Anger. Sadness. Frustration. Confusion. These feelings swirl within me as I grapple with the tragic loss of black lives at the hands of law enforcement.
I’m a Hispanic woman in my thirties, who doesn’t speak Spanish. My upbringing was marked by the shadows of drug abuse, alcohol, and domestic violence. I grew up in a neighborhood that wasn’t a complete ghetto but was still plagued by violence, gang culture, drug use, theft, and teenage pregnancies.
I attended a high school with a low academic rating, where the majority of my classmates were black and Hispanic, many of whom came from low-income families, just like me. I understand what it’s like to rely on food stamps and Medicaid, and I’ve witnessed family members cycle in and out of jail. I can empathize with many who face systemic disadvantages.
Fast forward to today, I hold a master’s degree, am married to a white man, and have two beautiful white daughters. We live in a comfortable suburban home, with the luxuries of two family cars and a stable income. Life, on the surface, seems idyllic.
Reflecting back, I recall a visit to a Louis Vuitton store over a decade ago. A well-dressed black security officer was monitoring me closely, which I understood given the circumstances. However, I felt a pang of irony, recognizing that he, a black man, was watching me. This was a moment where subconscious biases came to the forefront, pushing me to confront the uncomfortable realities around race.
When I first encountered the term “white privilege,” I was taken aback. It felt foreign and unjust. I had always believed that my family and I had worked hard for everything we attained. I was naive — I didn’t grasp the profound implications of white privilege. I thought it was merely an excuse used by discontented individuals who felt marginalized.
My perspective shifted dramatically about nine months ago. I engaged in an open dialogue with a close black friend, someone whose opinion I value. I didn’t challenge; I simply listened and sought to understand the nuances of white privilege and the black experience in America. It was enlightening.
When we choose to listen instead of speak, we open ourselves to transformative insights. I discovered that white privilege is not merely about individual accomplishments; it’s the comfort we experience in our daily lives, free from fear of harm due to our skin color. It transcends personal history or socioeconomic status — it reflects a systemic issue that, until recently, many of us failed to acknowledge.
A pivotal scene from the film Straight Outta Compton highlighted this for me. In it, members of N.W.A. face police aggression solely due to their race, while a white manager observes without concern. I realized that I would never have to endure such treatment; it simply isn’t a reality for me. That’s white privilege.
When I’m pulled over for a minor traffic infraction, I don’t fear for my life. That’s white privilege. When I shop, I’m not followed or suspected of theft. That’s white privilege. People don’t lock their doors when I walk by. That’s white privilege.
These are daily realities for many black individuals. I’ve read countless accounts of the incessant fear that pervades their lives. I believe that many of the recent victims would still be alive if they were white.
White privilege taught me that black lives matter.
I used to be one of those who stated, “all lives matter.” However, I’ve come to realize that it’s critical to emphasize “black lives matter” because white individuals in America don’t face the same struggles for equality, safety, and basic human rights. There’s never been a need to assert that white lives matter — that privilege is an unchallenged reality.
This isn’t about being anti-police; it’s a much larger issue that encompasses valuing human life and advocating for those whose lives have been devalued.
The pain and outrage within the black community are palpable, and it’s a sentiment we should all share. They seek understanding and to be heard; we must ask questions and truly listen. We need to stop speculating and justifying actions, focusing instead on empathy and comprehension.
Let’s share in the hurt, acknowledge the anger, and strive for change. It starts with us.
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In summary, the journey of understanding white privilege is essential for fostering empathy and promoting social justice. As we navigate these complex issues, it’s crucial to listen, learn, and advocate for the equality of all lives, particularly those that have been historically marginalized.
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