I have sat on this essay for a while now because, frankly, it baffles me that so many white people do not have the basic understanding that if you wish to understand the concept of white privilege, you should talk to a person who is not white. So with profuse apologies to every person of color who has already explained this simple concept . . . here goes:
Dear Fellow White People,
White privilege is not about you.
“What???” you say. “But I’m in the name!” you proclaim!
Still, I am telling you, it is not about us. What I mean is that it is not an accusation, an assumption that we are lazy or racist, or an implication that you have not worked for what you have earned. It is the state of living in this country (world) in which white people are unjustly considered the norm, the base, and the starting point so therefore the existence of white privilege is just a fact of your day-to-day life and barely infiltrates your conscious movement throughout your life.
Okay. Let’s back up and start at the beginning. I’ll tell my story, and maybe that will help.
I was born in a small town in Maine and when I was six years old, we moved to a similarly small town in New Hampshire where I spent the remainder of my childhood. There in New Hampshire, and not coming from money, I had various employment from age twelve on, working in restaurants and stores, doing landscaping, babysitting, and even once working as pipe organ repair assistant. People knew my family as a “good family”, so I never had any problem finding work, even as a teenager. I was accepted into every college where I applied. I was not subjected to any statistics or quotas, only judged on the merit of my academic record, my work history, and my extra-curricular activities. But college is expensive, and with two older siblings my parents did not have much left to help me out.
I received scholarships and loans to go to school, and those loans were not hindered by my artistic career choice. I found a job in my first week on campus to cover my day-to-day expenses. Other than working a lot (most of my friends did not have jobs), my college life was relatively un-unique for your average white guy. I drank a lot. I was never attacked, abused or arrested (although I was stopped by police and let go on several occasions). I experienced no discrimination other than a vague sense that I was inferior to the wealthy kids and a fear of coming out as gay.
I lived in a residence hall with the other financial aid students, meaning my dorm was the most ethnically diverse on campus. It also had the smallest rooms and was in the most dangerous neighborhood. In those dormitory hallways, nearly every person I knew was different from the middle class white Christians I had known in my hometown. My roommate was one of the other three white guys on our floor.
I once complimented my friend Nellie on her new “haircut”, much to the joy and delight of her other friends. My ignorance was considered hilarious and adorable, for why would the white boy from New Hampshire need to know about a weave? I turned several shades of red, horrified by my own stupidity, but these girls just hugged me and giggled. Other than that one embarrassing moment and the occasional, “You know you live here with us because you’re one of the ‘poor’ kids,” race was not really an issue. For me.
I decided to move to Atlanta after college, so I took a trip south to scope out this potential new city. I found two jobs (a “day job” in a restaurant and a theater gig) and an apartment in my one-week visit. I flew back north to drive a U-Haul from New Hampshire to Atlanta by myself. I was never pulled over. I slept in a truck stop and was not harassed. I lived and worked in Atlanta for three years, acting, waiting tables and doing artist-in-residence work in the Georgia Public School system. I also managed a boutique retail store in a chic neighborhood. I lived one block north of Ponce de Leon, the “black border”, and many of my white friends said I was “crazy for living down there!”
While living in the south, I was pulled over for drunk driving and arrested. I spent the night in jail, the only white person in the holding cell, and I was left alone. My lawyer gave me a discount because he loved “theater people.” I did community service and paid my fines before my court date, so the judge allowed a nolo contendre (no contest) plea meaning there was no conviction on my record. I cried in court. I couldn’t believe I had gotten off so easy. I had blown almost twice the legal limit.
I moved to New York just months after 9/11, so for the first time in my life I had some trouble finding work. I eventually landed a job as a receptionist and billing assistant even though I had no prior office experience. Since then, I have worked a bizarre range of jobs and been given multiple opportunities in many fields, even landing a job as an Associate General Manager at a major venue without any prior experience, but the GM at the time liked my “look and vibe”. I recently was very low on money (I am a freelance director now) and needed some temp work. With one email I landed a holiday retail gig in a high-end store with many celebrity clientele even though my last retail job in Atlanta had ended more than a decade prior.
With my parents as co-signers I have never been denied an apartment, even though my income has NEVER met the “40 times the rent” requisite. I have never been stopped by the police, even having sold people cigarettes in front of a cop, and even though I was publicly very drunk on many occasions in my 20’s. I have never had my bag searched on the subway. When I’ve been on unemployment, my check-in meetings have mostly consisted of questions about the shows I’ve worked on and a hardy wish for good luck with my career. One very kind lady even corrected my poorly filled out paperwork so it would not raise any red flags.
I have traveled all over the world including to Muslim countries and have never been stopped by the TSA upon my returns. Once, leaving the EU from Copenhagen, the customs officer asked me the date I had entered the EU from North Africa and I answered incorrectly. He winked at me, corrected me, and stamped my passport. Leaving Israel, the customs official there apologized profusely for messing up my neatly packed carry-on bag and promised to re-pack it properly while a few feet away a man with darker skin was trying not to protest as his belongings were strewn about. When I returned the US, the customs official looked at all of my passport stamps and said, “What a cool trip!”
I live in a predominantly Black and Hispanic neighborhood and though I have never been harassed or bothered, I am often asked if I’m “nervous at night going home up there.” I’ve been attacked twice (neither seriously) in my fourteen years in New York City, and both occurrences took place in midtown. I have been called a faggot many times in the last several years, but it has never happened in Harlem and it has come from, almost exclusively, white heterosexual men.
I worry about money but I am confident that I will be able to find work when I need it. I move about freely in all ranges of race, income, and class knowing that when my attire does not match the look or price tags of those about me, I can pull off the “artist thing” and experience no discrimination. Police ignore me. Credit card companies approve me. Utility companies grant me contracts and landlords take me in even though, as a freelancer, I have no provable income.
I am a person who works very hard, often at multiple jobs simultaneously. Nobody who knows me would ever accuse me of being lazy or having had connections that made my path obstacle-free. My family and friends are not rich, or famous, or of any other door-opening status. I have always struggled with money and currently have a fairly substantial mountain of debt. Life has never been easy for me and nothing has been handed to me without hard work and dedication. But I can say, without any hesitation, that I am a beneficiary of white privilege.
White privilege does not mean, as so many white people aggressively retort, that life is easy for white people. It does not imply that a person is lazy, did not struggle, or was granted things they have not earned. It is not about being white at all, which is the hardest concept for white people to grasp: It is not about YOU. It is about the obstacles, racist assumptions, fear, and outright discrimination that people of color experience in this country that white people do not. From day-to-day life to education to employment to just about everything else, white privilege is the absence of racial barriers and aggressions experienced by people of color.
The use of the phrase “white privilege” does not contain the implication that you do not deserve what you have acquired. Rather, the phrase points to the fact that a person of color experiences greater obstacles solely based on the color of their skin and not on the merit of their experience and/or character. If you deny this, you are either willfully blind or unapologetically dishonest.
Scroll back. Read through my story again and then ask a person of color about their experience. Find out what it was like for a black teenager to find a job in a restaurant in 1989, a Latina woman seeking financial assistance for a college education in 1994, or a person of any non-white minority looking for work and an apartment with no credit history in 1998, 2001, or today. Ask a black man how he was treated after being arrested in any year in Georgia. Ask your Middle Eastern friends about their experiences with international travel after 2001. Talk to an Asian artist about the challenges in work opportunities and fair representation in the theater now, today.
White people need to accept that white privilege exists, acknowledge that it is unfair, and make every attempt to voice our opposition to this injustice. I certainly do not have a solution to end racism, but I do have the ability to call it out in my own life. I do have the obligation to put my ego aside when somebody says it was easier for me than for a person of color because it is true. That may just be a small step - admitting that white privilege exists - but it is, for many, a huge leap.
If you are white, white privilege is not about you.
Until we accept that fact and stop this insane, ego-driven, childish, ridiculous need to defend ourselves against the mere concept that there are more obstacles for persons of color in this country and relinquish the need to ward off some fictional perceived accusation contained within the words, nothing will change.
We have to let it go. We have to be honest. We have to accept.
We have to say enough is enough.
Dear Fellow White People,
White privilege is not about you.
“What???” you say. “But I’m in the name!” you proclaim!
Still, I am telling you, it is not about us. What I mean is that it is not an accusation, an assumption that we are lazy or racist, or an implication that you have not worked for what you have earned. It is the state of living in this country (world) in which white people are unjustly considered the norm, the base, and the starting point so therefore the existence of white privilege is just a fact of your day-to-day life and barely infiltrates your conscious movement throughout your life.
Okay. Let’s back up and start at the beginning. I’ll tell my story, and maybe that will help.
I was born in a small town in Maine and when I was six years old, we moved to a similarly small town in New Hampshire where I spent the remainder of my childhood. There in New Hampshire, and not coming from money, I had various employment from age twelve on, working in restaurants and stores, doing landscaping, babysitting, and even once working as pipe organ repair assistant. People knew my family as a “good family”, so I never had any problem finding work, even as a teenager. I was accepted into every college where I applied. I was not subjected to any statistics or quotas, only judged on the merit of my academic record, my work history, and my extra-curricular activities. But college is expensive, and with two older siblings my parents did not have much left to help me out.
I received scholarships and loans to go to school, and those loans were not hindered by my artistic career choice. I found a job in my first week on campus to cover my day-to-day expenses. Other than working a lot (most of my friends did not have jobs), my college life was relatively un-unique for your average white guy. I drank a lot. I was never attacked, abused or arrested (although I was stopped by police and let go on several occasions). I experienced no discrimination other than a vague sense that I was inferior to the wealthy kids and a fear of coming out as gay.
I lived in a residence hall with the other financial aid students, meaning my dorm was the most ethnically diverse on campus. It also had the smallest rooms and was in the most dangerous neighborhood. In those dormitory hallways, nearly every person I knew was different from the middle class white Christians I had known in my hometown. My roommate was one of the other three white guys on our floor.
I once complimented my friend Nellie on her new “haircut”, much to the joy and delight of her other friends. My ignorance was considered hilarious and adorable, for why would the white boy from New Hampshire need to know about a weave? I turned several shades of red, horrified by my own stupidity, but these girls just hugged me and giggled. Other than that one embarrassing moment and the occasional, “You know you live here with us because you’re one of the ‘poor’ kids,” race was not really an issue. For me.
I decided to move to Atlanta after college, so I took a trip south to scope out this potential new city. I found two jobs (a “day job” in a restaurant and a theater gig) and an apartment in my one-week visit. I flew back north to drive a U-Haul from New Hampshire to Atlanta by myself. I was never pulled over. I slept in a truck stop and was not harassed. I lived and worked in Atlanta for three years, acting, waiting tables and doing artist-in-residence work in the Georgia Public School system. I also managed a boutique retail store in a chic neighborhood. I lived one block north of Ponce de Leon, the “black border”, and many of my white friends said I was “crazy for living down there!”
While living in the south, I was pulled over for drunk driving and arrested. I spent the night in jail, the only white person in the holding cell, and I was left alone. My lawyer gave me a discount because he loved “theater people.” I did community service and paid my fines before my court date, so the judge allowed a nolo contendre (no contest) plea meaning there was no conviction on my record. I cried in court. I couldn’t believe I had gotten off so easy. I had blown almost twice the legal limit.
I moved to New York just months after 9/11, so for the first time in my life I had some trouble finding work. I eventually landed a job as a receptionist and billing assistant even though I had no prior office experience. Since then, I have worked a bizarre range of jobs and been given multiple opportunities in many fields, even landing a job as an Associate General Manager at a major venue without any prior experience, but the GM at the time liked my “look and vibe”. I recently was very low on money (I am a freelance director now) and needed some temp work. With one email I landed a holiday retail gig in a high-end store with many celebrity clientele even though my last retail job in Atlanta had ended more than a decade prior.
With my parents as co-signers I have never been denied an apartment, even though my income has NEVER met the “40 times the rent” requisite. I have never been stopped by the police, even having sold people cigarettes in front of a cop, and even though I was publicly very drunk on many occasions in my 20’s. I have never had my bag searched on the subway. When I’ve been on unemployment, my check-in meetings have mostly consisted of questions about the shows I’ve worked on and a hardy wish for good luck with my career. One very kind lady even corrected my poorly filled out paperwork so it would not raise any red flags.
I have traveled all over the world including to Muslim countries and have never been stopped by the TSA upon my returns. Once, leaving the EU from Copenhagen, the customs officer asked me the date I had entered the EU from North Africa and I answered incorrectly. He winked at me, corrected me, and stamped my passport. Leaving Israel, the customs official there apologized profusely for messing up my neatly packed carry-on bag and promised to re-pack it properly while a few feet away a man with darker skin was trying not to protest as his belongings were strewn about. When I returned the US, the customs official looked at all of my passport stamps and said, “What a cool trip!”
I live in a predominantly Black and Hispanic neighborhood and though I have never been harassed or bothered, I am often asked if I’m “nervous at night going home up there.” I’ve been attacked twice (neither seriously) in my fourteen years in New York City, and both occurrences took place in midtown. I have been called a faggot many times in the last several years, but it has never happened in Harlem and it has come from, almost exclusively, white heterosexual men.
I worry about money but I am confident that I will be able to find work when I need it. I move about freely in all ranges of race, income, and class knowing that when my attire does not match the look or price tags of those about me, I can pull off the “artist thing” and experience no discrimination. Police ignore me. Credit card companies approve me. Utility companies grant me contracts and landlords take me in even though, as a freelancer, I have no provable income.
I am a person who works very hard, often at multiple jobs simultaneously. Nobody who knows me would ever accuse me of being lazy or having had connections that made my path obstacle-free. My family and friends are not rich, or famous, or of any other door-opening status. I have always struggled with money and currently have a fairly substantial mountain of debt. Life has never been easy for me and nothing has been handed to me without hard work and dedication. But I can say, without any hesitation, that I am a beneficiary of white privilege.
White privilege does not mean, as so many white people aggressively retort, that life is easy for white people. It does not imply that a person is lazy, did not struggle, or was granted things they have not earned. It is not about being white at all, which is the hardest concept for white people to grasp: It is not about YOU. It is about the obstacles, racist assumptions, fear, and outright discrimination that people of color experience in this country that white people do not. From day-to-day life to education to employment to just about everything else, white privilege is the absence of racial barriers and aggressions experienced by people of color.
The use of the phrase “white privilege” does not contain the implication that you do not deserve what you have acquired. Rather, the phrase points to the fact that a person of color experiences greater obstacles solely based on the color of their skin and not on the merit of their experience and/or character. If you deny this, you are either willfully blind or unapologetically dishonest.
Scroll back. Read through my story again and then ask a person of color about their experience. Find out what it was like for a black teenager to find a job in a restaurant in 1989, a Latina woman seeking financial assistance for a college education in 1994, or a person of any non-white minority looking for work and an apartment with no credit history in 1998, 2001, or today. Ask a black man how he was treated after being arrested in any year in Georgia. Ask your Middle Eastern friends about their experiences with international travel after 2001. Talk to an Asian artist about the challenges in work opportunities and fair representation in the theater now, today.
White people need to accept that white privilege exists, acknowledge that it is unfair, and make every attempt to voice our opposition to this injustice. I certainly do not have a solution to end racism, but I do have the ability to call it out in my own life. I do have the obligation to put my ego aside when somebody says it was easier for me than for a person of color because it is true. That may just be a small step - admitting that white privilege exists - but it is, for many, a huge leap.
If you are white, white privilege is not about you.
Until we accept that fact and stop this insane, ego-driven, childish, ridiculous need to defend ourselves against the mere concept that there are more obstacles for persons of color in this country and relinquish the need to ward off some fictional perceived accusation contained within the words, nothing will change.
We have to let it go. We have to be honest. We have to accept.
We have to say enough is enough.