On Privilege
We can’t understand our own privilege if we don’t know how someone else’s everyday life differs from ours. Below you’ll find four short stories, each based on the experience of a GSB classmate. (One is mine.) I asked for these stories not because they’re extreme but rather because they’re not — because they’re everyday occurrences that happen in some people’s lives when they do everyday things.
Business pitch
A female entrepreneur
I read the email twice to make sure I understand. I’m going to meet Elon Musk! I honestly don’t give a crap about meeting Elon Musk, but I know Frank will be thrilled.
My startup team had been assigned a high-profile mentor, who was taking an interest in our business. He’d just invited me via email to a “hi-roller” party, and suggested I informally pitch my idea to Elon and others. I reply with a quick email (“Hell, yes!” was the general gist) and run off to tell Frank.
When I check my phone an hour later, a rude awakening awaits me. My mentor has responded: “Great! It’s a pirates and mermaids party, so can you dress up? I’ll pick you up at 8:30.”
Oh no.
I respond that something has come up and I can’t make it. Needless to say, his intense interest in our business idea wanes soon afterward.
Airport security
A black woman
I walk through the body scan machine and the TSA agent stops me. He stuffs his fingers in and between my braids. His latex gloves catch in my hair. The people in line behind me wait. They don’t seem to notice this “one off” extra screening. I am reminded for the hundredth time that I and my hair are the “other.”
Sometimes when this happens I feel annoyed. Other times, angry. In any other instance, I would say something, but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do to prevent it. I can only wait for it to end.
I’m a frequent traveler. Sometimes I fly several times in a week. I’ve been stopped for extra screening almost every time. And every time, the agent checks my hair to make sure I’m not obscuring weapons. My colleagues and friends never seem to notice or care.
It reminds me of my childhood when I’d travel with my family. My mom and dad were often pulled aside, sometimes pulled into back rooms for extra screening. My dad used to dress in a full suit, whether on business or not, hoping for some credibility. It rarely worked.
Group project
A student with a learning disability
There is an H. My heart sinks as I read the word on my phone: O-P-R-A-H. The most influential woman in the world and I can’t even spell her name. I feel embarrassed and frustrated.
My face reddens as I think back to our team meeting. I was closest to the whiteboard, so I had to pick up the marker. Most of the names were easy to manage — Arnold Schwarzenegger became Arnold S. After 29 years I had the spelling of most first names memorized. Somehow I’d overlooked Oprah.
Because I’m dyslexic, spelling is hard. Every word I can spell is a word I’ve memorized. To learn to spell beautiful, for example, I memorized the mantra “Be a utiful girl.”
I’ve spent a lot of time self-conscious about situations like this, worried that someone might equate my spelling with my intelligence. This concern is an everyday reality in my version of life at the GSB.
Parking ticket
A Hispanic man
“Have you committed any crimes recently?” the officer asks me. I wonder what about me makes him think I’m a criminal. After all, if everyone who parked illegally outside Schwab were a criminal, the GSB would have a serious problem.
Rather than deliver any of the heated retorts that cross my mind, I respond with a simple “no.” He asks how much I weigh. The number is on my driver’s license, so why ask? I tell him and he returns to his cruiser, leaving me wondering whether he’s building a profile of me — another minority male suspect.
He returns with what I expect to be a routine parking ticket and later discover to be a moving violation for “impeding traffic on a highway.” Apparently the bike lane outside of Schwab is a highway.
