Speaking from a distance. White girl, blond hair, grey eyes. She walks as if trying to take in everything at once. American? Her clothing is clean, simple but in decent condition; they fit her small body enough. Rich? All the same she must be lucky. Privileged with white skin, a healthy body, good clothes and probably has a nice home. Privileged. Does she know it?
Speaking a little closer. Her talk is fast and clipped: definitely an American, the accent reveals all. Is she proud of her country? Does she support her leader? Her English is extensive, big words bubbling to the surface from time to time. Must be educated. Has she learned any other languages? Face freckled and pockmarked with youth, can’t be more than 20. Is she confident? Is she scared? Why is she here? Speaking. In the grand scheme of things I’ve lived a pretty privileged life. I’m thankful for it. It makes things easier. Born in Seattle to parents finally finding their feet after over a decade of relative poverty, I was taught from early age to recognize my privileges. There were many. I was born in an economically diverse neighborhood into a white and able body. My parents were white and both were college educated to varying degrees. We spoke with no so-labeled “foreign” accents and though baby sitters were a rare and often unaffordable luxury, I was able to attend the local preschool. A privilege less overt, in my life, at the sight of me, was the fact that I grew up with a mother who happened to study race and gender, who, for lack of other word, drilled me on my whiteness. Dinner table conversations revolved around the roles of perceived class, gender, and especially race in our lives; more than a few times the concept of meritocracy was aggressively attacked. I used to never, then always question these statements, often in these early exercises weighted down by an extraordinary sense of guilt. Over time education and understanding has surpassed any of my childhood white guilt. I am thankful for these lessons. I have learned that, while an uneven and unfairly granted one, my privilege is a gift. It is a gift which I have the opportunity to use in this fight to end this uneven distribution which has treated me so well. I can use my privilege, armed with understanding and humility, to end privilege. I only hope I may do my best.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorStudent at the University of Washington, Sophie Aanerud, will be studying abroad in Berlin, Germany. Here are some of her thoughts . . . Archives
August 2017
Categories |