My Big Fat White-Privileged Life

White privilege, or at least how to blog about my take on it, has been on my mind of late.

I'll start here: This morning I was going about 75 on a freeway with a speed limit of 55. So were most of the folks around me. We were on a stretch of freeway that is a known speed trap. I was distracted and wasn't thinking. So I swore at myself when I flew by the traffic cop and saw him pull out and turn on the lights. Then I breathed a big sigh of relief when he pulled over another car and not me. I tried to look to see if the driver was black, but I couldn't tell.

The fact is that if he was black, he was much more likely to be pulled over and ticketed than me. Driving While Black (DWB) is all too real (Click on that link! It goes to "Why it Matters: The Connection of Driving While Black To Other Issues of Criminal Justice and Race," by David A. Harris).

Driving While White (DWW) is also a fact. Here are the two ways white privilege plays into this story. First, as already noted, I am less likely than a black person to be pulled over and ticketed due to my white skin. Second, I can drive around every single day with less worry about being pulled over for speeding, a broken tail light, a trinket hanging from my rear view mirror. This makes for less stress and anxiety in life, which in turn improves my over quality of life and well-being. And we wonder why diseases like high blood pressure are higher in African American communities? Come on.

True story: My daughter called me in tears a couple of months ago because a cop had pulled her over for a broken side mirror, and while she was stopped, her four year old daughter unbuckled herself from her car seat and he slapped her with another $150 fine for having a child not properly secured in the car. She's fighting that one in court. But did that happen because she is black? Or poor and in an old car with problems? Both? Yes or no. That's the crazy making. You both know and don't know. Every time.

As anyone who is a person of color knows implicitly, these driving stories are a couple of about 100,000 examples I could have pulled out about how we white people have it easier because of unearned racial privilege. But because most white people live in a place of complete unconsciousness about this privilege, we are clueless we are enjoying it each and every day.

Or if we do become aware of our privilege, our first reaction is to feel guilty, or to get really defensive, which is such a waste of energy. It is what it is. We could make so much more progress if we could just get over our guilt and stop running around trying to prove we aren't prejudiced.

When my kids were little (over 20 years ago), I flung myself passionately into "Racism 101," driven by my desire to be a good mom for my biracial children. (If you don't know what "Racism 101" means, read this great post at Racialiscious. It's also the title of a terrific book by Nikki Giovanni.) I was on a mission to become culturally competent. To not be one of "those" white parents of black children. I was over the top. I even recall tallying up the racial mix at my kids' birthday parties, making sure there was good representation. Ouch.

But all that effort was, in the end, a good thing. I obsessed my way, slowly, into real cultural competence. I get racism and privilege in a way that most white people don't (but almost not at all in comparison to a person of color, who lives with that oppression).

My life over the last 30 years has slid from a mostly white world and worldview to a place somewhere on a bridge between black and white. When a friend who is black tells me, "You're really just one of us now," I take it for the huge compliment that it is meant to be but I also cringe.

Privilege, at its core, is about power and choice. The truth is, I could choose at any time to walk away from the life I've made and disappear back into the great wide world of white people (not that I would do this, but the choice is there).

Which brings me to this: Having privilege of any kind feels good, even if we don't want it to. It is benefiting us even as we work to dismantle it or at least to put it to good use. Think of what could happen if we would just 'fess up about that truth and get on with it.

The racist right gets this of course, and it's why they are is so terrified of Obama -- he symbolizes a threat to their privilege. Our privilege.

I will end with a nod to the comedian Louis CK. Please take another few minutes and watch this video of his bit on why it feels so great to be a white male -- the first funny thing I've ever seen a white person do on white privilege. He speaks the truth and it's funny as hell.

Oh the Exes We Know

This is a poem I wrote and performed about a year after meeting my spouse Susan. I had been on a run of passionate serial monogamy for more than a decade that was both thrilling and devastating. This poem was my swan song to that time, and to "all the girls I'd loved before, who traveled in and out my door..."

Oh the Exes We Know
(with apologies to Dr. Suess)

Oh the places we’ll go
For women to meet
We’ll search high and search low
For the lovers we seek.

Look at her! Look at her!
I’m in for a treat!”

But then, OH NO!
It’s over it ends!

But with brains in our heads and hearts on our sleeves
We pick ourselves up and onward we go!
We can find true love, this we do know.

And our ex list? Well…
It just grows and it grows.

Yes indeed, oh the exes we know.

Take me for example
My story is not at all boring you’ll see.

With brains in my head
And my heart on my sleeve
I’ve steered myself in any direction I please.

I’ve looked down the streets, looked ‘em over with care.
But then that voice in my head says
Oh please don’t go there!

But oh the adventure!
Ignoring that voice I went to those places
I did yes I did!
So many places and so many faces

Now I’m swimming in exes
Drowning in exes

X marks the spot!!

Look at ‘em all!

All those exes I know!!

Why I’d be a hub on the L-Word chart
With reckless abandon I’ve dated them all

Free spirits, control freaks, and cheaters (galore)
Rebounders, questioners, transitioners, and more
Why I’ve even dated a psycho girl… or four.

You too?

But wait! Stop! Stop this poem!
Stop it right now!

Let’s look in the mirror
What do we see?
If we’ve dated problem girls,
Could the problem be we?

So lets quit calling names.
Our exes aren’t evil! Our exes aren’t bad!
They’re just special people we’ve loved and we’ve had.
Please don’t stay mad.

They’re still in our hearts
A part of our past
They’re with us forever.
Love does really last.

Why without naming names
What a treat, what a joy,
There are exes of mine right here in this place.
I see you, I see you, your cute little faces!

Oh thank you! I love you! It was fun while it lasted!
I’m glad we got through it!
I’m glad we got past it!

Yes its true, everybody,
With brains in our heads
And hearts on our sleeves
We’ve steered ourselves through
All those people we choose.

So whatever your fate
Keep your heart open wide
Go out on that date!
It’s worth it all right!

Go find those wild places
With dances and chances
For big new romances (or whatever your wish is)

Bring all the ex memories you’ve lodged in your heart
It’s not too much baggage
Really it’s not
Because as you know
In the end…
Every last ex just helped us to grow.

2005

A loving kind of day, or is it?

June 12, 2009. Today we note two anniversaries, both that are indelible marks in our country's civil rights struggle.

1. On this day in 1963, Medger Evers, a champion for civil rights, was assassinated outside his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Byron De La Beckwith, a white supremacist and card carrying member of the KKK. Beckwith was not convicted until 1994. Medger Evers is a hero for our time and a martyr in our struggle for racial justice.

2. On this day in 1967, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, in Loving v. Virginia, that the state of Virginia's anti-miscegenation law (miscegenation laws banned interracial marriages) was unconstitutional, and thereby ended all race-based marriage restrictions in the country.

Two vastly different events, one tragic, the other celebratory, both linked forever in time by their shared anniversary and role in moving our country closer to racial justice and civil rights for all.

We've come along way in the last half a century, the most obvious symbol of our progress being the election of Barack Obama as president -- a Black man who is biracial (and whose parents' marriage would have been illegal in some states when he was born).

At the same time, these anniversaries give me pause given current events of this day and week:

An 88-year old white supremacist man who openly harbored hatred for Jewish people (and also believed Obama caused the Holocaust), opens fire at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, killing a guard, Stephen Tyrone Johns, who was African American and father of an 11 year old son).

And then there is the daily racism, like this: A friend twitters today that he's on a plane and notices, once again, the flight attendant greets the people in front of and behind him (who I presume were white), but ignores him -- a dreadlocked, dark skinned black man.

And what about the reverse-racist nonsense regarding Sonia Sotomayor, President Obama's nominee to the Supreme Court? It is such raw evidence of the ignorance of white people about our own privileged world view. (Watch for a post dedicated entirely to white privilege. In the mean time, check out this post on Cinna.mn: Facing Race Ambassador Awards with Peggy McIntosh.)

So now let's add DOMA and the Obama Adminstration's defense of it to this stew. For a nice round up of this news and response to it, head over to the ever sharp Pam's House Blend.

While I don't agree with those who feel Obama needs to put gay marriage at the top of his agenda, I am disappointed that his administration is defending DOMA, which is a hateful piece of legislation. Repealing it is as necessary as was the repeal of miscegenation laws 50 years ago. Dismantling DOMA is Loving v Virginia for the 21st century.

It all comes to this -- those who believe that Obama's post racial America means that racism, hatred, and oppression are over are terribly naive (and likely white). The struggle for racial justice continues, as do acts of racism, each and every day. Racial disparities are greater than ever.

But make no mistake, the fight for marriage equality is on. It is part of -- not separate from -- our fight for civil rights.

The blogger Dana Rudolph notes in a post that in 2007, Mildred Loving said, "I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry." (Read a great account of the story of Mildred and Richard Loving here: Never Mind the Race Haters, Remember Loving Day, by John Ridley. His post also helps explain how this rambling post ties together)

Perhaps some day in the not-too-distant-future we will have a new anniversary to observe -- the day the Supreme Court (because that is where it will land) will overturn some state's law prohibiting gay marriage (or DOMA itself) and the U.S. will be one step closer to equal rights under the law for all.

(OK, I know I've done about three posts on this topic, but the news just keeps bringing it around again and again!)

Why did Dove's pro-age campaign fail?

I loved that commercial! When Dove launched it's Pro Age campaign in 2007, I wept (for real!) when I first saw some of the ads. I was so used to commercials hawking "anti-aging" miracles, I hadn't realized how vast the void was, how hungry I was for anything "pro age." So I wrote them and told them so and bought all the products in the line -- just to support the campaign. Within a year I had to search to find the stuff. Today, the products are all but gone from the shelves and the campaign is but a whisper on Dove's Web site.

What gives? Did women shy away from embracing their age? Are we so conditioned to do everything we can to "look and feel younger" that we can't love the age we're in?

At least there's this: My 23-year-old daughter caught on to my excitement over the campaign and bought shampoo and lotion for me as gifts. When it got hard to find, she'd still buy it for me when she saw it (and she is broke as in no extra cash at all). Maybe, just maybe, the "pro age" positive message is now embedded somewhere in her soul, so that as she ages, she'll define her beauty by where she is at 40, 50, 60 and on, not by a day gone by.

Thank you Dove, for the positive campaign. I miss it.

Blogging for LGBT Families Day -- Filling with Joy

I came out in my thirties -- a fierce act of courage to live my life in truth. I had been in a decent marriage of many years and had two grade school-aged kids. For some time I couldn't imagine disrupting their lives and causing them hurt for the sake of my happiness. Then, at some point, I couldn't NOT let my messy life tumble out into the full light of day. My prayer and hope then was that the example I gave of insisting on being true to yourself would outweigh the hurt for my kids (and their dad) of their family being torn in two.

Today we are not torn, we are all still a family, rearranged but together nonetheless. My ex-husband and I are both remarried to great spouses in better, happier marriages, and my kids are now young adult parents making their way with the support of more people, not less, who love them and claim them as family.

Below are excerpts from a longer piece that is my coming out story -- from the time just before and just after I made that big leap.

From "Filling with Joy," 1993

1991

We call it the best and the worst. It is our family's favorite dinner-time ritual. We begin by deciding who goes first, second, third and last. Usually its a free-for all. "I go first!" says Miles, who is eight. "Me second!" says Alyssa, who's five. Robert and I take the remaining spots. Once the order is decided, each of us tells what was the best thing and the worst thing about our day.

My best is this nice dinner we're having.

My worst is that Alyssa is making too much noise.

My best is that when we were on the bus, well Izzy was sitting next to me and these two boys tried to take her hat, so we told the bus driver and they had to sit in the front of the bus and the driver wrote them up and me and Izzy got to eat candy all the way to school.

My worst is that in school Ben kept disturbing the whole class and being really bad and the teacher had to send him to the principal and call his mom. He really annoys me.

My best is sitting here with my family.

My worst is that I have a lot of laundry to fold tonight.

My best was snuggling with Alyssa this morning. My other best was playing Monopoly Junior with Miles after school.

My worst is that I had too much to do at work today.

When we do this telling of the best and worst, over spaghetti and apple juice or pork chops and mashed potatoes, at a kitchen table sticky with breakfast leftovers, we are circling in, circling around each other, belonging to each other, kissing ourselves with our stories, except for this:

My secret worst — My life feels like a lie.

1992

We have a tradition of story telling among our friends. We get together once a month at each other's homes. We patiently smile as the little kids read their boring, beginning books out loud. The adults tell stories, share their writing, or read passages from favorite books. Lately, a few of the pre-adolescent girls have been reading stories about struggling with loneliness, feeling different and out of step. The stories make me cry.

Tonight, one family is telling of how they came out to their new community, a small, liberal, college town about an hour from the city. The two moms laugh easily, happily volleying the details of the story back and forth. Their kids, aged three and four, are each snuggled up on a lap. One of the moms was asked to share her recipe for chicken and pesto sauce in the community newspaper. They decided to have the photographer take a family photo for the story. So there they are, lesbian and interracial, in the "favorite recipes" corner of the paper, an all-American family. They are smiling broadly to the world.

I walk to the edge of the chasm of my split life. I brace myself for change.

1993

I can't believe I'm here. I'm thirty-seven years old, in the middle of the dance floor at this bar, surrounded by lesbians and am completely happy. I'm dancing exactly on beat, something I thought I was incapable of doing. Not only am I dancing on beat, I'm looking hot —I'm too sexy for myself / I'm too sexy for my shirt/out on the catwalk — the music throbs and I cannot get enough. In the bathroom I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cannot believe how great I look — I 'm not used to perceiving myself as good looking. I'm attracted to at least half of the women packing the bar. I remember how much I love making out. I start wearing make-up again, and tank tops, to show off my muscled arms. I do flips off the diving board with my kids at the pool. I prepare to leave my marriage. I recover my sense of humor. I buy some silky lacy underwear, new boots and tight jeans to celebrate. I practice saying dyke. I practice saying I am a dyke. I practice saying I am a thirty-seven year old baby dyke and blush routinely. I fill with joy.

~~~

Update: OK, I didn't know what "Blogging for LGBT Families Day 2009" was. I just saw it on a post at Up Popped A Fox's blog (well, first Facebook) and thought, "Cool! I want to do that!" So now I have realized it is a whole big deal and there is a huge list of blogs you can peruse at Mombian: Susatance for Lesbian Moms. Check it out!