, by another with less understanding and a supplanting self-assuredness, are overwhelmingly gendered. That this plays into a dynamic of power and privilege, and is the outlet of the same power differentials in polite discourse which can turn uglier in impolite settings. Solnit uses the example of one host: a richer, older man, explaining to her the book – which he himself had not read – just published in her field. It took several attempts to make him grasp that she was, in fact, that very author.

The essay further outlines recent legislative progressions which have enabled women to give newly valid testimonies, to provide credible witness accounts to their own lives. And it’s struck a chord consistently with female readers. Yet, wherever the article is shared, it attracts the most ironically unaware of responses. Male commentators repeatedly deny the phenomenon, insisting it should be renamed ‘the problem with know-it-alls’, or that female know-it-alls exist too (#notallmen). Such responses provide perfect instances of what they attempt to negate – the denial of another’s experience by those too entitled to acknowledge its possible validity.

Playing into this discussion are two things, which seem to me to be characteristic of Cambridge students. Firstly, the vast majority of us, who are somehow exceedingly privileged, live in fairly consistent awareness of this; we are conscious of the ivory towers that surround us. Secondly, we are maturing within an academic framework which teaches the value of challenging established views and questioning seemingly monolithic social structures. Nobody here lacks the capacity to think for themselves, yet institutionalised privilege too often remains unchecked. Those groups whose voices are systemically silenced in wider society keep running up against the same stumbling blocks.

A few days later I encountered the same phenomenon when arguing with a friend over the insensitivity of a Holocaust reference. He argued that no, it was not insensitive; his comment was acceptable because of his mother’s Jewish ancestry. This, of course, ignores the objection that the boundaries of individual upbringing might diminish awareness. It uses essentially the same logic as those who claim that having friends of different ethnicities means they themselves cannot be racist. A second argument followed: the joke was not offensive as it did not insult personal qualities. And it didn’t. Rather, it made light of an experience, closely connected to the identity of many, with a casualness borne out by the lack of personal investment. The prospect of insensitivity was automatically discounted, with a subsequent failure even to countenance its validity. Whilst neither he nor I have the right to make a definitive judgement, the disagreement highlighted a certain brand of entitlement. It is a privilege that neither questions itself, nor allows others to do so, which can only lead to a blinkered and denying approach to alternate perspectives.

If we hold ourselves to be autonomous, actively thinking members of society, it is crucial to pay attention to the experiences of others. Giving voices, exposure and a platform to be heard is endlessly important when addressing any issue of diversity. It is the reason that last year across America, the most influential factor behind changing stances on gay marriage was simply knowing an openly LGBT+ person, personally, as a human being. It is the reason that the prevailing media bias structuring Ferguson reports flies in the face of a thousand racial profiling statistics and testimonies, the reason that countless victims of the same systemic prejudice must be listened to, and their stories shared. It is the reason we must understand that the experience of Leelah Alcorn, the American transgender girl who recently committed suicide, was no isolated occurrence, but rather one discarded voice speaking alongside many others.

Platforms matter, but you have to pay attention to them first. This is why Laverne Cox, the American transgender actress, can ably challenge perceptions of the trans community. Conversely, it explains another friend’s doubt that Orange is the New Black might interest him because it’s “all about women” and would lack anything to relate to. Here, the assumption persists that male protagonists are just people, but 'women’s' shows are something other, something defined by gender. Those participating in a dominant perspective tend to subconsciously universalise it. Similarly, I have never heard the line “the human race is all I consider, racism is irrelevant now” uttered by a non-white voice.

Solnit’s articulation of invalidated testimony is, then, pertinent wherever marginalisation occurs. One of the fantastic things about our student community is the number of platforms available, and the number of impassioned people creating and consistently utilising these. Yet the onus to ‘lead the horse to water’ should rest on each individual. Checking privilege involves more than simply allowing others the opportunity to speak; it is about self-education, and critical engagement with the testaments offered. It demands recognition that where others claim experiences alien to your own, the onus is not to argue and mitigate, nor centralise your own position within the dialogue in an attempt to clear it. Rather it is to listen, and to realise that the exposure of other perspectives will be a frustrated endeavour unless each of us understands the foundations of personal, institutionalised privilege in the first place.