Not a Burden.
Because of the way I look, people make assumptions.
It is assumed that because I am I, middle aged and lily white that I am racist.
Sure, I am. Just a little bit. Most people are. I don’t want to be. I know better.
Yet it is assumed.
I feel the need to send out the counter signal. Smile, nod, be friendly. Even when I’m not feeling that way. Maybe I should wear a shirt. or hat.
Oh. poor me.
But that’s not just the way it’s been for generations of people of color and women in this country, that’s the way it is today. Wear two faces because you must. For safety.
I walk outside and I am annoyed. Disappointed in my brethren. We run things and this giant effing truck commercial is the best we can do? What is wrong with you? and I shake my head.
What’s mildly distressing to me from my high place of white male privilege, is a danger to POC. Step out of line, forget who runs things, frightening people will let you know they have the violence to enforce things.
They speak up more now, these self appointed enforcers.
I hear things on the bus. The homeless guy I was having a conversation with begins spouting anti hispanic slurs. Words I’ve never heard before but the story is the same. Their fault he can’t get landscaping jobs, their fault he’s the creep in the trailer park nobody likes. Better to believe that than do any self examination.
I don’t know why, but it *hurts* me to hear him say these things. Hurts me to write about it. I get angry quickly, in that moment. I hold it in, kept silent by hoping he’ll just stop. I see a woman walk on I think I see she’s darker skinned than I, but by now I’m so angry, “seeing red” that my vision is focused. Mostly on not confronting. Not making a scene. But. I cannot. “STOP TALKING” I tell him. He says something about “see?” “I KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO SAY SOMETHING MORE. I KNOW IT’S RACIST AND I NEED YOU TO STOP TALKING NOW.” something about “can’t say who talks and doesn’t- and you’re talking” “WE’LL BOTH STOP TALKING AND I’M GOING TO STOP TALKING. RIGHT NOW.”
whew.
It… worked. he stopped.
The air is a bit heavy, I know. But the rage inducing assault on my ears has stopped. I really didn’t have much to say anyway.
I guess it’s too heavy for him in here. He hits a button to open the door and goes outside to smoke. Wise I guess. My White Male Privilege(TM) outranks his. F***. If this how I get this small victory, I guess that’s how I’ll take it.
My wife and I move a seat back. The woman introduces herself. Lydia. A former Marine. A professional. Doing the diligence of a divorce.
She… thanks me.
I am Moved.
She uses the word “hero”. I blink. She’s talking about what I did. It’s Veteran’s Day today and her… she said… The unfairness of it shames me.
It wasn’t for her. I was being selfish. I could-not-take-it-anymore. But I was doing something right. For one person. That’s… a place where I’ll take my white male privilege and stand on it.
Smile and spread joy even if you don’t feel like it.
Make things better by just being a more privileged a** than a racist.
Woke Man’s Way.
