White Priviledge, One Mom's Process

By Contributing Writer Danielle Dixon of Irving, California

When My Little Bear was a toddler, I was unprepared for how early she became aware of race. We passed an elderly woman of color in a store and my daughter questioned why she had "different skin than us." My heart sped up and I prayed for the words to answer my child’s innocent question in an age appropriate manner. I wanted to honor the woman nearby who was close enough to observe and hear my reply.

“Yes, God made us with all different colors of skin, you noticed! Some of us are pinkish, some of us are more tan, some of us are light brown, and some of us are darker brown, and there are so many colors in between. Isn’t it beautiful how God makes us all to look so different, but we are all his children?”

What does white privilege mean to you? 

For me, it meant that as a child, I could easily find dolls that resembled me. I saw children on posters and TV, and the little girls looked just like me. I was part of the majority culture—I was comfortable, and I was oblivious.  

As I became a teenager, I thought that living on the West Coast, eating ethnic food, and being friends with people of color somehow gave me a greater understanding… But I still didn’t get it.

In my twenties, I began listening more. It was uncomfortable, listening to friends of color share their experiences.  I slowly took in their stories—their lives—their trauma—I realized how I had continually benefited from the same systems that have oppressed them.  

I remember driving home from college and I got stuck behind a car going UNDER the speed limit. I impatiently passed them, glancing sideways. I noticed that the driver was a person of color. I sailed past, going comfortably over the speed limit—and for the first time in my white mind, I realized that even how I drive is a reflection of my privilege. I didn’t worry about being pulled over; cops aren’t going to pull over a white girl in her little white Beetle... Not everyone gets a free pass. Here I was, frustrated with a total stranger for carefully obeying the laws of the road—because I didn’t have to. Pretty entitled, right?

Once I began considering the areas of my life that my skin color had affected me, I saw it everywhere. I felt gross as I realized all of the ways that I had profited from this system, the implicit and explicit biases. There is no room for defensiveness in this, white fragility. If we say, “...but I am NOT a racist!”, suddenly, the conversation is focusing on us and is an egocentric, defensive reaction. It completely invalidates the trauma narratives shared. Is it any wonder that people of color are beyond exhausted from trying to explain this to us???

I don’t want this to be about white guilt; instead, we must lean into the pain and accept that all of us have played a role. For example, if one of my kids unintentionally hurts the other, I still expect an acknowledgement of the injury they caused. The affect trumps the intent. It doesn’t matter if you unwittingly participated in this broken system; the point is, most white people have. I now view this wrestling as a duty—as an imperative. I am part of the majority culture; I want the narrative to change. My heart breaks for parents that lose their beautiful boys to a modern-day lynching. I can’t imagine sending my girls out for a jog and having to worry if they would be gunned down. It’s atrocious. This is not a matter of politics—it is an issue of morality.

 

Obviously, white people cannot help that they are born white, but if privilege does not acknowledge itself—does not figure out how to use its power for good—then it becomes an instrument of harm, whether consciously or unwittingly. Once one becomes aware of their power, it MUST translate into a sense of duty. I often feel overwhelmed, as I wrestle with all of these injustices—I pray, I beg that God will open my eyes so that I don’t add to the wrongs, and so that I will continue to HEAR my family, friends, and neighbors as they mourn.  My efforts feel small; I pray that my girls will grow up to see a world of color, and that they will also learn to call out injustice—and that they will fight it.