Owning My Privilege

Over two years ago, I had the opportunity of a lifetime. I was selected as the 2018 Kansas Teacher of the Year. People often ask me what was the most memorable experience of my year. Surprisingly, it was not being at Google headquarters, the Super Bowl, Space Camp, or even the White House. There was one small moment that has left the biggest impact on my heart. It has changed me, for good.

The 2018 State Teachers of the Year at the
ETS Campus in Princeton, NJ.

While at the Educational Testing Service main campus in Princeton, NJ, the state teachers of the year participated in an activity where we were asked to sit in groups of four so that we could role-play a scenario. The roles were: an administrator, a teacher, a student, and a parent. We were given a prompt: as an administrator, you have a teacher who is changing his/her level of questioning when Black students are called upon in class vs. white students. We were told these actions have been documented and observed, suggestions have been made, but no changes have resulted. How would you address this issue with your teacher?

I took one of the four chairs in my group, and it turns out that I was seated in the administrator role. “Ok, I can do this,” I thought to myself. I am, after all, a principal’s kid, so I figured I could rely on that knowledge. It was just a role-playing activity, right? But doubt began creeping in. Before speaking, I began running scenarios in my head. I remember thinking that I did not feel equipped to know how to proceed with this situation. I had never been in or seen an experience like this. When the time came, I tackled the issue the best way I knew how. I talked about the teacher’s lower level of questioning. At this time my own white fragility surfaced. Because in my heart I believe I am a good person and would never intentionally treat someone like that, I avoided the issue of racism.

When I was calmly and safely asked by our group’s facilitator Josh Parker, the 2012 Maryland Teacher of the Year, why I did that -- I had no answers. I simply cried. And I couldn’t stop. I cried because I did have answers, and I was ashamed of them. I knew I had avoided the hard questions because I did not have the skill set or knowledge to address this. I naively and selfishly thought there was no way this would happen in a classroom. I stepped away from the hard question and tried to make everyone comfortable. That was wrong. It was during this short activity that I realized that being kind was not enough, and that there was a difference between being an ally and an advocate. It was at this time that I vowed to do the work, the hard work that social justice requires. And I knew I had to start with me and my own biases and privilege. 

In the past 18-months, I have been trying to figure out how to to put this into words. I have written this, rewritten this, asked for critical voices and feedback -- all knowing that I will not get it all right the first time. Looking back, I did not have the words I needed to talk about this because I had not started the work to learn about myself and about racism.

Two years ago, I didn’t know the difference between racism, “non”-racism (which is still racism), and anti-racism. I thought racism was a pattern of behavior or language towards others who are not white. I didn't understand that racism was structural - that systems and policies have been put into place that perpetuate it. I didn’t know about the school-to-prison pipeline. I didn’t know how dress codes and school rules about haircuts and hairstyles disproportionately affect students of color. I didn’t know how reading the “n--” word in a work of classic literature could be traumatizing for my students of color. I simply did the best I knew how to do -- I tried to be kind and model that for my own children and my students. I did my best to land on the side of what is just and what is kind, but to simply stand on that side is not enough. And now I know better.

You see, learning like this requires a person to accept that their past actions and words may be rooted in racism. Intentional or not. It also requires a person who is willing to own up to what they have done and vow to work to do better each day -- fully knowing there will be days that you mess up, are knocked on your ass, and cry. This work forces people to look at their own privilege and assess whether their lives have been made more difficult because of the color of their skin, who they love, or their religious beliefs. It forces a person to seek out voices of color - to decenter the whiteness that fills my timeline, my bookshelves, and the curriculum I teach. It forces me to listen more than I speak, to accept others experiences as true and important, and to be willing to assess how I can change my own actions as a result of this knowledge.  

Over the past few weeks, I have watched citizens gather at state capitols, armed with guns to protest their government, which they have the right to do, but it is impossible to notice that these protestors are mainly white. If this demonstration was held by people of color, it would be called a riot. 

A few weeks ago, I learned of a man named Ahmaud Arbery  who went out for a run, in the middle of the day, on February 23, 2020 -- and never came home. A man who was gunned down because he looked suspicious, when really, he simply looked black. A man whose murder would have never been acknowledged had there not been a video.

In the past week, I was heartbroken to learn of the death of Breonna Taylor, a Black woman who was killed by police in March in her own home. On Facebook, I was angered to see video of Travis Miller, a Black delivery man being unlawfully detained in a neighborhood by the president of the HOA. I have read articles about the dire situations on indigenous reservations as members of these tribes fight for supplies for Coronavirus. I cannot pretend that these things aren't happening.

I am the mom of three sons - three white sons. When my oldest leaves the house to go running at night, my biggest concern is that he doesn’t twist his ankle in a pot hole. NEVER have I worried about him not returning safely. That is privilege. When my kindergarten son gets upset and acts out towards a classmate because he is six and has big emotions, his school counselor helped him to understand how to respond to his own anger. NEVER have I worried about him being suspended. That is privilege. 

I have a responsibility to do this hard work. When I see racism and inequity, I get angry. It feels so big. And I feel so small. This type of work can be very polarizing. Somedays, this work is paralyzing. And while I know I have learned so much over the course of two years, I realize that I still have so much to learn about “how” to share this knowledge. Nothing hurts more than seeing another life being taken -- innocently. 

I do not share this post to justify my actions or to whitewash this experience. I recognize that I am a white person adding my thoughts to a conversation about people of color. I share this because as a white person living in America, I must do the work and others need to see what that work looks like. I must be willing to listen more than I speak. I must seek out diverse voices and learn from them, acknowledging that it is not their job to teach me, but it is their right to speak truth to their experiences. I must be willing to sit with my feelings when my own white fragility rears its ugly head. And then I must do better. I was not doing enough. I am not doing enough. Our BIPOC brothers and sisters have been doing the work for hundreds of years, and they cannot do it alone. 

Very often, I find myself going back to Princeton, sitting in that seat, wringing my hands with nervousness when asked tough questions about racism. My inability to respond in that moment has not left me. It never will. It is when I learned to acknowledge my own privilege. 

I started this journey when I was 37. I know I will make mistakes (and probably have in this post). I also know that it is not too late in anyone's life to begin this journey. If you are ready to do the work and learn about yourself, here are a few places to start:

1. We must start with ourselves first. Determine your own biases by learning about yourself through the Harvard Project Implicit which addresses biases that we have from your own experiences. Sometimes these results are hard to stomach because in our hearts, we are good people. Racism feeds off of this idea. It's called the good/bad binary. Just because you have these biases does not make you a bad person. Please know that.

2. Follow leaders and educators of color so that you can learn from them. I follow columnists like Leonard Pitts; authors like Jason Reynolds, Nic Stone, and Angie Thomas; and educators like Josh Parker, James E. Ford, Nate Bowling, Shana V. White, Sharif El-Mekki, Valeria Brown, Kelly Wickham Hurst, Kelisa Wing, Lyn Stant, Julie Jee, Christina Torres, and Rodney Robinson. Learn from them. Listen to them. Sit with it. 

3. Be purposeful in learning the language to be able to discuss what you are seeing:  

I have found sites like these to be very helpful: What is White Privilege, Really? and Racial Equity Tools. Start small, and start with terms like:

• racism
• anti-racism
• white fragility
• white privilege

4. Read, read, and read some more: 

• Nonfiction:
• White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo
• How to Be An Anti-Racist by Ibrim X. Kendi
• Me and White Supremacy by Layla Saad
• Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Ibrim X. Kendi and Jason Reynolds

• Fiction: (These are three suggestions, but you can find so many great books --> HERE)
• The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas
• All-American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely
• Dear Martin by Nic Stone