Good Kopp, Bad Kopp
Bad Kopp: In Vogue Activism
This past week, I posted a Facebook status in solidarity with the protestors in Baltimore, won an award at The Harvard Foundation for furthering intercultural and race relations on campus, and wrote an essay on the racial biases embedded in the criminal justice system for African and African American Studies 10.
On the surface, I am the perfect ally.
Bad Kopp: Harvard’s Sexual Assault Survey
I’ve never been sexually assaulted. I’ve never been afraid for my personal safety during a sexual encounter. I’ve never been physically forced to do something I didn’t want to do.
On a related note, I have a Johnson.
Bad Kopp: Religion
Matzah does not taste good. But still, in the past week, it conquered social media. It took over Snapchat Stories, Facebook walls, and even my Twitter feed.
A couple of days later, friends began posting statuses containing bible verses—thanking Jesus for dying for their sins, making pledges to be more pious in the coming year, and lauding the Marshmallow Peep. I will admit: Peeps do taste better than matzah.
Good Kopp: Privilege
White Privilege Lady enters the classroom donning a condescending smirk, a penguin waddle, and two uneven backpacks—one filled with books, the other empty.
The backpacks are a metaphor, she explains: Everyone walks around with an imaginary backpack (read: baggage), but only privileged Americans have the books (read: education, opportunities, resources) necessary to gain a step ahead. A girl in the class—wearing a middle school do-gooder facial expression—raises her hand and asks, "How do we make sure everyone has books?" White Privilege Lady’s solution? Move the books from one bag to the other. Mine? Fill both goddamn backpacks.
Bad Kopp: Chivalry
I fancy myself a feminist—an equal-pay supporting, microaggression loathing, Gloria Steinem fanboying feminist. But last week, when a girl I bought dinner for paid me back on the mobile application, Venmo, I felt completely emasculated. Why? Because, clearly, I’m misogynistic.
Does wanting to pay for a girl’s dinner really make me a misogynist? No, I’m being reductive—of course it doesn’t. It makes me a “chivalrous” college freshman. And, in many ways, that’s worse. By inadvertently promoting the idea that men should feel the need to carry the economic weight for women—and in turn perpetuating the patriarchy in the hopes of being a gentleman—I’m disrespecting the girl I went out with. But worse, by insisting that I pay for dinner, I’m also chipping away at the progress women in America have achieved over the last hundred years in proving themselves financially independent.