So I stumbled across an interesting post on ThoughtCatalog. For those who didn’t just up and leave me and go read that post (I mean that’s kinda rude I say one sentence and you just exit stage right…), the post was from a 20 something white woman who struggles to identify with her privilege. She talks about reverse racism, insensitivity to her sensitivity, and gives a unique perspective as a heel in a world evolving of more and more diverse faces. (Wrestling reference FTW). Are these inconveniences some kind of retribution for something she had nothing to do with? Is she supposed to harbor guilt because she was born without melanin? Can a white person have a plight? She ain’t got the answers Sway, hell Stan doesn’t either. The comments were full of bitter resentment for POC, some told their own story of reverse racism, growing up around black people and being picked on for being the white guy on the block, or maybe they just watched 8 mile.
She did come off as whiny publishing a blog to hundreds of thousands of people to vent about jokes and not being able to just be a victim sometimes. I’d let Amy Schumer roast me for 3 hours if it meant I didn’t have to be stopped by police randomly and have my name ran. Not amused by “Becky” jokes, Shantae just got her resume skipped over because her name is Shantae. I’d gladly trade places, (well no I wouldn’t I don’t think I’d make an attractive white man, I’d probably look like Fred Durst.).
Perhaps I’m being a bit harsh, lets take it down a few notches….
I will say that we all have some sort of privilege in some form or fashion. I’ll never truly understand how a woman feels when she sees a bunch of “b itches ain’t sh t” tweets. I can empathize as a human, as a compassionate person but I’ll never quite…get it. I’m thought back to discussions I’d have with M, she’d point out when I’d say a joke like “what’s white people’s obsession with salted caramel all of a sudden” and while I might roll my eyes initially I can take a step back and realize, yeah had she made a watermelon joke I’d have some words. Where the author lost me was the idea that she was a victim of her own privilege, perhaps she’s a few years too young to understand the real moral of the story, know when to sit one out.
Essentially that’s what “privilege” boils down to; you don’t get it so shut the fuggup. The man with 3 jobs trying to make ends meet don’t want to hear about some damn pick yourself up by your bootstraps, black women are playing tiny violins for the white women feel some type of way about “black love”, a woman concerned about her personal safety gives no fux what I feel about street harassment. The author said she couldn’t have opinions because she was white, and she was half right, she can’t have an opinion on racism because she has no idea what racism really feels like. And trust, she’s mighty blessed not to.