White Privilege

I sent the letter below to my College at Oregon State University today.

We have all watched the news about the brutal killing of Ahmaud Arbery while jogging, Breonna Taylor while sleeping, and George Floyd while asking police officers to let him breathe. President Ray and leaders at the local and national levels have spoken eloquently and wisely about the need for real changes that address not only better policing but addressing deeper issues of racial injustice rooted in more than 400 years of US history.

We can all help in making things better. One way to help, which connects the arc of the Black experience from the unarmed deaths of African Americans to the college classroom at OSU is to acknowledge and take responsibility for our own implicit biases and blindnesses. Let me start with my own.

I am a runner and have been since I was about 13. As I run trails and roads, sometimes in races, I have often noted how White my sport is, and it has puzzled me. I have occasionally mused over why there aren’t more Black runners. Sometimes I assumed it was because Oregon is a predominantly White place. Sometimes I assumed it was because of people’s individual preferences. These may play a role.

It wasn’t until I listened to an interview with Jonathan Capehart on Mother’s Day and read a piece that he wrote in 2014 after the police killing of another unarmed Black man, Michael Brown, that I better understood another reason: many African-Americans do not feel safe jogging. Because of implicit and explicit biases, many African-Americans (and others with darker skin) do not feel safe running on the same trails and streets on which I feel completely safe.

If my experience as a White male in something so simple as running can be so different from a Black male or female’s experience, how much different is my experience in a police encounter? How different is it in purchasing a home? Shopping in a department store? In a job interview? My children’s education in pk-12? In a science classroom at OSU? How many ways am I privileged as a White male that I do not even see? Undoubtedly, the answer is “many”.

So what am I/ are we to do? First, let’s acknowledge that biases are everywhere – within each of us, that racism is part of our society, our university, and ourselves, and that our Black neighbors, friends, and family members are harmed by these biases and racism. Second, let’s help each other to learn about these biases. Call it out (including to me) when you see it. Admit it to ourselves. Third, let’s talk about the role that race plays in our society and, if you are White like me (or have other privileges), let’s not be so fragile about it. Fourth, let’s do what we can to reduce the impact of biases and racism. Let’s find ways to instruct, advise, research, and co-work that acknowledge biases and racism, and find ways to overcome them. Fifth, when we see acts of bias and racism – intentional, unintentional or the result of the system – we must talk about them and call them out. Sixth, let’s make sure that every student at OSU – at this time, particularly, Black students – are made to feel welcome.

The spectrum of slights and abuses suffered by our Black brothers and sisters ranges from the “small” to the “large”. However, like Marilyn Frye’s birdcage, each of these slights and abuses forms a web of oppression that is interwoven, connected, and sometimes fatal. Let us all take steps to cut the cage open.