White And Privileged

I have white privilege.  If I get stopped for speeding, it’s likely I’ll get a warning.  If I step into a crowded elevator, people won’t back away from me, unless I forgot to shower that morning.  If I walk into a liquor store with a hoodie on, no one asks me to put the hood down so the security cameras can see my face.  When I walk down a sidewalk, people won’t cross the street to walk on the other side.

When people see me, they don’t assume that I’m a troublemaker.  I could have the most vile of views, and yet if I showed up to march in support of my hatred, I’d not only get a permit, when violence arises, people would blame the protesters and not me.

I don’t worry about being pulled aside at the airport and being subjected to extra “security” measures.   No one will forcibly drag me from an airplane.  I don’t worry about random gunfire killing me in my living room.

White lives have always mattered in a country built around the concept that all people were created equal.  White Christian lives matter even more.

So yes, I am white and I am privileged.  And I am ashamed.  People like Peter Tefft of Fargo do not represent me.  I don’t want to make America hate again; we’ve had too much of that already.  I want to live in a country where my life matters just as much as anyone else.  Anyone else.  No exceptions, period.