What does it mean to be White?
What does it mean to be White?
It doesn’t matter if you are white or not, I’d love to hear what you think….be honest!
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What does it mean to be White?
It doesn’t matter if you are white or not, I’d love to hear what you think….be honest!
August 13th, 2007 at 2:03 pm
I’m too afraid to say, much less be honest. I heard for the first time in TN history there is a county (?) where white has become a minority.
August 13th, 2007 at 11:50 pm
Hey Samuel - I have been thinking about these things lately. I am not in Multicultural Issues this summer (schedule conflict), but ever since that last NT Genre class I have been heavily rummaging through my heart and mind about how this issue affects me and my surroundings. As the above comment notes, this is difficult. I think for me being white means privilege, that is if I actually take the time to think about it. And then, in knowing my privilege, I despise it, wishing it were not there. But something tells me that I feel that way because I have not known the pain of racial oppression. I think being white for me also means a sense of ignorance and naivety. This can lead to my frustration about a minority’s “holding” their victim position with tightly clasped fingers, which, even if true, should not be named by me in frustration, but rather with tenderness and AFTER naming glory first, which can only be done by listening and joining and holding and then repenting for my own prejudice
…those are my wandering thoughts so far. Great question, thanks throwing it out there.
August 15th, 2007 at 10:22 am
It means living, walking, and breathing on this foundation called privilege that I didn’t know was underneath my feet. I may have been conditioned not to see it, but I’m also sure I’ve refused to see it.
Whiteness also feels like some kind of odd cloak that covers me. With it, I can choose to be seen and I can choose to hide. Being white, I have the privilege to choose. And, yet, the cloak also is me - I can’t separate myself from it; it is a part of me, and I of it.
Being white means being a part of a world where the passport is my skin color. My skin color has afforded me ample space to breathe and dwell in comfortable spaces.
And sometimes, I feel invisible–unseen, unheard, and unknown–and sometimes I feel like I have to fight for the air that I’m breathing. And, sometimes, that doesn’t feel OK to say, because I’m white. But, maybe it is OK to say, because I’m a person.
I don’t know what it means to embrace my whiteness, or celebrate it. While my skin color has afforded me innumerable privileges, I don’t feel connected to a heritage, a tradition, a culture. Maybe this has something to do with being both white and an American. I’m having a hard time right now “holding the both” of my history as a white American - most of what I’m aware of right now is tragedy, and not glory.
Samuel, thanks for asking this question out loud. There is so much unsolved in my heart about this.
August 17th, 2007 at 7:57 pm
I have tried to avoid this question but here goes…
Mostly I feel shame when I think of what it means to be white. A Mississippi childhood was the breeding ground for that. I have witnessed many times abusers claiming a superior position based on this color. So… as much as I might not want to admit it. I am ashamed.
I have lived in a culture where I was the minority but even then I was a have. So I did not know “oppression.” Definitely, people have treated me differently even badly based on my color but I know little of racism and how it feels to be exploited because of color. Even so, those events angered me and then I would think what it would be like to experience that as a norm rather than an exception.
When I interact with people of different races, I experience a hint of terror that I will in some way unbeknownst to me offend them because I am white… because of a racist upbringing… because of not knowing much about racism and how it still lives in my heart hidden. And this has surely happened - I have offended. But I desire to change and to name racism and repent and turn toward God. I desire to love my sisters and brothers well regardless of their color or race.
When we lived in Honduras, a child asked Joshua (4 or 5 at the time) what color he was. He said, “I don’t know… brown?” He was genuinely perplexed. I have not taught him that he is white and that is good or something to be proud of or something to be known as. At the time I was glad. Now I am not sure…
August 17th, 2007 at 8:15 pm
Thanks for your honesty, Lance. When you think about a county where white is a minority, what do you think about? How do you think life would be different for you and your family if you lived in that county?
August 17th, 2007 at 9:15 pm
For most of my life being white didn’t mean anything at all
that is until I learned that racial discrimination still exists…then sadly I learned about reverse discrimination and lost a baby boy I deeply loved because I was white and he wasn’t. If I could have changed my skin color and kept him… I would have done it…no regrets… he would have been worth it.
August 22nd, 2007 at 1:06 am
Adam didn’t couldn’t fully grasp his maleness until God created Eve and Adam saw his contrast and his counterpart. (It was in observing the animals in pairs that it even first dawned on Adam that he might only be one part of the human equation). In as much as Adam marveled at what he saw in Eve, he discovered himself. In the same way, I’m not sure I can fully grasp what it means to be white apart from seeing or feeling what it means (at least in North America) to be non-white . . . someone very much like me but also someone in some ways distinctly different . . . someone who will see and experience life differently than I will because of the color of their skin. I don’t think I can “get” what it means for me to be white unless I love someone who is not. As a white man raising two brown skinned sons I am grateful for how much we are as brothers in the human race “the same” — but increasingly stunned by chasm that separates my life experience from what theirs is and will be. Watching them grow up as brown skinned boys in a white world and watching the white world respond to their “blackness” has led to a growing repentance in my own heart. I don’t think I know yet what it means for me to be white. But I am getting an unexpected education through my sons that might lead me there — by helping me see and feel what it means to not be white.
August 23rd, 2007 at 12:48 pm
Well, I just got back from Peru where I was definitely a minority. I
couldn’t help but think of issues we face here with minorities (legal and
illegal). Maybe I’m a bit bitter or jaded but I couldn’t help but think how
our society has created, perpetuated and permitted the deserving mentality
of minorities to thrive. Just because there is any minority, we feel (for
some unknown reason) they deserve a break or unearned benefit for the sole
reason of being a minority. When I was in Peru, I couldn’t imagine demanding
having an English translation printed on every sign or item. I couldn’t
imagine expecting the right the vote, just because I was there. Much less
expecting free health care or drivers license or whatever.
We just adopted a biracial baby (a minority) and someone recently made the
comment about the fact that she automatically would qualify for college
scholarships just because she’s black. Guess what, she may qualify, but I
guarantee you we won’t let her take a single scholarship for being black or
ANY color. If I allowed that, I would be a contributor to the continued race
issues we face everyday. If she gets a scholarship it won’t have anything to
do with the color of her skin. If my son got a scholarship for being white,
what message does that send. If there is a sense of guilt associated with
slavery, where does it stop? Weren’t my forefathers persecuted for being
Christians. It’s ridiculous to think I should receive special treatment for
what they suffered. I drive an “87 Honda Accord, that’s a minority. Where’s
my Lexus? I deserve a Lexus!
If my family moved to Peru where we were minorities, we would be willingly
placing ourselves under their authority and deal with issues as they arose.
When in Rome.
September 14th, 2007 at 2:56 pm
At times, I like the fact that I’m considered “more white” than “Black.” Having been born in India, I guess I’m right in the middle- “brown.” When I’m with my biological “white- ish” son, born of his anglo dad and myself, I play “white.” Funny, you’d think that I’m about to tell you the opposite is true when I’m with our adopted Indian daughter, whose skin is even darker than mine. But the truth is, I play “white” then too. Except when we’re visiting the “hood.” Our “Black” friends think of me as “Black” and I play “Black” when I’m with them. (Interestingly, as I read back over what I wrote, I noticed that I have only been capitalizing when I type the word “Black”- but not “white.” Even worse, it’s implied that the only “Black” friends I have live in the “hood,” which is simply not true. Ouch. This is so telling of the prejudice that lurks in the dark recesses of my soul.) I need to go repent.
Prejudice is ugly when it’s seen b/t different races; but it’s just as divisive when it happens within a race. Indians from my region in southern India are considered lowest on the totem pole. North India is practically a different country and its inhabitants have always looked down on us for being “too dark.” On the other hand, I was told that Black friends in college spoke about me behind my back, “She thinks she’s white” because I “talked white” and “dressed white” and didn’t use wigs or weaves in my hair. I was hurt by this - it felt like I was being accused of thinking myself as loftier than they… The memory of this even stings today.
So in answer to your question, Samuel, I guess I’m a chameleon of sorts. When it works to my advantage, at least in my flesh, I like being “white.” But in my heart of hearts, I just want to be known and loved and liked for my “brownness” AND who I am inside behind my “brownness.”
September 14th, 2007 at 4:14 pm
I just had another thought- maybe the reason I was hurt by my Black friends’ comments in college (”she thinks she’s white”) was not just about feeling accused; maybe I felt convicted.
Also, even more than wishing to be enjoyed for my brownness and who I am behind my brownness, I would like to embrace it myself.
I must add that a few minutes ago, I ran into my son’s soccer coach. He asked me “Is Elijah (the white-ish looking one) your biological son?” I replied, “Yes, he is.” He seemed astonished. “He looks nothing like you or your husband.” I chuckled. Guess I never really thought about that….
He went on to say that our daughter (the darker Indian one) also looks nothing like either one of us parents. It occurred to me as he was talking about the different colors among our little family (implying that we didn’t really fit together…) that I felt a little peculiar and I kinda liked it.