Many years ago, as part of a
consciousness-awareness-raising workshop or in-service, I was introduced to the
concept of “White Privilege.” I didn’t find either the workshop or term
offensive. I’ve known for a long time I was a child of privilege. The SAT tests
I took in the ‘60s were written for kids just like me, white, middle class, the
progeny of striving parents (both first generation HS graduates, btw). It’s not
the only reason I did well, but it was an advantage I had that was not
universally shared, including by a significant percentage of white kids.
Neither did I take it personally
or get defensive, though some of my colleagues were resistant and did feel
attacked. However, I did reject the projected guilt that seemed to be expected
by the presenters. It was no more my fault that I had been the beneficiary of
so many advantages than it was the fault of the vast majority of kids I taught,
both black and white, that they weren’t. Slavery and its pernicious, continuing
aftermath was neither my fault nor reversible. I had long ago recognized that
not everyone starts from the same place, that where you end up in this marathon
of life is, at least in part, determined by where you start on the course (and,
yes, sadly, less but still all too often, the color of your skin), and you have
no control over those factors.
But no one starts at the finish
line (and I would pity them if they did; without struggle there is no growth).
Maybe I did only have to run a half-marathon over fairly smooth roads instead
of a 39.3 with innumerable hills, hurdles, obstacles, and even land mines (in
the case of some of my Bosnian students, not a mere figurative reference). I
tip my hat to those whose course was longer and more rugged than mine, but I
still have to run my race, which is still not finished.
It’s why I’m so proud of so many
of my former students, because I know how tough their race was, and, in
some cases, continues to be. It was a continuing frustration for many Hancock
staff trying to counterbalance the self-imposed low expectations of too many of
our kids, kids who openly said, “Hey, what do you expect, I’m from Lemay.” And
for the majority who have succeeded or are still working to succeed, I can
understand why some of them, in spite of everything, don’t
feel “privileged,” and struggle to recognize what that is supposed to
mean in relation to their life experiences.*
Recognizing privilege, at
whatever level it exists – or doesn’t exist – is neither an excuse nor cause
for celebration. Those who won or lost the genetic and/or socioeconomic
lotteries are still responsible for their lives. But we all need
to recognize that no matter how many obstacles we may have faced, others have faced more,
and while it’s no excuse, it might just be at least a partial explanation, and
true empathy mitigates a lot of anger and resentment.
But privilege is so much more
than economic opportunity. I never have to worry about being looked at
suspiciously when I walk into a store because of my race. I never have to worry
about poor or no service at a restaurant because of my race. I never have to
worry about getting pulled over by the police because I don’t “fit” in the
neighborhood. The list goes on and on, the privilege, if you will, that I get
simply by being white. That key component CANNOT, MUST NOT, be ignored.
So this Thanksgiving, like so
many I’ve celebrated over the past decades, I choose to recognize my many
blessings, with no resentment for those who may have had even more advantages,
and empathy for the oh-so-many who had fewer, hope that I’ve done what I could
to give back and share my blessings with those who have had a much more
challenging race to run, and resolve to continue to do as much as I can, for as
many as I can, as long as I can.
Here’s hoping that all who read
this find their own blessings this Thanksgiving Day. Peace and love.
* When
I first posted this piece, two years ago, a number of my formers suggested
(kindly, respectfully, but not in so many words) that I was perhaps being
condescending, that for any number of reasons, but often to the credit of their
parents, they did not feel underprivileged, and, although I notice now that I
did not use that exact term, I understand that the word (or its implication)
has a negative connotation; what I meant to suggest is that privilege, like
prejudice, is a continuum, not solely an either/or proposition. At whatever
level of privilege each of us started, it is our obligation to recognize that
there are many who have had a more challenging story to live; they deserve not
our sympathy, but our empathy.
Incidentally, IMO there are no adequate synonyms for empathy, which is
why I kept repeating it.
