The White Privilege of Anti-White Privilege Activists

The feedback from my post on white guilt has been both empowering and depressing—empowering because it seems to have touched many folks in a very positive way, but also depressing because so many people seem to find themselves in similar situations. The post has spawned some great conversations, for which I am thankful.

It may come as a surprise that I had a lot of trouble writing the post. Each word I typed brought up memories of that moment of injustice. Each sentence reminded me of my own silence that night in Ohio. And each paragraph reinforced my anger—anger directed at the racial arrogance of others, and anger directed at myself. I even had a physical reaction as I wrote: My shoulders tensed up, my jaw clenched, and my right leg started bouncing up and down. I was fired up.

As an undergraduate, I was known for speaking my mind in class. Sometimes this won me new friends, while other times it elicited a few dirty looks. In graduate school, one of my professors has even nicknamed me “the polemicist”—a title that apparently means “a person that puts forth controversial views” (I had to look it up). I’m not sure if this is intended as an insult or not, but even if it is, he’s right: If I feel strongly about a topic, you’ll know. I don’t—and I won’t—hold back.

My girlfriend refers to my angry rants as “passion”—passion for my work, passion for my studies, and passion for social justice. I just get caught up in he heat of the moment, letting myself go. It’s actually quite similar to the scene in Old School when Will Farrell’s character debates James Carville. Something just clicks in Ferrell, and he launches into a tremendously coherent, eloquent, and forceful position. He wins the debate by a landslide, turns to his teammates and asks, “What happened? I blacked out.” Now, I don’t exactly blackout during my diatribes, but you get the idea.

In part, I model my irreverence after some of my favorite progressive activists. Anti-racist activist Tim Wise, for example, is a fiery speaker. David Simon, creator of The Wire, is probably one of the most charismatic—and hilariously insolent—people I have ever heard speak. Both are tremendous educators on privilege and systemic inequality, both relay their messages with incredible ferocity, and both happen to be white. The connection between their race and the forceful tone in their tirades is not coincidental; they are allowed to be outspoken, angry, and polemic because of white privilege.

See, when I launch into a tirade against inequality in the criminal justice system or discriminatory land-use policies, my audience doesn’t really feel uncomfortable or scared. I can be loud without being threatening. When I get into my rants, my audience probably just thinks I’m passionate. As long as I’m not yelling, and my message is clear, people will listen. No one will write me off, make any negative assumptions about my background, or fear physical harm just because my tone was forceful or condemnatory.

Yet a person of color is not afforded the same privilege. Indeed, a black man with similar credentials and intellect would undoubtedly be viewed differently if he spoke in a domineering tone. Even if they are among friends, there is a fear—a fear I do not share—of being labeled “angry” and fulfilling centuries-old stereotypes of black masculinity. I will never suspect that people are afraid of me as a person; the thought won’t even cross my mind. As whites, we’re far less likely to be labeled “erratic,” “crazy,” or “out of control” than folks of color who relay the very same messages in the very same powerful tone. I never worry about fulfilling stereotypes of being loud, angry, or “ghetto”—stereotypes that might cause my audience to misinterpret or ignore my message. And that’s white privilege.

This isn’t really an abstract concept to grasp—just think back to the months leading up to Barack Obama’s election. Folks on the Right desperately tried to paint Barack and his wife Michelle as “angry” black separatists, while his campaign managers desperately tried to mitigate these stereotypical images. The attacks on Michelle Obama were particularly viscous, and particularly racially charged. Put simply, those same stereotypes of erratic, irrational anger do not apply to me. But the question is not whether all whites enjoy some degree of racial privilege (we do). Instead, we need to ask ourselves, is this a bad thing? Or, better yet, how can we use this for good?

I discussed this issue with shani_o, one of Postbourgie’s many excellent bloggers. She offered some great advice: “I think the key is being loud about the right things, acknowledging privilege, and not getting too far away from the people you're talking about.” There was something about those words that just spoke to me in a way I desperately needed to be spoken to.

Ironically, it is the most virulent, outspoken critics of white privilege that successfully employ that very same privilege they hold with such contempt. But if we follow shani_o’s advice—acknowledging our privilege, getting loud when we need to, keeping the folks we talk about close—there’s no reason to feel guilty. I’m privileged, and there’s not much I can do about it. Nor should I, as long as I use my privilege to educate others and promote a progressive agenda.