On White Privilege
Dear reader,
Today I am sharing a post on white privilege, written by a young woman I know personally. I am sharing this because she says it better than I could ever say it.
I grew up attending Denver Public Schools during the era of desegregation, from 5th grade until I graduated from high school. I fought my bigoted parents to continue attending public school. They wanted to send me to a private school to get me away from desegregation. I think the only reason I won the argument was that it saved them thousands of dollars.
Though this was a very difficult time, and there was continual racial tension, I am very grateful that I had this opportunity, as living in my lily-white upper-middle-class neighborhood, I may rarely have seen or interacted with a person of color.
“I want to talk to you about my experience and thoughts on “WHITE PRIVILEGE”. While I am about to share a lot about myself, it is not out of self-interest, but rather a result of self-reflection that I have aimed towards human interest. An opportunity for perspective.
I am white, my parents are white, all four of their parents were white, and all eight of their parents were white and, most likely, (going back that far and assuming my family is not some immaculate exception) very racist. Myself and both of my siblings have all graduated from college. Both of my parents, and three out of four of their parents, attended college and in most cases earned their degree. If white privilege is a thing, it is undoubtedly coursing through my veins with every minute of every day.
But when I look back at my life, my experiences, my pain, and suffering, I do not see privilege.
My white privilege did not protect me when my daddy moved away when I was 3.
My white privilege did not prevent my family from winding up on WIC and food stamps as a result.
My white privilege did not protect me from being molested from age 3 to age 6.
My white privilege did not protect me from the PTSD and anxiety symptoms ever since.
My white privilege did not protect me from falling victim to alcoholism.
My white privilege did not make it any easier to (finally) kick the habit in October of last year.
My white privilege did not protect me from being raped in 2018, as a strong, independent, 28-year-old woman.
My white privilege did not give me enough courage to report it.
My white privilege did not protect me from being convicted and charged with a DUI after drunkenly rolling my car off the highway, 6 months after the assault.
As I said, when I look objectively at the events in my life, I do not see privilege. I see pain and hardship. I see some hard lessons learned in some really hard ways. That is not a privilege, or even oppression. That is, sadly, life. HOWEVER, like a kinda crappy guardian angel, if I am able to look deeper than my pain, I see my white privilege has been with me all the way.
My white privilege allowed my daddy to leave when I was 3 to be something that he decided for himself, and not because he was arrested or killed.
My white privilege allowed me multiple pull-overs for frequent speeding (once going 107mph in a 65), once with weed found in the car, and even another reckless DUI close-call, all with only 2 or 3 speeding tickets total.
My white privilege allowed my quickened heart-rate and anxious feelings every time I was pulled over/waiting for the cops to approach to be only for fear of getting in trouble. Not for fear of getting assaulted, beat up, unjustly taken into custody, or killed.
My white privilege allowed me to at least CONSIDER going to authorities after my most recent assault. It breaks my heart when I think of how terrifying the thought of walking into a precinct after being raped must be for a black woman; especially if her attacker was a white male like mine.
My white privilege allowed me to be treated with dignity (for the most part) throughout my entire DUI experience.
My white privilege allowed me to keep my job after being arrested because a cop in the hospital felt enough sympathy towards me to call my boss so I would not be a no-call no-show.
My white privilege got me out of jail with no bail after 1.5 days and a bang-up lawyer at a “friends and family” discount price, though I had just moved to the city earlier that year.
My white privilege got me no time served, 20 days house arrest, probation, and community service, despite the high blood-alcohol content and severe nature of my case. As well as it being in a state where they take DUIs quite seriously.
I have a young, black friend, the first friend I made when I moved here actually, who was struggling with drinking due to the loss of his brother at the same time I was struggling due to my assault. We went ice skating together. I made him see a foreign film with me. He got a DUI a couple of months after I did. He is now in the Denver Prison. He is 21 years old. My heart aches often for his lack of privilege and what it has meant for his life thus far. I so wish I could get him out of there because if I didn’t deserve that at 28 he certainly doesn’t deserve it at 21.
My white privilege has allowed me to move freely to various neighborhoods in various cities in the US throughout my 20’s without the fear of being persecuted, by police or locals, factoring into the location of my next move.
My white privilege has allowed me to be the chosen applicant out of multiple interviewers for housing/sublets countless times in these cities.
My white privilege has allowed me to find an upscale restaurant serving jobs in all of these cities, always within less than a week of arriving there, by simply going door to door with my resume.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that nobody’s life is easy. And sometimes life can be really, really hard. But the truth is that to experience life’s general hardships and to experience REPEATED, SYSTEMIC DISCRIMINATION/BRUTALITY are two very different things. And the even sadder truth is that there are a LOT of people who are forced to experience both in this life. My white privilege means that I am only signed up to experience one.
My white privilege means that the typical answer to the question of “Why?” Why police brutality, why systemic, government-funded racism? The typical answer I heard was “That’s just the way things are,” and that was where that conversation was able to end. Whereas, we all know by now that the conversation going on in black homes has the necessity to be much, much longer. As all conversations on the subject need to be.
I guess what I’m trying to say, through shamelessly oversharing extremely personal information, is that sometimes as white people, our own personal pains, challenges, trials, and tribulations are so great or so distracting, that it becomes difficult or not of interest to us to pay attention to or express outrage over the black experience in this country. We become numb. But black people don’t have the privilege to compartmentalize away what doesn’t affect them on this issue.
To my black friends who have been dealing with this, and who have parents who have been dealing with this, whose parents’ parents have been dealing with this (you see where I’m going), I am so extremely sorry I have allowed my own personal pain and challenges to distract me from the injustices you have suffered and are still suffering from. That I have not been more vocal or more adamant about standing up for what I KNOW is right sooner. That I allowed “that’s just the way things are” to feed into a false sense of powerlessness, that only feeds into inaction and silence, that only feeds into your oppression. I am with you now, I am with you loud, and I am with you always. Please accept my apology and support, and know that I know that it is long overdue. GENERATIONS overdue. I don’t believe we can make a real change without really changing some minds, so I truly hope you can find the strength and love to welcome new supporters. But I also acknowledge that you really shouldn’t have to be the bigger person here.
To my white friends, it may be good to try to get in touch with your own privilege. Think back to every time in your life when you could have been treated differently or received poorly had you not been so “charming.” That’s usually a good place to start. Do some research, hear some black experiences, in your city and in the world. There are so many platforms through which to educate yourself these days, and just as many ways to start being a part of the movement to make things better. There is more than one way to be an ally- find yours and do it relentlessly. And for gosh-darn sake, don’t let the shame of not doing it sooner stop you from doing it at all. May that internal debate dies with the previous generation. The time for change is always now.
Please feel free to share this if you have found it eye-opening or perspective-gaining. I am not ashamed of what I have disclosed in this writing because the mistakes I’ve made have taught me invaluable lessons and the things that were done to me are not mine to be ashamed of. Having white privilege doesn’t mean your life has been a cakewalk. It means that you get an extra little guardian angel. Nobody deserves it or earned it. And nobody deserves to experience what it is like in this country to be without it. Nobody deserves to be treated the way we treat black people in this country. I know we can do better. Who’s with me?
Thank you for reading,
MS”
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