I, and many of those I know, can trace our heritage to the peoples of Europe. Specifically, my family originated from the British Isles, chiefly the nations of England and Ireland, as well as from Germany and who knows where else. Some of my ancestors arrived in North American early, and some relatively late. Some stayed in the East and others came out West, mixing our ethnic identity with a new national one. As a result, today I can consider myself a member of many groups: European-American, Irish-American, English-American, Western American, and finally the one I've never been comfortable with: White.

Calling people a name based on the color of their skin is diminishing. We’ve seen that happen with the word “Negro” and referring to American Indians as the “Red Man,” but we don’t bat an eye when we call somebody “White.” I realize that there are worse things to call someone, but nevertheless, when I am called “White” or required to fill out the bubble on a form that identifies me as such, I feel ashamed.

There is a good reason for this. Historically, especially in the British Empire and the United States, being “White” was what made you a valued member of society, guaranteed to be considered superior in comparison to those not of European (and especially Anglo-Saxon or Nordic) ancestry. Numerous heinous civil rights violations were committed by “Whites” against basically everyone else. So it makes sense that since we have started to let go of the old sense of race and its accompanying hierarchy, the “Whites” would get singled out for most of the blame.

Hence the fact that I struggle with being identified as a “White man.” Many of those who share my background have committed heinous racially-oriented crimes, but nobody that I know has ever been a racist, and I have never subscribed to any sort of sense of superiority as a result of my skin color.

One thing to also remember is that racial violence is often not simply White-on-Black. The Holocaust, by far the world’s most infamous genocide, was perpetrated by one group of “White” people against many other groups of people, both “White” and “Non-White.” The Rwandan genocide was “Black-on-Black,” again with one very specific group targeting another very specific group. Finally, during the Medieval period the Venetians hired slave-raiding parties to penetrate into the European interior and capture people to be sold to the Arabs, representing a notable but forgotten example of “White-on-White crime.”

But as a result of other historical factors that cannot be changed, “White” people still enjoy a place of privilege in comparison to other peoples who occupy this nation. “White” people are less often pulled over, arrested, and sent to jail. Average income, level of education, and rates of employment are all much higher for them than for other “non-white” groups. “Whites” occupy a highly disproportionate percentage of public offices.

The guilt and shame that comes with being “White” in the United States is a result of all of these facts. We enjoy more privilege than others without having to earn it. We are treated better and have better access to services, education, and opportunities. And perhaps most damning, we occupy this place in society due to the centuries-long subjugation of other, “non-White” peoples. “White Guilt” is very real and is a source of extreme discomfort for those of us who wish to live in a society where racial heirarchy no longer exists.

“White” people are increasingly being taken to task for their abuses, especially in the academic field of “Whiteness Studies.” Unlike African-American Studies, Women’s Studies, and others that are meant to explore the unique social and historical impact of different groups, “Whiteness Studies” seeks to treat the trait of “Whiteness” as a constructed identity and demolish the privilege that goes with it. At its best, “Whiteness Studies” is an honest inquiry into how race is constructed in contemporary society. At its worst it is a place for angry people to vent their hatred for the preferential treatment given to “Whites,” often in ways that do the academic community a major disservice. Some papers even neglect to define “Whiteness” before beginning to deconstruct it.

So with all of these issues being raised in the public discourse, it’s not hard for a young person of European descent to feel discouraged about their role in society. Being “White” also has the added disadvantage of being the norm, so it can often feel impossible to have an identity in the way that those of other heritages do, however they are treated as a result. Many young people thus turn to the counterculture to give themselves a place to belong, which is usually benign but can sometimes have disastrous consequences, a case in point being the White Power movement.

After serious thought about all of this, I feel that the only thing to do is to reject the label defining me as “White.” I also think we would all do good to reject other labels, like “Black” or “Indian,” that do the same thing as the word “White” does to those of European descent. Just as “White” denies the diversity of people in Europe, the Americas, the Middle East, and abroad, “Black” denies the existence of distinct peoples all across Africa, the United States, Haiti, Brazil, and the numerous other people that are descended from original populations on the African continent.

If we really wanted to acknowledge diversity, we wouldn't use monolithic terms like “Black” and “White.” We would use the many hundreds of beautiful names that people have used to describe themselves throughout history: The Han, the Angles, the Maasai, the Comanche, the Gauls, the Tuareg, the Lakota, the Jarai, the Mestizo, the Zulu, the Tagalog, the Maori, the Bashkirs. Because when it comes down to it, when every person is unique, the rival camps that have precipitated large-scale racial conflicts no longer exist.

I am White, but I also am not. I am Anglo-Saxon. I am Western American. I am Scotch-Irish. And I am not accountable for the sins of my forefathers. Instead, I am part of a new kind of people that sees difference as something to be celebrated. It is my fervent hope that others of my generation and those who come after us will look at the innumerably unique people on Earth and feel in their hearts not fear, but boundless love.