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I wore a pink shirt last Wednesday. Pink is not my colour. It makes me look like cotton candy with a beard.
But Wednesday was anti-bullying day, so I wore pink.
It feels like a futile gesture. After all, what difference will it make if one old man wears a pink shirt for one day? School yard bullies won’t see it at all. Neither will patriarchal males in India and Africa who think of women as something inferior, to do with as they please. Nor will my pink shirt influence the behaviour of egocentric rulers in Riyadh or Moscow, Washington or Damascus.
Short answer -- no difference at all.
So why bother?
I hear that response often, when I get into discussions about the state of the world.
Categories: Sharp Edges
Tags: bullying, pink shirts, Amanda Todd, Rayteah Parsons, Gandhi