I hate being reminded of my white privilege

June 27th

After my junior year in college, I took a course called Black Women in US History. It was cross listed between women’s studies and ethnic studies, so I figured I would get my proverbial dollar’s worth, seeing as how this elective constituted about 25% of my elective credits at UW-Madison.

It was the first time in my life that I could really begin to realize the atrocities that african americans faced in the US. More importantly, it was the first time I began to realize the atrocities that women faced, and still do face every day. In short, it was a 3 credit summer course on how to learn to hate myself: the white male. To give credit to my instructor, I would loath myself intensely for hours at a time—much more so than usual. And although this was not her intention by any mean—far from it, of course—it just was something I could be very passionate and dramatic about; because I feel so very strongly about equality... in the biblical sense, and such. I jest, but I do feel strongly about equality, and that’s why I had to loath the idea of every white man from that point, onward.

This past weekend, Nicole and I went up-country a bit to camp near a lake and hike up and around an extinct volcano. The trip was amazing, of course: we heard hippos grunting in the night, listened to a 9-year-old boy sing us “Ridin’ Dirty’, and hiked around an extinct volcano (need I say more; pictures to come, I hope). Unfortunately, the entire weekend I was surround by white people, and I have to admit that I really didn’t like it. Here, I spent less than fifteen US dollars the entire weekend (which includes the cost for transportation, lodging and food) to take this little vacation, but I was absolutely put off by the notion that I was surrounded by white privilege. I mean, what else were these people doing there if they weren’t rich as can be? They were almost all white (50%-80% white, at least), and I basically have to assume that the white people have more money than the black people. Think: they’re coming from either America or Europe, and they had to travel to get to Africa, which costs at least $400 for some Europeans, and is ~$1800 for Americans right now.

So here, I’ve run away to Kenya, more-or-less run away from the West and my privilege and the wastefulness that I’m responsible for in the past, and I take one little weekend trip and I’m surrounded by my own privilege again. What a bummer, right?

No. Only a bummer if I approach it as such. I’ve given no mention to the fact that I probably would’ve gotten along very well with the white people from the campsite, seeing as how we all decided to take a trip to the same part of the globe. (Aside: I realize that not everyone there was there for the same reason as I; I’m not trying to be egotistical, just brutally honest.) What I learned this weekend is that it doesn’t matter who I’m surrounded by: it doesn’t change who I am or where I’ve been thus far; what matters is... well, I can’t tell you, because it’s the secret to life. You’re going to have to travel to an extinct volcano if you want to figure that one out.

ps Sorry for sneaking out of that one. I just didn’t want to say the same thing over and over. The secret of life: do what you want; but do it right. And don’t ask me what’s right, because I tried writing a post about problems, and it came out all messed up.