[su_label]The Devil’s Advocate [/su_label]
Some are born privileged, some achieve privilege and some have privilege thrust upon them!
(Paraphrasing Malvolio, in “Twelfth Night,” by William Shakespeare. Malvolio uses “great” and “greatness” instead of “privilege.”)
If we are to begin a process of healing in this country, I firmly believe the first thing we all have to do is to examine the concept of privilege and how it applies to us—to all of us.
Nowadays, in the charged atmosphere that we humans from all corners of the world share, the term “privilege” makes some White people particularly sensitive: “Am I supposed to feel guilty?” “Is it my fault that I was born this color?” “Where am I privileged?”
In the context of what I call a “skin-deep society,” that worry based on color, although exaggerated, makes sense. It is difficult to pass cleanly through that first door of perception.
Being a “White Latino,” let me say something about this charged term, by offering myself as sample.
To begin with, I was born in Chile. I am taller than the average Chilean, white, blue-eyed. Growing up, even my mother called me her “little gringo!” (Note: she said it with love.)
From an early age, I noticed the often not-so-subtle ways in which my external reality would prompt others to treat me differently, and not always lovingly. The positive treatments, I generally took them for granted. The negative ones irked me.
For example, I remember when I was about 10, approaching a group of workers at a farmer’s market and seeing them whisper at each other, smiling, or laughing as I came closer.
Then, a couple of them began talking to each other in some tongue-twisting nonsense, pretending to be speaking English, or some other foreign language. I was a shy young boy, unable to answer anything clever. I just walked by, ashamed—a foreigner in my own land!
Later in life, I was able to respond when others came up with a similar nonsense: “What do you think? I am a Chilean, like you all!” I would vehemently protest. Instantly, those laughing would stop and blurt out some apology, placing themselves in the social category that the classist Chilean society established and that my appearance elicited: “I am sorry, patroncito! We thought that you were a…gringo!” “I’m not a gringo, man!” I would say. “And I’m not your patrón!”
Of course, I also have encountered many instances when doors opened for me, magically, when they should not have. Once, when I arrived at the airport in México City about 30 years ago, there was a long line of shorter, brown people, waiting to check in with the authorities. Most likely, all of them were Mexican. So, I dutifully stood behind them in line. Almost right away, an airport representative came and took me from that long line, apologizing: “Oh, no señor! You don’t have to stand there! Please, follow me!” I followed him, embarrassed, feeling the displeasure of those waiting in line on my back .
I think that I would have felt the same way if I was one of them… But I most likely I would have remained silent, like they did. The curse of the Malinche?
The same type of “favorable discrimination” (or privilege) happened to me many times, in different countries, even in revolutionary Cuba, so it is not just a Mexican curse.
Since we live in a “skin-deep” society, it is imperative to examine what kind of picture we paint at the door, by merely standing there. That picture, the first impression, is very important. It can mean the difference between falling in love at first sight… or falling dead at first sight.
Racial profiling is alive and well in the world. We are surrounded by stereotypes. Every day, around every corner we turn, we look at people for a brief instant and might (or will) categorize them and file them in the cabinet of our relative experiences—White man, Black woman, short, poor, ugly, potentially dangerous, beautiful, self-confident, afraid, shifty-eyed, nervous, pitiful and so on.
Since that is our reality, in spite of many of us being able to transcend assumptions based on first glances, it is important to realize how we act or react and how we are perceived by simply walking into a room being who we are, whether that be Black, White, Brown, male or female. All.
The relative privilege (or lack of thereof) given us according to our looks (and, of course, by the whole picture of who we are), demands a self-examination, a self-assessment. How we are perceived? How we do we perceive ourselves? How do we perceive others—beyond that initial first glance.
As a White Latino man I have been privileged, not just because of my external looks, but I was also privileged because I learned to read and write before I was 5, I grew up without television, I had loving parents and sisters, I was rarely hungry.
I can add that I have survived a brutal military coup (Chile, 1973), had the fortune of having been a teacher, father and grandfather and lover, and of having been able to travel. Also I am privileged because I have had time to think and converse, to dream, and to write this column.
Those are some of my privileges. What are yours?