If I were black I'd likely be dead

I recently saw a Web video in which a 20-something, white male rants about how wrong it is to portray whites as privileged and blacks as not.  Loaded with falsehoods and generalizations I found it disturbing that some people actually think this way.

To really understand what privilege means in racial terms you have to understand the black experience and compare it to your own.  This means setting aside all your preconceived notions about race.  A constructive place to begin is with children simply because they are blameless and should not be penalized for the actions of their parents or guardians.

I work with black youth which has given me a greater appreciation of the subtle, yet significant privileges we have in white communities which we take for granted.  My childhood wasn’t exactly a cakewalk and yet I still had it far better than all the black kids with whom I’ve worked. 

I grew up with two alcoholic parents with frequent outbursts of reciprocal, spousal abuse.  My preschool bedwetting was likely precipitated by the trauma of hearing my mother’s screams and wails late into most nights.  It got so bad that they split up when I was entering second grade, but got back together five years later.  Even though my mother got sober during that hiatus, the fighting only got worse until my father left for good when I was in high school never to be seen again.

Burdened with six kids and no alimony or child support, my mother lost the house and everything else within five years.  I helped in any way I could financially and with my younger siblings, and still managed to work my way through college with some financial aid and grant money.  As my income rose over the years I was better able to support my mom ultimately buying her a co-op. 

It would be convenient to use my childhood experiences to criticize blacks for not overcoming their own adversities, but that would be as idiotic as the video that prompted this op-ed. 

Let me elaborate. 

Even though I was a marginal C student, much of my relative success in life came from attending good schools and influential community connections, both of which are lacking in black communities.

I benefited immensely from shared knowledge amongst my middle-class and upper-middle-class peers who learned from their successful parents.  My verbal and writing skills were effortlessly honed by association.  I learned about finance and career opportunities, even how to start my own business from them, and all my employment opportunities came through community connections.

None of this sharing of knowledge and opportunities is common in poorer communities because everyone is disadvantaged.  As an insecure teen and young adult I always had some degree of hope that I could survive on my own because I saw viable avenues to success.  That doesn’t exist so much in black communities.  All young children dream, but in the black experience those dreams often fade as they approach adulthood and see the world for what it is.    

Although somewhat advantaged I was still a very troubled, rebellious teen and young adult.  I engaged in all sorts of teenage vandalism, frequently confronted police officers, started doing drugs and alcohol at 14, occasionally dealt drugs, and got arrested for drunk driving when I was 17 just months after receiving my license. 

At 23, I was arrested again for DWI and while the arresting officer searched my car, I escaped into the night while handcuffed in a futile attempt to get to a friend who had bolt cutters.  Soon the neighborhood was swarming with county police and I was eventually found. 

As retribution, the police repeatedly tripped me so I would fall face-first into the concrete sidewalk; each time I would defiantly rise to my feet verbally abusing the officers in a manner far exceeding anything I’ve heard on smartphone videos capturing blacks being arrested and killed. 

In spite of all my transgressions my mother had attorney friends who always got me off with little or no punishment. 

Some of my siblings got into far more trouble and yet all six of us are somewhat  successful, not so much because we possess exceptional characteristics, but because the system is geared to forgive whites and punish blacks. 

If I were black and did the things I did, I’m convinced I would dead.  So when I honestly reflect back on my younger days and compare it to what I’ve witnessed in black homes, schools, and in the courts over decades, I know I was far more privileged than any black youth I ever met.  Privilege isn’t always tangible which is why we sometimes fail to recognize it.  When America wakes up to this reality, maybe we’ll start to see meaningful change in racial equality.

Lost and spellbound in a Montauk fog

When I awoke there was a thick fog engulfing the beach community where I live.  The forecast said it would clear by mid-morning and it did.  I filled my backpack with bottled water, goggles, and a towel in preparation for my routine, long-distance, ocean swim.  The water is still frigid so I slipped into my wetsuit and took Ibuprofen to ward off the aches and pains of aging.    

The swimming conditions were idyllic:  sunny, a gentle breeze, and tranquil water.  It was not long into my swim when I realized a dense fog bank had suddenly overtaken me.  Given I was roughly 150 feet offshore, I could barely see the beach.

The shoreline serves as a reference to keep me on a straight line and prevents me from inadvertently swimming out to sea.  Without seeing the beach a swimmer can easily become disoriented.

Although my initial reaction was to head to shore, the allure of the fog was intoxicating.  Swimming in the ocean is a very spiritual experience for me, and the fog only accentuated the mood.  I was in my own solitary world free of all the unpleasantness I left behind on dry land. 

I chose to continue my swim.  Why wouldn’t I? 

I didn’t want to return to people with their heads in the sand who brazenly ignore medical and scientific wisdom to blindly follow disingenuous politicians and business leaders who suggest we’ve essentially made it through the pandemic. 

I didn’t want to be reminded that the self-absorbed, young adults who recklessly and flauntingly disregard every precaution to stop the spread of the virus will soon be the caregivers for my generation in our final years. 

I didn’t want to return to watch people forsake the greater safety of all to indulge their own selfish needs and desires. 

And I didn’t want to return to the ubiquitous racism that has afflicted us since the days of slavery and the abhorrent behavior of those who devalue black lives. 

I realize I’m sounding like a misanthrope and maybe I am, but how can you not be disheartened by such ignorance, bias, apathy, selfishness, and violence that permeates America.

So I swam further and further.  I couldn’t see the typical landmarks on shore that tell me how far I’ve gone, but I sensed it was further than normal.  There was no fatigue in my stroke.  It was like I could swim forever in the peace and harmony of the fog-shrouded sea. 

I think it’s human nature for us to want to shut out the world when things are too unsettling or threatening which is why I found such solace in the fog.  But, nothing constructive occurs when we escape to our parochial comfort zones while forsaking the greater world around us.

I eventually returned to shore with cautious optimism that we might somehow come to appreciate our folly and turn a brief period of adversity and uncertainty into resolute solidarity and social progress.