Ten years ago, I was living in Beijing, China and teaching
English to Chinese adults who wanted to improve their career potential. In China I felt as conspicuous as a
giraffe in a petting zoo; not only was I taller and stockier than most of the
Chinese women, I outsized a good number of the men, too. There was no mistaking me in a
crowd. When I entered a
restaurant, or walked down the street, people turned and stared.
I could say that, because of this experience, I know what it
means to be a minority, but that would be a fallacy. When I walked down the street in China, my white skin
carried an innate power with it.
Why? My white skin denoted
I was a person of means (in fact, Chinese merchants immediately started recalculating
their fruit prices as they saw me approach). My white skin implied a person of education. My white skin showed a person of
mobility, who could travel freely within their country and throughout the
world. My white skin implied a
certain amount of immunity as well – as a white person, I had a ‘get out of
jail free card’ - a guarantee that if I broke enough of the arcane Chinese
bureaucratic rules, the worst penalty I would experience was deportation back
to my home country.
As I walked down Chinese streets, people greeted me with
stares, smiles and invitations to browse their wares. At no point was I
squinted at with suspicion or followed because I wore a hoodie.
I’ve been reading
rumblings of disgust in the Trayvon Martin tragedy referring to the
involvement of civil rights veterans like Rev. Jesse Jackson turning the
incident into a race issue. They
claim that the rhetoric is outdated, tired, and irrelevant. Other commentators have suggested that
having a black President signifies that we are living in a ‘post-racial’
society. But if anything, the
Trayvon Martin case shows that despite the nation’s willingness to elevate some
black people to positions of power, profiling
and suspicion
based
on skin color are still highly prevalent – not only in police matters, but in
all our daily
interactions.
Yes, I mean I do it too. I catch myself securing my property, or assuming tardiness,
or expecting financial failure from strangers with dark skin. I have to consistently work against the
stereotypes that are always present in my thoughts to both show the respect
that is deserved for every person, and to give myself the chance to know
someone for their real personality.
If we want to dismantle racism in American society, we have
to acknowledge the luxury of white privilege. Peggy McIntosh has written an interesting 26-point list
(including point 1, 3 and 4 recited above) called “White Privilege: Unpacking
the Invisible Knapsack” that helps articulate the luxury of being the
dominant, and accepted norm, of culture.
Number eleven on McIntosh’s list is: I can arrange to
protect my children most of the time from people who might not like them.
The Martins have come face to face with Number 11. We owe them, in their grief, to
take a hard look at our own stereotypes and privilege that come from race.
Jessica,
ReplyDeleteThis is articulate, awesome and powerful. Thank you for demonstrating white privilege so clearly and showing how racism is ever-present in our world still today. We cannot deny it. We must face it, acknowledge it and do something about it. I hope you'll write a sequel on how people of faith can do something about it.
Blessings, Dawn
Love it. As I began to read I was reminded of McIntosh's list...then you linked us to it. Your personal experience drew me in and illustrated the points well. Articulating the issue and taking responsibility for your own participation in it seems to be a good start on what we can do about it.
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