Mark Olmsted
Aug 26, 2017 · 2 min read

Indeed, this relative lack of privilege within prison which is why I thought it was a good baseline for the question. I don’t think anybody would bother changing their race if they even could in prison, and nor would they necessarily out of prison. But if they had to, the fact that the black guys all chose being white as the least objectionable change in identity, and the white guys all chose it as the most objectionable change in identity, said something about how each perceived what it would feel like to be the other.
The one observation that stood out over the rest was that right to be anonymous when you want to be. Black people are far more likely to be taken notice of — and not in a good way — in a million situations when they’re just going about their business. White people are far more likely to be generally ignored if they want to be — at the baseball game or the beach or the mall. But we take it for granted of course. Of course it would never occur to us as a “privilege” — it’s as familiar to us as our living room furniture.
I did get a taste of losing that privilege in prison because being gay — even if you aren’t particularly flamboyant — is noticed. I was aware that the other prisoners were aware of it, and some of them were hostile. They didn’t have to say it or act on it — I knew it was there. Over time it dissipated, but is was exhausting to have to “prove” you were “all right” instead of just starting out at neutral. Every transfer was very dicey — that first few weeks before you could find friend or allies.
I didn’t have to deal with that at the gay dorms at County. That was a pretty democratic part of prison I must say. You had the right not to be assumed obnoxious or dangerous until and if you showed signs of either.

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    Mark Olmsted

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    Author, "Ink from the Pen," about my 9 months using creativity as the ultimate survival tool behind bars.