Privilege

White silence is white violence, the sign in front of me reads. I shift my weight carefully from one foot to the other, so not to fall off the curb, amidst the onslaught of protesters. I bend down in front of a barricade that is blocking most of the road and aim my camera high. I want to capture this moment, but the second I hear the shutter click, I know that no photo will ever truly do it justice. I can tell stories of what it was like to witness the momentum of bodies marching down main streets of Seattle, and show pictures of what it looked like when we blocked off the highway in both directions. But none of these things truly matter if someone simply isn’t ready to listen or willing to see.

Protests have erupted all around our country in recent weeks in response to a never ending stream of police violence against black and brown bodies. In solidarity, other nations have marched in suit, masks covering their faces as the threat of a global pandemic still weighs heavy on our shoulders. I was talking with a black friend this past week, one of the ones that allows me to ask questions and calls me out when I need to know more or do better. 

“There are no sidelines, anymore.” She said. “The world is watching. People have to decide what side of history they’re going to be on.”

I know this is a historic moment because I can feel it in my bones. I felt it in the streets of Seattle as we chanted in unison, and I could see it in the sea of faces that surrounded me. Not just black faces, faces of every shade, showing up to show they cared. Showing up because they know there is power in numbers. Showing up to say loud and clear that Black Lives Matter.

I’ve been thinking a lot in recent weeks about the role I can play in all of this, and I’ve been doing my best to acknowledge and continue to unpack the knapsack of privilege that goes with me everywhere I’ve ever been. Its contents have shifted over time, but of recent years it’s grown more weighty. I know that with this privilege comes power, and with that power a responsibility to step up and speak up for those that have been silenced. I just hope I know the right words to say.

So many white folk I know are afraid to speak up, for fear of rocking the boat or of saying the wrong thing. I want them to know that it's better to say something, anything in favor of the black and brown people that are being slaughtered across this country than say nothing at all. To acknowledge that they see it and that they know it is wrong. To say that they will do better and teach their kids about racism and oppression, and the true history of how this country came to be on the backs of black people, after the pillage of native lands. To admit out loud that the land of the free and the brave, has only ever been designed for the benefit of white people. To recognize that we are all a part of a system that is in dire need of reform, and that we are ready to finally do something about it.

I also want them to know what not to say. 

To recognize that this is not a game of comparison, and just because you grew up in hardship does not mean that you need to pull out your list of grievances in this present moment. This movement isn’t about holding up how you have struggled in the past to minimize the pain of black people. Simply put, if you’ve never been judged, limited, attacked, or oppressed for the color of your skin, this moment isn’t about you. No one is asking you to minimize your own experiences, they're just asking, for once in the history of this nation, that we pay attention to black experiences, and acknowledge the injustice taking place. Don’t turn away by hiding in your own hurts. Pay attention. Bare witness. 

To recognize that saying that you don’t see color or that your kids don’t know the difference between them and their black friends, is a problem. This language isn’t inclusive, it’s erasure. Black people have not been seen or acknowledged or valued for centuries in this country, and to say you don’t see color is to say you don’t see them. Instead it is our duty to see color with crystal clarity, so that we can see the disparities that fall along these colored lines. In recognizing our differences, we can understand each other’s individual lived experiences and celebrate the things that make us special and stand up against the things that affect us inequitably. Only by seeing the gradient that separates the layers of privilege and power in this nation, can we teach our children how immoral this notion is and start to right side historic wrongs.

To see clearly that saying nothing is saying something loud and clear to black and brown folks from around this nation. People will remember that in this moment ripe for momentous change, you bowed your head and held your tongue. History is upon us, and you have the power to make change more imminent simply by stating where you stand, and starting conversations with folks you know that are still holding space on the sidelines.

For those of us that are still puzzling how to begin to unpack this moment for are children, know that they are listening. Even the youngest among us can feel the world shifting under their very feet. What do you wish they will grow up and believe in? What do you wish they will become? What do you wish they would do when an opportunity to stand up to great injustice presents itself in their lifetime? It’s only a matter of time before the next generation steps in and continues the work of undoing the systems that no longer serve any of us. How do you want to prepare them for the journey ahead? Sit with those questions, and whatever answers arise, teach them that.

And as you’re sitting with yourself, take a moment to unpack your own knapsack, the one you’ve been carrying around with all of the prizes and products of the privilege you were born into. Examine each of them individually, feel the weight of them in your palms, and ask yourself how they’ve served you. Recognize that whatever they are, however you have used them, has set you up in some way for the life you’re living today.

Little things. Like in my case, the ability to loiter around in the lobby of hotels and high rise buildings to kill time and take advantage of free wifi. I have the ability and the right skin tone to look the part of someone who obviously belongs to be there, and can thus go about as I please without question while someone else in a black body would be asked what they were doing there or worse.

Bigger things. Like the fact that I have never once have thought about my physical safety when it has come to interactions with police officers, nor have I ever had to think about having serious and stern conversations with my children about how to behave or act in police presence. I know that because of their white skin, clean clothes, and the nice neighborhood we live in that they will always be able to walk around with an armor of assumed innocence.

Part of this work of acknowledging privilege is about seeing it in the light, so that we can recognize the advantages of our upbringing, and part of it is so that we can clearly see how someone given all the same opportunities as ourselves might end up with entirely different outcomes because the didn’t have the same tools handed to them at the output. Only in recognizing these disparities can we begin to acknowledge how uneven the playing field is before us, and begin to dispel the notion that someone trapped in cycles of poverty, or addiction, or joblessness is staying there by choice. Willpower is only one factor in where we end up in life. The knapsack we show up with and what is inside it represents all of the others.

What matters most now is what we do with those privileges. Do we simply acknowledge them and set them aside, pulling them out when it serves us or do we take them out and put them to use to further the causes we believe in? There is so much work to be had in the months and years to come as we dismantle white supremacy, police brutality, and discrimination in this country. This is not a moment to stay quiet, to look away, to stay comfortable. This is a moment to unpack the privileges we own, recognize the powers they carry, and put the weight of them behind those that have been doing this work alone for far too long.