What It's Like to be a White Guy

On the first Thursday morning of every month I participate in a multi-racial, multi-faith discussion group on race called NewCORE (New Conversations on Race and Ethnicity), an organization founded eight years ago after then-Senator Barack Obama’ landmark speech on race in which he called for a new conversation on race. The format for our group is pretty simple. Each month there is a “presenter” who tells his or her “race story,” while the rest of us listen intently, and then ask questions designed to draw more of the person’s story.  Soon the conversation deepens into an exploration of how we are seeking to live out our lives and professions in ways that fight racism and promote greater inter-racial understanding.

During a discussion a couple months ago, a white Jewish woman said: “I don’t have a desire to be a white male, but I have always wondered what it would be like to be a white male just for a day.” Sitting next to me was a African-American pastor who I have known for nearly 18 years, who turned to me in good humor and said loud enough for all to hear “Yea, Drick what is it like to be a white guy?”

I looked at the only other white male in the room (in a group of about 15), rolled my eyes, and said: “Well, in this group, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be.” Despite that response, the question has hung with me these past two months, as I have wondered what my white Jewish female colleague and my black male friend would see or experience if there were put on my skin for a day.

Peggy McIntosh in her classic essay on White Male Privilege makes the point that one of the characteristics of privilege is that most of the time one is largely unaware he has it. Thus there are aspects of my whiteness and male-ness that  females and non-white males see to which I am just plain oblivious. Over the last twenty years or so, I have deliberately and consciously sought out relationships and learning events where I can be enlightened and reminded of the ways in which my whiteness and maleness gives me credibility and respectability others are denied. I have become sensitive to the ways in which I am given information or access unavailable to others. When the opportunity arises I have sought to call attention to the ways in which I sense women and people of color have been excluded. I have consciously worked to put myself in positions where I am under the leadership of or learning from women and people of color. I believe all of these efforts are positive, yet as my colleague Alexia Salvatierra often reminds folks, the very nature of privilege is that one has a choice as to whether or not to engage these issues. So I suspect that one of the first things my female and black colleague would notice is the extra choices my white male skin would give them.

I have become increasingly aware of how much in the normal course of the day, I am given deference, even without asking for it. I work with an African American woman, and often we will compare notes on how we were received or responded to, and consistently I am given special or positive treatment she is denied. Moreover, in my work environment I rarely walk into a room where the group is not dominated by white folks and run by white folks. In those instances where I am in a room dominated by people of color, I know implicitly it is the exception in that environment, not the rule. Over the past few years I have seen the administration of my university turn over to almost completely white men. With this group I have tried to use the power of my white maleness to raise ignored issues such as the exclusion of women and folks of color in places of power, or how the “diversity” we are so proud of is not consistently spread across the university. While folks don’t like to hear me say such things, I get a hearing, and I don’t have to fear being accused of playing the “race card,” whereas folks of color always have to weigh the risks of speaking up. So I suspect if my colleagues had on my white male skin they would see much more attention paid to their concerns and with a great deal more respect than they are used to.

However, the thing my colleagues could not get in a day of being white would be the entire history of my life as a white guy being told in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that I am better-than, smarter-than, more well-connected-than and therefore more deserving-than others. Being given those messages (especially when you don’t know that is what is being said) leads to a kind of entitlement which I often feel, but I have learned I did not earn or deserve. I can look at any corporate board, or any table of leaders, or any list of outstanding citizens and see people like me. Despite all the talk about diversity and inclusion, white guys still run the world in their white ways.

Even the messages about my privilege can be twisted into a kind of superiority. I remember my parents stressing that because I had come from a  “good home” where I was loved and provided for, I had a responsibility to “give back to society” and help others. My parents not only taught that philanthropic spirit, they modeled it. The same message was stressed in the large, all-white suburban church we attended. Seemingly a good thing, it led me to feel like it was my “calling” to go an help the “less fortunate”, which has been the trajectory of my life since high school. I don’t regret following this path, yet even in that message there was the meta-message that I was better-than and that THEY needed the help, not me. Consequently, I have spent my adulthood seeking to reshape that message into a frame of mutual learning and mutual need, but every once in a while my “do-gooder” elitism emerges.

Unless my colleagues had lived a lifetime with that constant message of being just a little bit better than, I don’t know if they would have the inflated white male ego I sometimes recognize in myself. It is not who I am but it is the person I am told I am supposed to be, and it can catch me off guard at the strangest times. Being told and believing I have something to offer others is a source of inner confidence, but the more aware I become of my internalized racist superiority, the more I realize that confidence is sometimes misplaced.

I am fortunate to have friends and colleagues with whom I can discuss these things. I have groups like NewCORE, Training for Change, and workshops at Temple University’s Office of Institutional Diversity, Equity, Advocacy and Leadership that help keep me humble and keep me seeking ways to be a more reliable anti-racist ally. I have friends, colleagues and students who regularly point me in the direction of authors they think I should read. I am fortunate to have these people and resources in my grasp. They keep me learning, growing, and humble.

Were it possible for my white Jewish female and African-American male colleagues to get inside my skin for just one day, they would not necessarily have the life history that white male privilege affords one. Nonetheless, I suspect there would still be lots of things they would see, feel, hear, and sense that I have yet to learn or become aware of. So what is it like to be a white guy? I have some idea, but there is still much I have to learn and ways I need to change. It will take a lifetime… and then some … to find the answer.

What It Feels Like to be an Oxymoron

“He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction” – Kris Kristofferson “The Pilgrim”

Recently, I came across an open letter written by Asian-American Activist Kil Ja Kim entitled “The White Anti-Racist is an Oxymoron.” I encourage you to read it for yourself (link here ), but here is a short summary. She begins with the observation that “whiteness is a structure of domination” which is “at the heart of the U.S. social, economic and political system.” It is important to note that Kim writes this letter specifically for those whites who see themselves as actively working to dismantle that white supremacist system. Yet as she points out white people are those who benefit from the system and for whom and by whom the system was created. Even as white anti-racists work to dismantle the system, they are benefiting by it.

Whites cannot be but what and who they are. Kim is particularly bothered by whites who try to use their anti-racist stance as a badge of honor and who try to emulate people of color in their dress, hairstyles, speech and lifestyle. They try to take on some sort of “marginalized” social position not realizing that for whites such a position is largely a matter of choice, whereas for people of color there is no choice; marginalization is the position the white supremacist system has placed them in.

From my perspective Kim’s most damning statement is that “white activism, especially white anti-racism, is predicated on an economy of gratitude,” by which she means that anti-racist whites expect people of color to be grateful for them having joined the liberation cause. She points out that while people of color may be thankful for their white allies, those same people of color are often made to feel inferior for needing “help” in the first place. She concludes by challenging whites to do their own work, and to “figure out ways in which whiteness needs to die as a social structure and as an identity in which [whites] organize [their] anti-racist work.”

I plead guilty to having thought or done everything Kim mentions in her letter, and more. Most, if not all, that she says is true for most whites involved in anti-racist work. I have come to realize that I cannot not be racist. Like a fetus in the womb of a drug addicted woman, I was born addicted to racist privilege. This is not to say that my parents or any one in my extended family was a member of the KKK or a white supremacist group. On the contrary, my family has generally been liberally minded and inclusive when it comes to matters of race. However, the privilege we enjoy living in this society simply because we are white (See Peggy McIntosh’s classic essay on white privilege), the financial wealth we inherit because it could be passed down, the access to education, employment, cultural opportunities and more – these are all things that come to us as whites  simply because we are white. The society around us, the media we watch, the education we receive, the history we read and much more has explicitly and implicitly contended that the white way of life is the norm while at the same time has demeaned or  ignored the contributions of  people of color in those same arenas. So, yes for these reasons and many more, I am a racist.

I also consider myself an anti-racist ally; therein lies the contradiction. In my teaching, writing and work for gun violence prevention and educational justice I seek to name, challenge and dismantle structures of privilege and oppression (often two sides of the same coin). In my consumer choices, my investments, my friendships, and work relationships, I seek to be a voice and advocate for equity and justice. I have tried to do these things always maintaining relationships of accountability with friends of color who can and will set me straight. In spite of my best efforts I have spoken, acted, and thought in ways that betray my attachment to whiteness and my racism. Moreover, I take for granted many things that come to me simply because I am white. I try to be aware of such things, but I know I mess up much more than I wish.

I will also admit to participating in what Kim calls the “economy of gratitude.” In the past I have expected people of color to be thankful that I am ‘on their side.” However, I no longer think that way. I now realize that it is in the long term interest of white people, as well as people of color, that the structures of white power and privilege be dismantled. White anti-racist speaker, Tim Wise says it this way: “I fight racism because racism is a sickness in my community, and it damages me” (White Like Me, p. 182).  The laws and structures that degrade and dehumanize people of color in other ways dehumanize whites. The racism embedded in white society distorts and disables whites from living in the world as it is, even as it oppresses and alienates people of color.

I no longer expect people of color to appreciate me. In fact if I am honest I will admit that I need people of color to challenge me and hold me accountable, and make me feel uncomfortable from time to time. Kim ends her essay saying that people of color have got their work to do and whites have their work to do. Whites’ work is to figure out how dismantle whiteness and build identity on something other than the power and privilege that comes from simply being white. That system, while it is still in place, is a dying system, and keeps whites from living in meaningful relationships across differences of race and culture. It keeps whites from seeing themselves clearly for who they are. It keeps them from seeing the huge mistakes and crimes that their ancestors have perpetrated through history. It keeps them from embracing the present and future diversity in our country. It causes them  to fear those who are not like them. It cripples them, it cripples me, in so many ways.


So I accept that I am an oxymoron, a walking contradiction. At the same time I aspire to be a living paradox, an apparent contradiction that seeks a deeper truth and reality of what it means to be human. So for the time being, I will accept feeling out of place in the world – not at home in the company of whites who take their privilege for granted, while simultaneously accepting that people of color have an understandable and justifiable distrust of white anti-racists  like myself. Not always a comfortable feeling, but I think and hope it is the right way to try and live out my convictions for racial justice.

White on "Being White on Philly"

Full disclosure. I am white and don’t live in Philly. In some people’s minds these two facts alone disqualify me from saying anything meaningful about race in Philadelphia. I very much would like to live in Philadelphia, but for various reasons my wife and I have decided to live in the western suburbs. The fact that we are white and middle class gives us the freedom to make choices about where we will live that others do not have. I fully recognize these realities and recognize that these alone could discredit anything I might say on the matter.

However, let me also point out that while I do not live in Philly, I spend a great deal of my time in West Philadelphia working on issues of racial reconciliation, economic justice and gun violence prevention alongside people of many of races and cultures. I am part of city wide groups like NewCORE (New Conversations on Race and Ethnicity) and POWER (Philadelphians Organized for Witness, Empowerment and Rebuilding) multi-racial groups addressing issues of racial and economic disparity in the city. I also teach courses on race and ethnic relations and social justice at a local college. So I have some credibility; yet the very fact I must list these credentials betrays the delicacy with which issues of race and class must be approached in our society.

Having said all of this, I have been somewhat surprised by the controversy created by Philadelphia Magazine’s recent article “Being White in Philly.” The article largely focuses on the experiences and perspectives of middle class white folks in a section of the city known as Brewerytown. Last fall one of my students wrote a community analysis paper about Brewerytown and concluded that there was clear divide of race and class that existed on either side of the Poplar and Girard Avenues in the neighborhood. “Being White in Philly” largely illustrates the accuracy of my student’s analysis. If there was a flaw in the article it was not the stories of white experience, but rather that the article should have been entitled “Being White in a Part of Philly” or better yet “The Experience of Some Whites in One Part of Philly.” Nonetheless, Brewerytown is not the only neighborhood in the city experiencing the division of race and class that is described in the article.

The negative reaction to the article seems to imply that the author, Richard Huber, was presenting the white perspective (and therefore the definitive perspective) on race relations in Philadelphia. I must confess that I did not read it that way. The article does not capture the experiences of all whites in Philly, but it does describe the perspective of some whites. This perspective is often not voiced precisely because of the reaction like that of Mayor Michael Nutter, who in a public letter to the Philadelphia Human Relations Commissionaccused the Philadelphia Magazine of “[sinking] to a new low,” propagating “disparaging beliefs, the negative stereotypes, the ignorant typically and historically ascribed to African Americans citizens” and putting forth “a collection of these despicable, over-generalized, mostly anonymous assumptions.” The mayor ‘s reaction lends weight to Huber’s observation that “Everyone might have a race story, but few whites risk the third-rail danger of speaking publicly about race, given the long, troubled history of race relations in this country and even more so in this city.” In response to the criticism put forth by the mayor and others, Philadelphia Magazine’s editor admitted that the article had flaws and did not provide enough context, while at the same time pointing out, “We by no means were trying to do a definitive take on race relations in Philadelphia. We set out to do this from one particular point of view.” To mention the issue of race in an article does not make either the author, the magazine or the people who shared their experience racist. Rather it is to share their perspective regardless of how skewed or limited it might be.

My point is this: bringing up the issue of race does not make one racist. Sharing one’s perspective does not make one racist. Racism is not only about the words one uses, but also the way in which power and resources are disproportionately allocated along lines of race and class. Racism is built into the very fabric of our society and city, such that those who are often most often marginalized and disadvantaged by public policies and practices are people of color. Racism is built into the policies and practices of government, business, education and health care regardless of the race of those who happen to be making the decisions or speaking out on those issues.

The fact of the matter is that in Philadelphia the disparities that exist often do fall along race lines. At the same time both some of the most privileged as well as the most victimized citizens in the city are people of color. While black on white crime may be a problem in places like Brewerytown, black on black crime is a far greater issue in many parts of the city. While persons of color occupy the offices of the Mayor, Police Commission, Superintendent of Schools, and many of the major city, state and national political offices, those who suffer the most from the recent tax reassessment, unemployment, school closings and gun-related incidents are also persons of color. Racism goes far deeper than the experiences of a few white people in one section of the city.

While my experiences do not reflect the experiences of those depicted in the article, I know whites who share the perspective of those cited in the story. At the same, those same white folks whose houses have been vandalized or who have mugged by persons of color will often  in the next breath say that they wish that the assailant had not been a person of color. They recognize that often the crime and violence they experienced is more about poverty and lack of opportunity than race. They recognize that persons of color are victimized as much or more than they are.

Talking about being white in Philly for many folks is a delicate and sensitive issue. However, if there is to be meaningful discussion about race and racism in Philadelphia or in the United States in general, all voices and all perspectives must be allowed without being disparaged out of hand.

A Teachable Moment on the True Nature of Racism

The recent accusation of racism that led to the firing, apology and offer of a new job to Shirley Sherrod is instructive of many things on several levels. For those who may have missed it, conservative blogger Andrew Breitbart took a statement of Shirley Sherrod out of context to make it look like she discriminated against a white farmer in her role as an official in the Agriculture Department. FOX News ran the story as an example of Obama administration racism against whites, Ms. Sherrod was fired, and the NAACP (to whom her speech as addressed) denounced her words; then the truth came out. Ms. Sherrod’s story was exactly the opposite and the white farmer in question said she was an invaluable help to him. The Obama administration apologized and offered Ms. Sherrod another job, which at this moment she has neither accepted nor rejected. To read more on this incident go to this link.

Putting aside the out and out character defamation of Mr. Breitbart, the opportunistic race-baiting of FOX and the knee-jerk ineptness of Obama’s Agriculture Department, let me add a thought on why even if Ms. Sherrod had done what she was accused of, it could not be considered racism.

It seems that many folks are so uptight about race in this country, that we are afraid to honestly look at the underlying issue of institutionalized, systemic racism in our nation. The election of a black President did not eradicate racism in this country, it only made it more confusing for many to discuss, and raised the level of fear among many whites. The election of a black president, like the changing demographics of the United States as a whole, has a lot of whites in this country scared. By the year 2042 most demographers predict that white people will comprise less than 50% of the population. Whites will still comprise the largest racial/ethnic group, but Hispanics will be over 30%, while African-Americans will comprise about 12-13% and Asian/Pacific Islanders 6-8%. English will be one of many languages spoken. “American” history will by necessity have a different slant, as the various peoples who make up our populace will include less people from European backgrounds and more from Africa, Asia and Latin America. For a group of people who have always had their culture, their history, and their way of thinking and speaking as the norm, this signals change, and change generates fear for many white folks.

Having said that, the systems that are in place (education, law enforcement, health care, etc) still overwhelmingly serve white citizens much more effectively than they serve citizens of color. Why do schools with predominantly Latino and Black students generally receive significantly less funding than white school districts? Why do areas where people of color live experience more crime and less security than white neighborhoods? Why does the health care system not serve people of color with the same effectiveness as it does white patients? Why do African-American drug offenders consistently receive harsher sentences than their white counterparts committing the same crimes? The answers to these and related questions are both simple and complex. The simple answer is that racial preference and bias is built into the very systems that inequitably serve different groups of people. The complex answer is trying to figure out a way to make those systems serve all people equitably.

When people look at the laws and policies on these issues, one sees that while they may seem “fair” on the surface, the results they generate create tremendous inequities. For instance, funding public school systems with property taxes seems “fair” and yet when one looks at the disparate results, one sees that that system creates schools with widely different levels of resources. State and Federal governments are now trying to compensate by funneling additional funding to underfunded districts, encouraging charter schools and offering vouchers, but these actions are band-aids on an oozing sore. What is needed is a totally revamped system of how education is funded and delivered in this country. The people working in this system may be sincere, dedicated, and personally non-biased when it comes to race, but the system they work in is irretrievably discriminatory against people of color, especially when they are also poor.

Now that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some white schools or communities that lose out, or that there aren’t white citizens who sometimes are discriminated against, but the overarching pattern favors one group over another. The laws, the policies, the structures and the institutions that have served whites very well over the long haul, do not serve their fellow citizens of color at the same level. That’s racism; and one sees the effects of that racism by looking at the results these systems produce. Like doctors we need to use the symptoms to diagnose the underlying problem. Simply treating symptoms does nothing to address the underlying disease.

Had Shirley Sherrod chosen not to help a white farmer because he was white, that would have been an act of prejudice. If she had consistently chosen not to serve white farmers at the same level she served black farmers, that might be a pattern of racism on her part. However, the Agriculture Department where she worked historically takes quite good care of white farmers, and therefore would not be institutionally racist.

People like Andrew Breitbart and the folks at FOX News use distortions to distract folks (especially scared white folks) away from the deep systemic issues that need to be addressed in this country. I suspect that there are smart people at FOX, so I can imagine (though I don’t know) that their distortions and character assassinations are a deliberate attempt to keep the systems that privilege whites over others intact. They use half-truths (which are really lies) and out of context statements (like Breitbart’s video) to paint a picture that makes whites feel like they need to fight to “take the country back,” when in fact the systems in this country continue to serve them just fine. Parading a black spokesman like Republican National Chairman Michael Steele in their reports confuses the unsuspecting and gives flimsy justification for those who seek to keep the systems as they are. When it seems opportune, they then throw in the non-sensical charge of “reverse racism,” which is what happened in Sherrod's case.

As a white person, I am not interested in developing a system that punishes whites; that is not in my interest. However, as a white person of faith who is concerned for justice, I am committed to creating a system that serves all people equally. Honesty compels me to recognize that as a white person I can take for granted many things that my friends of color cannot: from the schools their kids attend, to the way they are treated by the police and courts, to how often their trash gets picked up to the kind of health care they receive to how they are treated by the media to who knows what.

One lesson we need to take from this unfortunate incident is to take a look at what is actually going on in this country. The disparities mentioned above are widely cited. Can we wake up and see what is going on? Shirley Sherrod told her story to illustrate her personal growth in race relations, but at the very worst she might have been prejudiced against one white man (which she was not). On the other hand, all of us live within a network of systems that is inherently racist and must be significantly overhauled, if this “land of the free” is going to offer that freedom equally to all.

White Privilege and Sarah Palin

Tim Wise, author of White Like Me, and well known speaker on white privilege recently applied his thoughts to the current media treatment of Sarah Palin. You can read his comments here. Wise's tone is strong and a bit acerbic, which is why I hesitate to post it. I trust that Sarah Palin is a decent person, even if she is a political lightweight and one with whom I disagree on many issues. Nonetheless, this article is not really about Palin, as much as it is of the "pass" she gets on criticism because she is white. Wise makes clear if Obama were associated with some of the items with which she is related, the treatment by the media and especially the white public would be vastly different. In the end it is another example of how unbalanced and unjust our white worldview is, and how in many ways worldview is a critical issue underlying this election. When people say they won't vote for someone simply because he is named "Obama" or perpetuate the myth that he is a Muslim(when in fact he is a practicing Christian AND it should not matter what faith he professes)or accuse him of not being a leader because he led as a community organizer and not a military officer, it betrays a deep blindness of whites to their own racist attitudes. Cognitive psychologists point out that often our decisions are based primarily on our emotions (fears, anxieties, anger, etc) and then rationalized later. Such often seems to be the case when it comes to white voters and Obama. Indeed, there are significant philosophical differences between Obama and McCain, so I am not suggesting voting for McCain makes one racist. But to put Palin and Obama in the same league or to grant Palin the "pass" that Wise suggests, shows how far we who are white have to go in confronting our unconscious fears and overt prejudices.

Racism, White Privilege and the Need for an "Easter Experience"

The following remarks are taken from a sermon I preached at West Philadelphia Mennonite Church on May 18, 2008.

Racism as a Power
In my experience when the issue of racism comes up, most whites feel either guilt or anger or both. Often they are angry because they feel like someone is trying to make them feel guilty. As white people we often feel we are being held accountable for something we didn’t do.

However, I want us to think about racism in broader, more systemic terms. I want us to think of it in terms of what Paul calls “principalities and powers” and in terms that Walter Wink talks about racism in his book, The Powers that Be. While racism is sometimes expressed in overt acts, the power of racism itself is a force in our society that is bigger than any one person or group. It is a force that distorts our sense of who we are and creates barriers between people of different racial and ethnic groups. In this sense it’s not so much that we have racism, but rather that racism has us. In order to resist racism , we first must recognize it’s power over us.

For those of who are white, racism is a force that often puts us in positions of power that we do not seek with privileges we did not ask for. It’s a power that grants those of us who are white a more exalted status as a group, while causing us to resist being seen as a group. One thing a white person doesn’t like to hear from people of color is that he or she is a “typical white person,” because we see ourselves as distinct individuals not as a group. At the same time racism excludes, distorts, makes sick, impoverishes and oppresses those who are not white. It is a power that causes people of different races to choose to live in different neighborhoods, worship at different churches, socialize in different places, and generally relate to people of their own group. Racism is a power that permeates the economic system, the political system, and the educational system. It is a power that is often joined with the powers of Classism and Sexism, which together can have a devastating effect on our sense of identity and our ability to live in community with others.

So when we talk about racism the issue is not about guilt, but rather about recognizing racism’s power over us , and then seeking ways to act responsibly against that power. We need to resist racism’s impact just like a recovering alcoholic has to resist the pull of the drug. Like an alcoholic we must admit that our lives have been shaped and influenced by racism and work diligently to unleash ourselves from the pull of that power. And like the alcoholic we can’t resist alone. To try to go it alone is to play back into racism’s power. We need a group and need to act as a group. In short we need to be in conversation with each other.

White Privilege
One of the first things we as whites must come to grips with is what is known as white privilege. The tricky thing with privilege is that it is largely invisible to those of us who are white, but glaringly obvious to those who are not. White privilege operates in subtle and devious ways. When I get on an elevator, women don’t back away in fear. When I walk into a grocery store, clerks don’t suspect me of shoplifting. When I drive through a predominantly black neighborhood, I don’t have to fear being stopped for being in the wrong place. These are “privileges” I enjoy that people of color can’t assume. Just because of the color of my skin, my children are more likely to own their own homes, go to a good school, get a better job, and earn a better a salary when they get that job.. These are privileges they enjoy simply because they are white. And as I said they didn’t ask for them, but they are there.

And unconsciously these privileges can slip over into the way we as whites interact with people of color. A year ago this past winter, I joined a class of the Alternative Seminary on the topic bridging the gap of race and class. We met for eight Tuesdays nights from January to March in a small Methodist church in North Philadelphia. The purpose of the course was to explore the forces that divide whites and people of color from each other and to think together about ways we could work more effectively across racial lines. The group consisted of somewhere between 15-20 people and was evenly divided between whites and African Americans. There were two Puerto Rican men who came the first two nights but did not continue. About 2/3 of the group were women and there were no African American men (although we did have some African American men come in as speakers). The group was facilitated by two women, one white and one black.

Now I went into that class thinking I had a pretty good handle on what racism was and how to communicate across differences. I had good relationships with my co-workers of color. I had even taught courses on the stuff. So I thought I was in pretty good shape when came to racism and I assumed the others in the group would see that and accept with open arms on that basis. But I was in for a big surprise because over that two month period I was confronted with the ways I talked and carried myself that unwittingly conveyed a sense of superiority and privilege to the people of color in the group. And because I was on their turf, they had no qualms in letting me know how arrogant I came across. It wasn’t I made any racist statements, I was just being my normal white self. To the other folks in the group I was conveying that I was a person of privilege.

Tobin Miller Shearer in the book, Set Free, says that white privilege tends to express itself in many different ways, one of which is a need to always be in control. In that group I wanted to be right, even if I was wrong. I wanted to be heard, even I needed to listen. I wanted my points to count, even if they were not pertinent. At the time I didn’t know why, but later I figured it out: as a white person, I was used to having my opinion count. I was used to being listened to and respected; that was my privilege as a white person. As painful as it was, that experience was invaluable for me because it forced me to see myself as others saw me. It forced me to see myself from a different perspective.

Paul’s Change in Perspective
And you see in Acts 9 that’s what happened to Paul; he went through a dramatic change of perspective. Luke tells us that Paul was “breathing out murderous threats” as he traveled on the road leading into the Syrian city of Damascus. He was on a mission to find, capture and imprison as many followers of Jesus as he could possibly round up.

And then he had this incredible vision of Jesus speaking to him out of the sky. He immediately went blind, and heard a voice saying to him “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting.” Now there are two things to note about this event. First of all, the people who were with Paul saw no light, saw no Jesus, and only heard a rumbling sound. So this was an intensely personal experience for Paul. Second, as far as we know Paul had never had any personal contact with Jesus before his death. So when Jesus accused Paul of persecuting him, Jesus was identifying himself with his followers; he was in essence saying that by seeking to imprison his followers, Paul was persecuting him. Up to this point Paul had seen himself as a hero and a servant of God’s people; all of a sudden he saw himself as a killer and an enemy of God’s people

Paul was directed by Jesus to go into the city and wait. After three days a man named Ananias came and prayed over him. With that prayer Paul’s blindness was removed, he was baptized, and he began an entirely new way of life. He dedicated himself telling folks about the life and message of this Jesus, and he suffered and eventually died for that purpose. What happened to Paul on the Damascus road was a dramatic change of perspective that turned him completely around from being a hunter to one of the hunted, from being a persecutor to one of the persecuted, from being an oppressor to one of the oppressed.

The Easter Experience
He had what Paulo Freire called an “Easter experience.” Paulo Freire was Brazilian educator who dedicated himself to using education as a means of helping poor and oppressed people gain the means to overcome their oppression and work for their liberation. His book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, has inspired a whole generation of students, teachers, community organizers, and anti-poverty advocates. Freire was also a dedicated Christian. In a letter to a theology student he wrote that if non-oppressed people want to work in solidarity with oppressed persons for their liberation, they had to go through what he called an “Easter experience”. By that he meant was that those who are privileged need to go through a spiritual transformation that releases them from their attachment to power and enables them to see and experience the world from the vantage point of the oppressed. I believe that is what happened to Paul on the Damascus Road. That’s what happened to me in the Alternative Seminary course. I want to suggest that is what needs to happen to those of us who are white and privileged, if we are to truly stand by those who are limited and sometimes crushed by the injustice of racism.

I want to suggest that the gospel’s call to those of us who are white is to seek ways to let go of our control and privilege and undergo a spiritual transformation leading to a perspective change. It not just about whether we commit overt acts of discrimination, or whether we behave respectfully toward people of other races. No primarily it is about whether or not we are willing to recognize the advantages that our culture has afforded those of us who are white. And it’s about our willing to relinquish those privileges for the sake of justice and reconciliation.

Using Our Experience as a Window
Now when I bring this up, some white folks will say, “Wait a minute I’ve been a victim of discrimination, I’ve been despised because of my gender or my social class or my accent or even my white skin.” If that is the case then I say “good – hang onto that awareness.” Because as painful as those experiences have been, they have given you a window into what people of color experience nearly every day of their lives simply because they have a skin color other than white.

When I was in that group there were many times when I felt like I was being disregarded and ignored simply because I was white. And it ticked me off. There were times I wasn’t sure if people didn’t like what I said because they were simply dumb statement or if it was because I was this big talkative white guy. I’d go home all angry and confused, and then it dawned on me: this is what a lot of African American people, and Hispanic people, and Asian people and Native American people and immigrants go through every day. And it was like a window into their experience. And it helped me see things from another perspective. Every day people of color are reminded that they need to work a little bit harder and be a little bit smarter just to get to the same place white folks get. And if they do get a good job or a promotion, they have to deal with the question of whether they got it on their merits or because of some quota or affirmative action policy. Everyday people of color have to wonder if they are being heard or respected or ignored simply because of their skin color. Everyday when they pick up the newspaper or watch a news program they are reminded that their schools are underfunded, the courts sentence them to harsher and longer penalties, that they are not likely to get the same pay for the same job as a white person, and that the systems of this society routinely slight them. Everyday that is their reality.

Those of us who are white know these things too, but we don’t experience them, and we can forget them and ignore them and even rationalize them away. But we don’t have to live with them. But if we can get a window, we can remind ourselves to think and act and see the world from the side of the oppressed rather than from our normal place as the privileged.

Paul’s “Easter experience” on the Damascus Road happened in a dramatic fashion. But for many of us, and I know that at least for me, the Easter Experience transformation has taken and is taking a lifetime. Nonetheless I see my situation as a white person in Paul’s story. Like Paul, at times I feel like I am blind to things that are going on right around me. Like Paul, I am confused and overwhelmed by the fact that I thought I was doing the right thing and the helpful thing, only to discover it was just the opposite. Like Paul just when I think I am beginning to understand, I realize how far I have to go. Like Paul, I realize I need an Ananias, someone not afraid to come along side of me, and pray with me and talk with me, and help me see what I am blind to see. Like Paul I realize I need people who are willing to engage me in a sacred conversation about this force called Racism that so often messes me up and gets in the way of constructive and meaningful relationships with people who are different than me.

And so I us to explore ways that we who are white & black or Filipino & Native American & Vietnamese or whatever race or ethnicity can engage in conversation about this force that divides and distorts us. And not only talk but then we act on what we learn.

White Privilege and Amazing Grace

I grew up a child of privilege: upper middle class, educated the finest schools, belonging to a healthy loving family, white in a society that discriminated on the basis of skin color. Yet, as I matured and became aware of the advantages afforded me on the basis of my privilege, I came to loathe aspects of that privilege and see it as a burden. For instance, when I was in college and began awakening to the horrors of institutional racism, I remember wishing I had been born black, so that I didn’t have to bear the burden of guilt for the terrible atrocities committed by whites against African-Americans throughout European and U.S. history. In a way that many not born to privilege would find odd, I tried to shed the clothing of that privilege, only to find that it was not removable, that in fact it was literally part of my skin, my bones, and my genes.

I have long admired people such as Frederick Douglass, W.E.B Dubois, Martin Luther King, Sojourner Truth, Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and Desmond Tutu. They are included in my personal “hall of heroes” and inform my social vision and inspire me to act and speak out against in injustice wherever possible. However, there has always been a point of disconnect for me with these folks. Unlike me, these “heroes” have not been people of privilege. I recognize that their courage and sacrifice was infinitely greater than mine could ever be. As people of color they were and have been easy targets for the maintainers of racial status quo to single out, to defame, and in many cases to kill. I have never had to, nor probably ever will have to, live under the threat of such unjust treatment. I have come to realize that as large as these folks are in my personal and social vision, they are not sufficient guides.

Recently, I viewed the film “Amazing Grace,” the story of British politician William Wilberforce and his struggle to abolish slavery in England. At a cost to his friendships, his political capital, and his health, Wilberforce led a small band that was able to overturn the laws of slavery after 20 years of effort. As I watched the movie, I consciously realized something I had tacitly embraced long ago: that Wilberforce (another one of my heroes) represented a different kind of guide for me. Like me, Wilberforce was a person of privilege, and yet in a paraphrase of the apostle Paul “did not count [that privilege] something to be grasped, but emptied himself and became a servant.”(Philippians 2.6)

Thinking of Wilberforce reminded me of so many other folks who were/are people of privilege who in their limited way have sought to undo the very systems that gave them their privilege. People such as the following:
- John Woolman, a Quaker in the 18the century who traveled up and down the Eastern seaboard, personally convincing Quakers to free their slaves.
- The unnamed whites living near the Mason-Dixon line who served as stops along the Underground Railroad
- Elijah Lovejoy, an abolitionist journalist in Alton, IL beaten to death by an angry mob for outspoken stance on slavery.
- Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin, Catholic intellectuals who founded the Catholic Worker movement serving the urban poor.
- Clarence Jordan, a man with two PhD’s (in agricultural and Biblical Greek), who in the 1950’s and 60’s built Koinonia Farms, an interracial community in segregationist Georgia.

All of these, like Wilberforce were people who used the benefits of their wealth, position and education to work for justice. My guess is that none of them would equate their sacrifice or courage to those people of color whom they allied themselves. Yet, they are examples for those who are from the privileged set of how to respond.

While the movie makes it appear that Wilberforce’s social vision was always clear, I tend to believe that his clarity was more Hollywood than truth. One of the things I continually reach to attain is a clarity of social vision. I am often reminded by people of color that while my heart may be in the right place, that I don’t fully “get it.” That’s why concerned people of privilege and courageous folks of color must be in constant dialogue and partnership. Folks of privilege can never consider the work of justice to be completed as long as the victims of injustice claim that racism and oppression still exist. As a result my vision is continually being refined, seemingly unfolding more clearly as I work more faithfully toward it. I “see through a glass darkly” (I Corinthians 13), and need others to bring clarity to what needs to be done.

Another one of my heroes is my mother, who in her own way sought to use her privilege to bring about change. Through her involvement with an organization called A Better Chance (ABC) she brought students of poverty and color into our upper middle class home and community. She thought justice and equity could be achieved by giving aspiring students from poor urban school districts a chance at a decent education could bring about change in society. While I never said this to her directly, I was inwardly critical of her shortsightedness in not seeing that simply helping individuals did not change a system that benefited a few to the disadvantage of the many. Even so, I admired her persistence, commitment and courage to use her upper middle class status to benefit others. At the same time I have come to accept that I am similarly shortsighted, and that as a person of privilege, I must continually unpack the ways my background has blinded me to the injustice built into our system. I have come to see my mother as yet another hero, like Wilberforce and the others, who seek to use their privilege to dismantle the system that creates that privilege. Their examples are truly a form of “Amazing Grace” that keeps me going, and provides me guidance.

Experiencing White Privilege

In her classic paper “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Backpack”, Peggy McIntosh points out that “whites are carefully taught not to recognize white privilege, as males are taught not to recognize male privilege.” She says, as a result, whites grow up unaware of with the basic privileges in North American society that come to them with their skin color. This privilege is invisible to whites, but glaringly evident to people of color. McIntosh goes on to offer 50 examples of privileges granted to whites, not granted to people of color. Furthermore, as she points out, with this privilege comes the power to set the intellectual, emotional and social agenda in any given setting.

In the last few years, I have sought to be more consciously aware of the privilege granted to me by society as a white, educated, middle class male. This awareness has caused me to experience myself in some discomforting ways. Recently, there was one situation, where my tendency toward privilege snuck up on me and I did not see it coming.

Recently, I have been participating in an interracial group exploring the topic, “Bridging the Gaps of Race and Class.” At our initial meeting, the organizers of the group indicated that they assumed that all the participants “had passed Racism 101” and understood concepts such as internalized oppression, institutional racism and white privilege. As we introduced ourselves to the group, we were invited to share a challenge we had faced in bridging the race and class gap. When my turn came, I shared that when I am new in a gathering where I am a racial minority among a group of people of color, I often get vibes of distrust from others in the group. My sense is that people are suspicious of my presence and my motives for being there as a white male.

Because I assumed in our group that everyone understood that I had “passed Racism 101,” I didn’t feel a need to explain that I understood that the distrust was part of a historical reaction to a pattern of white domination. I did not state that when I am in such settings, I accept that I must earn the respect of others. In making that statement, I was not being critical, but rather making what I considered to be an honest description of my experience. I also assumed that everyone would accept my statement at face value.

However, I was sorely mistaken. Later when the group broke into separate caucuses of white and black, I learned that some of the African-American participants as well as some of the whites, were quite upset by my comment. I in turn felt hurt and later angry about their reaction. I stewed on the incident for days. In subsequent meetings, my discomfort was magnified by one particular African-American woman who seemed very reluctant to speak with me, and at least one white person who seemed bent on setting me straight. In the subsequent weeks, as I participated by offering what I thought were valuable contributions, I have felt like I was digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole. My internal l response has been to say, “You asked a question, I gave an answer; why can’t you accept that?”

And then it hit me: this is what people of color experience on a daily basis. They think they are “playing by the rules” and then all of a sudden the rules change. As a white male I have been accustomed to making the rules of discourse and then making sure they are followed. I have been raised to assume that when I make a statement in apparent good faith, that statement is accepted at face value. I don’t assume that I will have to that there was not some hidden message or implication in what I said. Furthermore, I don’t assume that I will be regarded with suspicion once I have made my case. Finally, I don’t assume that by “being myself” I will sink into deeper and deeper sense of alienation. What I have come to realize is that in this small incident, I have experienced my white privilege in a way that doesn’t give me an easy out. More than that I have come to realize that because the rules of discourse are often skewed in my favor, I have not developed any resources to react to a persistent questioning of my integrity.

Yet this is what most, if not all, people of color face in our society. I have come to a new appreciation for the pernicious effect racism has on our identity, our assumptions, and our ability to communicate effectively. I am thankful for this group as uncomfortable as it has been, and I am thankful for colleagues and friends who are willing to be honest and set me straight. I have no illusions; I will stumble and stick my foot in my mouth again. I probably won’t even know at first that I have done so. White male privilege for all its benefits, has not prepared me to live in an increasingly multicultural society.

As I look at my children and white friends and colleagues, I think one of the major challenges we face in the next ten years is how to live in a society where we don’t have privilege. To people of color that seems like justice (and it is), but for many whites, including me, it is an uphill climb. We who are white have not been given the cognitive or emotional tools to live in a world that is not white-oriented. In some ways are friends of color can help us, but that is not their job. In most cases we need to make our own way. I am committed to keep on learning about how my white male privilege has crippled me for the world that is here and coming, and I am dedicated to sharing any insights I have had.