Owning White Privilege

I’ll never forget the first time I was confronted with the notion of White Privilege.

It was back in 2016 when I was a first-year graduate student, eating lunch with a handful of new students and a Leadership professor. An African-American classmate asked me, point blank, “are you aware of the role that White Privilege has played in your life?”

The table fell silent. I remember thinking, “Wow…that’s aggressive.”

I felt judged. Instinctively, I wanted to retort with something resembling, “But I’m not racist. I’m not the enemy here.” I struggled to answer. Whatever I said, it wasn’t heartfelt and candid – it was meant to quell the awkwardness. I left that table feeling confused and frustrated.

What I know now is that my instinct of feeling judged and my inability to thoughtfully respond was emblematic of something more insidious. White Privilege had been working in my favor in both subtle and obvious ways since birth. It was an advantage bestowed to me simply because of my Caucasian parents. It just hadn’t occurred to me. I had literally never thought about it. And when confronted with it, I refused to admit it.

Call it ignorance, call it cowardice – either way, I’m not proud of that moment.

This feels awful to say, but it’s true – White Privilege is a blanket I’ve lived in my entire life. Here’s an example:

It was a beautiful Summer day in 2002. I was 18, driving my parents’ car way too fast on I-87 north of Albany, NY with the windows down and the music up. The policeman who pulled me over laughed when I told him that I was doing “around 80 miles per hour.”

I remember the next part vividly. “91,” he said curtly. “91 in a 65.” He shook his head like a disappointed uncle.

He asked me where I lived and how old I was. Then he asked me if I was going to college. “Yes, I’m going to the Naval Academy in a month. I want to be a pilot.”

“Well, that figures,” he says with a bit of a smirk. “You really need to slow down.”

When the officer returned from his car, he explained that he was writing me a ticket for 84 in a 65, which kept me just below the rather punitive threshold of 20 mph above the limit. He wished me good luck, told me to slow down and drive home, and then I was on my way.

That, my friends, is White Privilege.

For millions of other people who don’t look like me, that situation plays out differently. It happens every day. Replace the small talk about college with “Keep your hands where I can see them.” Maybe they're asked to step out of the car, and maybe that car is searched as backup is called. Tensions flair. An argument ensues. Lives are altered. (This isn’t an article about statistical analysis and racial disparities during routine traffic stops – but I challenge anyone to do even a cursory amount of research here and tell me that you don’t see evidence of racial bias.)

What I’m about to say isn’t groundbreaking – but for me, it’s the first time that I’ve really felt it deep within my soul as a White male: We must actively engage in the conversation about racial injustice in America, confront unconscious biases, and own up to the White Privilege that has shaped our lives. By doing so, we call out the inequality that continues to systemically challenge the human rights and basic freedoms of our minority brothers and sisters.

Glen Jackson, my company’s Chief Diversity Officer, puts it in a better way: “We need to have a series of hard conversations that help lift our collective consciousness so that we might appreciate what it’s like to be discriminated against because of the color of your skin, what you believe or the way you just are.” Bingo.

White Privilege doesn’t define who I am, but it’s certainly a part of who I am. To deny that is to deny the systemic racial injustices that continue to tear at the seams of this nation. Here’s what else I’ve learned in the past two weeks: As a white person, it’s not enough to just “not be racist.” That’s too passive. It isn’t working. The importance of this moment compels us to think and act in new ways. As a starting point, I’m inviting you to share a story about White Privilege in your life. Does it feel awkward? Embrace it. Does it make you uncomfortable? Perfect – own it. Post something and use the hashtag #OwnWhitePrivilege.

This isn’t about feeling guilty. It’s about having the courage to contribute to the conversation, acknowledge the flaws in our imperfect system, and to be a force for change rather than a bystander. 

Some might say that LinkedIn isn’t the place for a post like this, that perhaps it’s too political or could have unintended consequences. I emphatically disagree. LinkedIn is the natural habitat of the leaders, managers, scholars, activists, and practitioners who are poised to make real change happen. This is precisely where these important conversations should play out, even if they come with some degree of risk. I accept that risk, because the upside (an America that lives up to the words of its own Constitution) is so profoundly worth it.