I grew up never having to think critically about race. Or, perhaps more specifically, about my whiteness. I grew up believing that race-related problems started with American slavery and ended with Martin Luther King, Jr. But they extend well before and after, and they continue today. They just look different. Of course we are no longer a society that allows legal slavery. Of course we no longer have legally segregated schools, or separate water fountains. But the legacies of slavery, of Jim Crow, of segregation—they are alive. Just think about Delmar Boulevard, and the way it slices through St. Louis, separating white from black. Why? Whiteness means something. It’s not something one has to be ashamed of or apologize for, but it IS something one needs to be aware of. At its most innocuous, whiteness is a simple skin color. But whether we white people want it to or not, whether we are aware of it or not, it confers a set of advantages and opportunities that are not necessarily available to our non-white friends. I do not have to sign up for a mailing list to benefit from my whiteness—I benefit every time I walk into a job interview (even every time I send out a resume with a European-sounding name), every time I walk into a restaurant, every time I interact with a police officer, every time I walk out of my apartment. And conversely, a black person does not need to sign up to suffer (emotionally, physically, economically) or even die for their skin color. You see, whiteness can be insidious: it can be more than just a leg up. Sometimes it can be a lethal weapon. The same system that confers advantages to me because of my skin color—the privilege to move into just about whatever neighborhood I like without worrying about what the neighbors might think, to wear my hair just about any way I like it without worrying about what my employer might think, to dress just about any way I like without having to worry about being targeted or criminalized, to feel comfortable in my skin and confident in my culture’s dominance—this same system enables the dehumanization of black and brown human beings. This is white privilege. I have it, and if you are white, you also have it. Even if you’ve never thought about it; even if you don’t want it. It is important to understand what this means, and what to do with that understanding. A lot of theories have bounced around lately about the best way to address the systemic issues at play in the tragedies of Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Renisha McBride, Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Rekia Boyd, and so many others. There are several important things that white people can do, of course. But I think the most important is to learn about white privilege. Without doing this, one can’t fully understand the events of the past few months, nor can we understand how so many other black men and women have died in the months and years before this without the same kind of broad cultural awareness we’re seeing now. Without recognizing our privilege, white people can’t address and dismantle the systems that lead to racial inequity. And make no mistakes: it’s the job of white people to do this. White people built this system; we hold the power. Maybe that makes us uncomfortable to think about: it should. But rather than sit with this discomfort for a few moments and then train ourselves to ignore it because we feel guilty, we need to act. White people built this system; white people must necessarily be the ones to dismantle it. And step one is waking up to the ways in which even very nice white people like you and me are complicit in systemic oppression—and systemic oppression affects not just black people, but all kinds of people: gay and trans and queer people, Native Americans, women, people of Latin American and South Asian and Middle Eastern descent, people for whom English is a second or third or fourth language, the disabled, people on the autism spectrum, people with mental illnesses. It’s critical for you to understand it. Please take a moment to read this article, which includes an excerpt from the seminal essay “Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack,” as well as other important writings on privilege and how to be a good ally to the non-white people in your life. After you read, please take advantage of the extraordinary resource of the internet: go to Twitter, find the many incredible, intelligent black people who are involved in creating positive change for the black community today, and listen to their voices. And don’t just listen to them: amplify them. Finally, please take a moment to reflect on all of the great things in your life—your home, your education, your clothes, your car, your computer, your smartphone—and examine the ways you may not have come by it quite as honestly as you thought you did. And even if it seems like your white life isn’t so glamorous: trust me, you’re still better off for being white. It’s 2014. This is not activism. Taking on this responsibility is (approaching) the minimum requirement for good citizenship.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Dec 2014 04:06:38 +0000