* this post is part of the june synchroblog, which was focused on “what is in our invisible knapsack”–the unearned privilege that many carry and how we can participate in changing deeply grooves systems that are built on it. i wrote this post almost exactly a year ago, previously called white privilege, male privilege, straight privilege, economic privilege, but thought i’d repost it as part of this conversation. other links are at the bottom of this post.  my feeling on the topic is still the same–any  hope for change starts with listening, really listening, to each other.

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i will never know what it’s like to be a person of color.  i can only listen and learn from my friends & family who are.

i will never know what it’s like to be gay.  i can only listen and learn from my friends & family who are.

i will likely never know what it’s like to be poor and live in section 8 housing.  i can only listen and learn from my friends & family who are.

but i do know what it’s like to be a female leader in a man’s world.  what it feels like to be excluded. what it feels like see doors open & checks written & support given to men-with-the-connections while i struggle and scrape.  what it’s like to be on the underside of power and how it creates a lot of shame.

and those who are men in similar positions can never know what it’s like.  they can only listen and learn from their friends & family who are women.

white privilege, male privilege, straight privilege, economic privilege are real.

i’ve heard it dismissed sometimes, heard white people talk about “the minorities get all the jobs and get to go to the top of the line now”.  heard men talk about “i don’t know what women are talking about, we ask them to be part but they always say no.“  heard straight people talk about “gay people have more rights now than i do” and economically stable people talk about “if those poor people would just work harder & smarter they wouldn’t have so many problems.”

it’s so easy to talk when we don’t know what it feels like to be another person, to walk in another person’s shoes.

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I lived in Tacoma, Washington for the last two years of my life (summer 2009-summer 2011.) I got a master’s degree in leadership (although I’m still not really sure what that means), held three teaching assistantships, and did an internship with the Center for Transforming Mission.  Now, I am back in Guatemala. I returned three months ago and I am continuing to re-enter my context and getting used to the differences in food, safety, and weather. During my time in Tacoma I became aware of the different racial, social and education dynamics surrounding me. I got used to people being scared of me (I assume because I am a 6’2” Guatemalan with long hair and a beard), people following me around the store (just in case I would break something of course), and people being surprised by my ability to speak English and play the piano. The latter, I assume, was because we Guatemalans do not have pianos and English teachers on this side of the border. I felt and dealt with what it is to be treated as a minority.

During my first week back in Guatemala, I thought things would return to normal where I was part of the majority population, a brown guy surrounded by brown people. But I was surprised.  People still follow me around the store, move to the other side of the street when they see me walking and are surprised that I speak English. What I find more interesting is the fact that being “white” is still better in a “brown” context.

Not too long ago I had a really intense experience when I went to the bank with a friend from the United States. We were in Antigua, which is a beautiful city and was originally the first capital city of Guatemala. My friend and I went to exchange some money at the bank. When we got to the front desk my friend realized he did not have his passport, so he asked me to exchange the money for him. I was getting ready to make the transaction when the bank attendant told me, “I cannot exchange the money for you.” “Why is that?” I asked. “Because you are Guatemalan and you do not have an account with us.” For a moment I felt really offended and discriminated against, so I did not answer immediately. After a few seconds I asked, “Are you telling me that I cannot exchange dollars in my own country because I am not white and I am Guatemalan?” “That is exactly what I am saying sir,” she replied. She looked to the security officers and in a matter of seconds both of the guards were right behind me ready to escort me out of the bank. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I have two legs and I can walk.” I talked to my friend, in English because he does not speak Spanish at all, and when they heard me speaking in English they relaxed and left me alone.

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When I took up the cross, I recognized its meaning….  The cross is something that you bear, and ultimately that you die on… And that’s the way I’ve decided to go.                          

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. May 22, 1967, Penn Community Center, Frogmore, South Carolina

Editor’s note: In light of the recently revised Huckleberry Finn we thought this article was timely.

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell.” 

These are the courageous words of Huck Finn in Marks Twain’s classic Huckleberry Finn.  Huck is a 13 year old white boy growing up in pre-Civil War American South, helping a runaway slave, “nigger Jim” escape to freedom.  Huck’s declaration is the moral center of the story and a beautiful illustration of Good News.  

The 1850 Fugitive Slave Law made it illegal to aid or abet a runaway slave and required that every U.S. citizen assist in the capture of runaways.  Huck believes (as he was taught) that by helping Jim he will not only suffer the wrath of the law, but also the wrath of God himself.  Huck is convinced that he will be sent to hell for helping Jim escape slavery.

Suffering under the weight of this moral dilemma Huck decides to write a letter to Jim’s “owner” Miss Watson, and turn in Jim.  By returning Jim to slavery Huck would free his conscience and his soul from eternal damnation.  After writing the letter Huck begins to reflect on his relationship with Jim, their journey together down the Mississippi river, and the deep friendship they had formed along the way.  Yes, Huck had become friends with Jim.  This realization does something to Huck – something for which his upbringing, culture, theology and even his God had not prepared him for – that “nigger Jim” is not just a runaway slave.  Nigger Jim is a human being.  Unthinkable! 

Huck is completely undone by this realization.  He tears up the letter, convinced that by doing so he is condemning himself to hell.  As a result, Huck’s adventure takes a huge turn.  Huck is undergoing grace – the kind that empowers one to risk it all for the sake of those we love.  The kind of grace that frees us to forsake our culture, our religion and even our God when they keep us from doing good. 

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell,” Huck declares.

 Salvation has come and it has come to both Huck and Jim.  They are of one piece.  Their stories are bound together and inseparable.   These fugitives become radically united symbols of freedom in their rebellion to the powers that hold them hostage.

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I don’t do talk radio, period. So my wife tells me that I’ve missed out on a great opportunity in the past week to become annoyed with the flood of callers expressing shock and outrage that Barack Obama has remained in a church where his pastor occasionally preached bitter denunciations against racial oppression in America.

While this is not a political blog per se (i.e. we don’t endorse – or denounce – candidates), the blend of religion, race, and social change in this conversation is right in the center of our sights.

I’m not writing this post to explain, much less justify, Jeremiah Wright’s more controversial sermons. Rev. Wright isn’t looking for my help, after all. And truthfully many of his words deeply offended my own patriotic sensibilities as I watched him deliver them on YouTube.
But I have had a thought over the last couple of days that might provide at least one small window into the tradition from which Rev. Wright speaks. White Christians, like me, need many such windows at this time to help shed light on that which, through ignorance, we do not understand.

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May 1st 2006 marked the first time I ever participated in any kind of rally, and I have decided to share with you some photos from the event. I took my daughters that day, and it turned out to be a very special day for us as we learned more about our heritage, our rights, and our struggle to find our identity.

I’ll say a few things on each image to let you know the story.

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