I am privileged on many levels. I understand why it is hard for people with privilege to acknowledge it. It’s uncomfortable and it isn’t something many of us necessarily want and sometimes it’s damned hard to see even when you try. The fact that we did not ask for our privilege doesn’t mean that we do not wield it, however. It’s time for people to endure a little personal discomfort to bring our power to full use in helping our fellow man.
My epiphany came when Eric Garner died on a New York street. He had breathing difficulties, and died at the hands of police. I have my own breathing issues, and this set off a terror I have never felt before. Then, God help me, this thought went through my brain:
You don’t have to be too scared. You look like an accountant or a librarian. The chances are that this will never happen to you.
Immediately, I felt disgusted with my brain for producing such a thought. On an intellectual level, I know our brains cough up ideas all the time that we either accept or reject, but rejecting this with a vengeance still didn’t seem to feel like enough. I sat down at my Mudhouse and sipped on some delicious oolong tea and thought it over. As unsettling as this thought was, and as bad as I felt for thinking it, it was no less true. I do not have the same chances of being stopped, held, and held against my screaming that I could not breathe. Why? Age, gender, color, and perceived social status, none of which I control.
For me, the discussion of privilege comes down to discipline. I had to take a hard look at me, where I fit in the world, and be honest about some mighty awkward conclusions. The country does have a social pecking order, and it is almost all based on looks and first assessments. That’s so wrong, but first it is important to recognize that is what is happening. Many are failing to see that there is such a thing as privilege and the many ways it manifests.
As a white woman, middle aged and with a business wardrobe, I command a certain amount of respect. I look responsible, possibly like I have more money than I really do (thanks to thrift store shopping) and I am generally confident. People come to me in situations, even people who have no idea who I am, because I look like the kind of person who has answers. Then I thought of me at age 18. I had cheap, brassy blond hair. I was overweight and had no idea how to dress. I was socially clueless and clumsy and not very smart. I wasn’t very nice, not then. I thought “not hating black people” was all that was required to not be racist and not have to assume any guilt over what I saw around me. Nobody listened to me, and nobody talked to me. I was too poor and too rough. I had men assume I would put out for a nice dinner, and I had men assume I’d just submit to them because that’s what poor women do.
My life has been a unique journey, and it has allowed me to see through this once it was called to my attention. I understand what it’s like to grow up poor, malnourished, misinformed, ignored and hateful and angry. I know the call of the rage against everyone who has it better. I also know what it’s like to wear formal dresses, attend snooty events and rub elbows with some interesting people, and I have danced a waltz under a chandelier. All things that 18 year old me would have eschewed.
What allowed me to transition from that pit to where I am now? My privilege. Because I was a white woman, once I learned to dress the part the privilege came with it. I didn’t realize it then, I thought this was just the outcome of polishing a little. And in many ways it was, but I didn’t realize then that this option didn’t exist for everyone.
Safe in my privilege, I set out to make a place in the world. I was able to try on different hats, experiment with different careers and try on different personalities until I found the real me underneath it all. My privilege allowed that. I was free to wear jeans and a biker t-shirt and growl or put on pantyhose and a cute dress and be a flower. I was able to choose my social circle simply based on what I like, not who would allow me to be a member.
Let me pause there and draw attention to the most important part of that. It’s easy to miss. I was able to choose my social circle simply based on what I like. Even as a woman, there were relatively few doors closed to me. I just had to see which one I liked and there were no consequences. Our parents and teachers told us we could be anything and we believed them because for us, it was true. In rural Missouri there were zero minorities to expose us to another perspective.
To come full circle, I realize that my appearance, age, race, gender and outfit grant me the ability to do certain things. I appreciate the chances I’ve had to reinvent myself and become the person I want to be, and should be. I am privileged. I really do feel guilty for it, but I will not deny that I have it, and I will not say I have enjoyed its benefits my entire life whether I realized it or not. All I can do is try to use it for the right reasons, and in the right ways, so that it goes to good use.
That’s the best I can do for now, but maybe over the next year I can revisit this topic a few times and see how much my understanding grows.
The Bon Tindle Blog 