None of which is even the point, really. The point is the meme, in which one of the characters is saying... oh wait, here's the image:
At any rate, I was really taken with the quote, because it reminded me of something that happened recently. I've started a new job, and a big part of that new job involves international travel. I recently went to the Caribbean for three weeks and spent a fair bit of time in Trinidad, where, it turns out, I was one of about seven white people on the whole island.
Okay, probably not, but it sure felt that way. I didn't think about it much at first, mostly because I'm one of about seven white people in all of Kawasaki City sometimes. I thought I was accustomed to being the lone cis white American male in the room after years of living in Japan.
But being the only white guy for miles in Trinidad is a distinctly different situation, and I quickly realized why. In Japan, the natural tendency is for politeness and silence. These things look an awful lot like submission to the untrained eye, especially an untrained cis white American male eye. The Japanese tendency towards this behavior tends to sit easily with the sense of entitlement that we Americans carry with us out into the world, when we can be bothered to visit it.
But it would take a team of expert mathematicians to properly calculate the absolutely minuscule number of rat's asses that the Trinidadians give about white privilege. Or about any privilege, to be perfectly honest. My traveling colleague is originally from the Horn of Africa, and he received pretty much the same level of here's-your-change-now-go-to-hell service that I did. So it's not really a matter of skin tone.
Except that it sort of is. I was at a dinner with several colleagues, and I was the only white American in the room. The conversation took a bit of a rowdy turn, and we steered into a refreshingly frank and comprehensive discussion of race relations that, to be honest, probably doesn't happen as often as it should. We took detours into the political economies of North America, the Caribbean, and Africa, discussed the history of the slave trade, and came around again to the current American political situation, including discussion of reparations.
The junior member of our group was drafted to drive us back to our hotel afterwards. He's an insightful and clever guy, and asked me as I got into the car, "Did that conversation make you uncomfortable?
I thought about it for a minute, and answered, "Well, yeah."
I don't feel qualified to answer for all of America, or all of white people, or all of hetero people, or all of anything, really. I can just about speak for myself on some issues, and then, not reliably, especially if there's beer. And again, if I'm honest, when I'm in these conversations it feels a bit like I'm being called on to answer for things that happened, or to ameliorate someone's anger. I find myself getting a bit defensive, and explaining that my family never owned slaves, or that my family moved here from Germany after the slave trade ended, or the usual batch of justifications. All of which feels a bit "Not all men...," if you take my meaning.
"Yeah, it makes me a bit uncomfortable," I told him, "but I guess it's supposed to. This is a conversation that needs to happen, and it needs to keep happening. People want it to be over with, but you can't get rid of hundreds of years of injustice overnight. But I guess a conversation beats the alternative. And I guess me being uncomfortable for a few minutes is literally the absolute least I can do to help things along."
I'm not sure that I was that eloquent, actually, but I'm sure I hit those points.
I guess my point is that it doesn't hurt anyone to face up to history, and it doesn't hurt anyone to look carefully at the past when looking towards the future. White privilege does exist and has existed for centuries, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you, and it's a problem that is only going to be solved through discussion. Some of that discussion will be uncomfortable.
But fifteen minutes of feeling vaguely discomfited doesn't really make up for centuries of institutionalized oppression, does it? Even if you follow it up with hours of thought and consideration. Even if you feel really, really sorry afterward. (Or don't.)
There is no easy solution to this, none. Just open and honest communication, and that's not even a guarantee that things will someday be awesome.
But if you look deep inside yourself, and you see something in there that doesn't look good, that's a clue. That's the place to start, right there.
Start with the uncomfortable thing.
