Black Privilege
An insight on black privilege and what it is.
My Black Privilege
Growing up black in an all-white neighborhood you learn privilege by observance. Privilege is a set of unearned benefits given to people who fit into a specific social group. Privilege is the other side of oppression. I the hidden cruelty many minorities are grateful not to have experienced. I am not saying it is going back to the 1900s. I don’t have a fear of my brother being lynched. Turning the corner to see his dead, lifeless body hanging by a rope. Dark from bruising and limbs distorted. I do have fears. These fears are very real.
Nightmares
Every night I have a recurring nightmare. The weather is always the same as the day I experienced the dream. I walk into the convenience store just down the street. Just as I do every day. I go to the back of the store and pull out an ice cold water bottle. I plop it in front of the cashier and grab a candy of my choice to snack on. Me, black boy, walking out of convenience store enjoying a refreshing beverage and tasty rainbow skittles. My hands tucked deep into my jacket pockets searching for just right skittle to pop into my mouth. I pull a handful of skittles from this deep cavern. Midway to my mouth there is no pain, but a loss of strength. My body hits the ground with no regard to the force of the impact. As my flesh accepts the bullet, I lay there thinking about how something as mundane as skittles led to tragedy.
This nightmare happens every night. It’s embedded in my Circadian rhythm. The weather may change. The skittles may be gummy worms. The water may be a Gatorade. However, there is never anything out of the ordinary. I would much rather see a black and midnight blue scaped sky with red rain falling from its gut. A bright white moon cut into a thick crescent with a sinister smile across its face. Then it would feel like a dream. It wouldn’t be my reality.
My fear doesn’t come from the dream itself. The fear comes from the reality the dream holds. How possible the situation is from happening, take Trayvon Martin for example. He was a black boy doing something as mundane as buying a snack from a convenience store. Little did he know his next moments would be spent beaten, shot, and dead in the street. His murderer, George Zimmerman, was in the midst of his worst nightmare as well. What stood before him was not Trayvon Martin, but a black trope. It was everything Zimmerman had been taught to be weary of all his life. George Zimmerman did not shoot Trayvon Martin. He did not see Martin. Zimmerman shot fear itself. This is what black privilege is in the US. It is having the ability to strike fear in the hearts of many just with one look. It is the act first, ask later.
Black Privilege…
Is being the token black friend that is sometimes in style. It’s people assuming I can sing or dance — which I can. Even better it’s hearing way too often, “Since we are friends does that mean I get to say nigga?” My black privilege is being seen as more athletic. My black privilege is a second language. You see my mom wasn’t cooking some dinner; asking me if I wanted more. She was cookin’ some dinna’. Askin’ if I want mo’. My black privilege is growing up to learning all the elements: Earth, Wind, and Fire. It was learning about real royalty: the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, and the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
My black privilege is “If white people did that…”. My black privilege is saying “nigga”. Black privilege is sharing a whole sidewalk all to myself. It’s being praised for being “so smart”. My black privilege is my hands feeling the bitter cold, not allowed to be out of sight. My black privilege is having a list of dead names tucked into my back pocket, accessible at any time. Using them to prove a point, to justify my fears. My black privilege is normalized fear. I see it in the eyes of strangers passing me on the street. It’s the pit in my gut every time I stroll pass an officer. My black privilege is being invisible and yet causing fear in those who set their eyes on me.
My black privilege is seeing the first black president. Which is to say my black privilege is ever-evolving. It is being part of growing times. My black privilege is a trophy. It is shaped a ladder stretched infinitely across time. I just have to climb.
