Frozen Toothpaste

White privilege, as you may know,

is a sociological concept describing the advantages enjoyed by white persons beyond what is commonly experienced by the non-white people in those same social spaces (nation, community, workplace, etc.). It differs from racism or prejudice by the fact that a person benefiting from white privilege need not hold racist beliefs themselves.

There is also some noteworthy scholarship on male privilege and heterosexual privilege. All of it speaks to the ways in which being white, male, and straight allows me the freedom to never be asked to speak on behalf of any group in which I was randomly born a member. How my poor behavior is rarely seen as a reflection on anyone but myself. How most people will assume that I’m intelligent, safe, and trustworthy. How history, as conventionally told, is brimming with people who look like me and by people like me. How role models that look like me are everywhere in this culture. How people are unlikely to harbor any negative ideas about me because of who I am.

And aside from the privileges bestowed by being white, male, and straight, I’m college educated. My parents are still married. My parents are upper-middle class. I’m an American. I live in the United States of America. I have little discernible accent (at least to American ears). All of these are seen as things that make me a better person, despite my responsibility for none of them.

And those are merely those privileges that I can enumerate right now without effort. I’m sure there are many more that I’ll discover later and probably untold ones I’ll never be made aware of.

Discussion of privilege can quickly degenerate into theoretical issues and nit-picking on substance. Surely, you might argue, there must be some privilege’s in being black, Latino, or Asian. I wouldn’t contend that there aren’t. But that’s immaterial to the fact that white (or male or heterosexual) privileges in most countries — and especially this one — are far more numerous than those conferred by other identities.

And surely white privilege — even all the privilege’s I possess — doesn’t dictate my lot in life. A poor gay black man from Zimbabwe could make himself far more successful than I’ll ever be. But I feel rather certain that he’d have had to fight a lot harder to get there.

If — or when — one recognizes that they’ve received so many unearned privileges the obvious question is: what do I do about it? One bad answer to that question the easiest to give: nothing. To assert that though you’ve received these unearned privilege’s you should essentially forget about them. Or worse, you can make the absurd and disgusting claim that they’re rightfully yours because “it was earned for you by the hard work and self-discipline of your ancestors and relatives, whom you should learn to appreciate.”

There is something to be said for conscious awareness of it. To recognize and understand what it may be like on the other side of that divide. It wasn’t until I spent fifteen minutes in a mostly-black grocery store near downtown Detroit that I ever recognized what it’s like to be on the minority side of any social situation. Aware that even if these people meant me no harm — and I’m sure of that — there was the immutable fact that I felt out of place. For a white heterosexual male who has lived most of his life in predominately white parts of a predominately white state it was an eye-opening experience.

Real awareness, I think, leads directly to action. Perhaps the greatest action you’ll ever undertake is to spread awareness of these privileges among others. Perhaps you’ll just vote for politicians who you think understand and would do their best to countermand these unearned privileges. Perhaps you’ll become an activist against these privileges.

Perhaps you’ll do absolutely nothing. But I do hope you’ll at least think about what a privilege you’ve been given, to be able to ignore the ways in which you’re privileged. The unprivileged have no such choice.

DEMOSH

The world recently celebrated a rather unceremonious “monthiversary.” Kenya — which up until a month ago was often described as the brightest spot in East Africa, if not the whole continent — is still in chaos. See some of the haunting reports and photographs of The Vigilante Journalist if you doubt that fact.

A month ago Kenya’s president, Mwai Kibaki (at right), “won” reelection. After this incredibly questionable result was announced, “tribal” violence “erupted.” Estimates are that by now at least 800 have been killed and 300,000 displaced. Though many forces — best known in America are presidential candidate Barack Obama and former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan — have attempted to reach some accord between President Kibaki and the oppositions leader Raila Odinga, none have succeeded, or even produced much externally-visible progress.

If one pairs this sad story with the continued mess of Darfur, you’ve got a good base for a pessimistic soup which proves that the international community is unable or unwilling to help create lasting peace on the continent. Even worse, you could find proof that Africans themselves are incapable of living in peace.

But I wouldn’t say that. Nor would I interject the ever-growing messes of Somalia, Zimbabwe, and the ever-simmering border dispute between Ethiopia and Eritrea as proof that East Africa’s the bad side of the continent. Or that nothing can change.

We could reasonably say that all of this makes a strong case for a reconsideration of priorities at the United Nations and other international bodies. That it also shows signs that Africa’s still growing and maturing, and though it may sound (or even be) patronizing, the current problems on the continent are necessary growing pains for young nation states with limited resources.

Before that though, I must admit something. On nearly every topic I’ve written about thus far and will write about through the rest of this piece I know enough to appear — to most — to know what I’m talking about but not enough to actually know what I’m talking about. It’s an admittedly dangerous fact that means I should probably be barred from talking about it at all. Alas, I’m not.

And so I can tell you that though we could make this to look like a strong case for the United States to disengage from the impotent United Nations, it’s not. And that I remain hopeful that though progress in Africa and elsewhere is slow and all UN actions are encumbered by the veto power of self-serving states like China, Russia, and the United States I think the organization shows progress.

Surely the Bush presidency and the farce that was made of international law in invading Iraq was bad. Surely it is troubling that both Russia and China are willing and able to stand up against even the most well-intended efforts to intervene for human rights.

But in the broad stroke of history, progress is unquestionably toward greater openness, greater rule of law, and greater democracy. Surely there are a number of painful steps left — many ugly and troubling steps — before the world arrives at the place I’d like it to be. But as long as and as strong as I can, I’ll hope that someday soon the world will be more like the hope for Kenya from last December, and less like the pessimism engendered by the Kenya of this January.

bettyx1138

Hanging above my desk, you’ll find a sheet of paper taped to the wall. It’s titled “The Great Gatsby” and one of the quotes on it says this:

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages you’ve had.”

These words, as you could probably guess, are from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. As you may remember from school days, these are the first two paragraphs of the book. This means that, among other facts, Gatsby has the best first and last lines of any book I can remember. They’re both exceptionally relevant to Mr. Gatsby, to America, and to life in general.

This also raises another question from school days. For as you may or may not know, what I wrote yesterday began “In my younger years…” Surely, it could be coincidental that above my desk hangs a quote that begins roughly the same way. The exactness of the copy ends after three words.

But I have to tell you something. It’s not a coincidence. I’m certain I was influenced by Fitzgerald’s words. And I know that though I wasn’t looking at the paper above my desk when I thought to write the words, they were the reason the sentence began as it did. Whether this is the common school activity of copying, the less common plagiarizing, or the everywhere claim of “inspiration,” I’m not sure.

But I do know that the idea to talk about this isn’t mine either. I stole this idea from a recent episode of To The Best of Our Knowledge. And I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that they stole the idea from somewhere — though I don’t want to insult their honesty and originality.

It’s just that I don’t know if anyone has ever written anything new. I sincerely doubt I have. In school the objects you so often produce — analyses or history, literature, or philosophy — are varying degrees of stolen. Perhaps from class discussion, something your friends said, or what was on TV last night, but many teachers would probably agree it all feels lamely copied. In all other aspects of life this happens to a similar but less obvious degree. People have greater variety of sources from which to steal when they’re talking about topics other than books they’ve not read.

To steal again: Benjamin Franklin once said “Originality is the art of concealing your sources.” And we should not forget that aside from being one America’s most prominent founders, the man was also an important inventor.

I will concede that there is a danger of reducing this too far. Even though I feel that my grammar’s stolen from writers past and present, there’s an unavoidable necessity in all of this. I couldn’t be understood if in speaking English I didn’t use some well understood — which is to say copied — grammatical conventions. Witness a learner struggling to be understood and you’ll soon understand that truth.

So too are there sound reasons for using well-established metaphors — you may know them as clichés. They help us understand and be understood.

If we generally think that originality is good and copying — especially plagiarism — is bad, but agree that we must persist in using borrowed grammars and metaphors, perhaps I know the proper metaphor (to steal) to explain all this.

We’re all on a tightrope. Lean too far either way and we fall off, down below those admirable souls on tightropes. To one side is the danger that we’ll be too original to be understood. Either out of ignorance or arrogance our metaphors and grammar will make us unintelligible to the people we know. To the other side is the danger that we’ll be so derivative as to be meritless. Either out of ignorance or arrogance we’ll steal too obviously from other authors and commentators and have nothing meaningful to add to the discussion. It’s a hard rope to walk, but it’s the one we’re on.

In my younger years, I was given some advice that I’ve always taken quite seriously: Never have any heroes who remain above ground. And though that may sound like a claim that a person should only make heroes of sewer rats, subway conductors, and water sanitation engineers; it’s not. Depending on who you ask, it is either a realistic or pessimistic statement that all people still alive have the power to show themselves to have been untruthful. To fail. To disappoint.

And so I’m full of reservations about the positive feelings engendered by Mr. Obama’s soaring and hopeful speech. He’s shown himself to be vulnerable to the same cynical campaigning that his statements so often derides. He’s shown himself to be willing, sometimes, to take the easy potshots and low blows that he argues against so often.

I’m also worried about attempting to review one of his speeches. Whenever I write an unconventional review I feel like I’m (especially) out of my depth. My review of raking leaves, for example, feels novel but not particularly interesting. And then my review of Joshua James’s excellent album — album reviews aren’t unconventional, but I’ve made no habit of writing them — made it sound average at best.

And I also don’t want to support any politician explicitly. All politicians play a game that I find both fascinating and disgusting. They change things, but they often sacrifice principle to do so. And that’s got well defined positives and negatives.

Senator Obama’s oratory is truly breathtaking, and this speech is just one that I was able to watch and easily find a transcript. In my — admittedly short — political history no politician has spoken with such clarity. Such a hopeful vision. Whether or not he lives up to this vision in day-to-day life is an open question, but that his speeches can inspire those who agree with him is hard to doubt.

And Mr. Obama begins well. He skillfully weaves together his optimism and the political message he needs to make: that South Carolina was indicative of his power as a presidential candidate, not of his power as a black presidential candidate.

Well, tonight, the cynics who believed that what began in the snows of Iowa was just an illusion were told a different story by the good people of South Carolina.

After four great contests in every corner of this country, we have the most votes, the most delegates, and the most diverse coalition of Americans we’ve seen in a long, long time.

He goes on to list the elements of his coalition. And all of this is important for two reason. First, he’s making the point that not only does he have more delegates than Mrs. Clinton — he does, but they’re also “better” — whatever that is.

Secondly, this beginning is important because unlike Mrs. Clinton, he’s making the clear statement that this isn’t about him. Senator Clinton’s best known speech so far has been after her New Hampshire victory in which she said, “Over the last week, I listened to you, and in the process found my own voice. … Let’s give America the kind of comeback that New Hampshire has just given me.”

The jarring distinction, unveiled within the first few minutes is this: rhetorically Mr. Obama speaks of ideals, unity, and hope. Mrs. Clinton speaks of herself and her candidacy. And though both of the candidates clearly needed the victories at the time, you wouldn’t know it from a comparison. Senator Obama argues that his victory represents a comeback for his platform while Senator Clinton speaks as if it’s a comeback for herself.

This is not exactly a novel observation, but it’s an important one. People seem stunned by Mr. Obama’s skill, but the simple rhetorical device of saying “us” instead of “I” and “we” rather than “me” is a crucial part of his oratorical ability. By doing so he’s got a room of compatriots rather than supporters, a room of helpers rather than those that need to be helped.

Even in referring to himself, Mr. Obama doesn’t speak explicitly of himself or his campaign.

But here’s what I know. I know that when people say we can’t overcome all the big money and influence in Washington, I think of the elderly woman who sent me a contribution the other day – an envelope that had a money order for $3.01 along with a verse of scripture tucked inside. So don’t tell us change isn’t possible.

Certainly he knows things. He’s seen things. But what he’s seeing is the power of the people to whom he speaks.

But I also have to say that Mr. Obama — or his speech-writing team — has a way with words. And that’s what I’ll leave you with. The closing paragraphs of his speech last Saturday night were truly beautiful:

And as we leave this state with a new wind at our backs, and take this journey across the country we love with the message we’ve carried from the plains of Iowa to the hills of New Hampshire; from the Nevada desert to the South Carolina coast; the same message we had when we were up and when we were down – that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope; and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people in three simple words:

Yes. We. Can.

This last Monday, this country celebrated — to the extent that it celebrates any federal holiday — Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday. In honor of the occasion, the New York Times ran an interesting essay by Sarah Vowell that I couldn’t help but agree with.

Here’s what Dr. King got out of the Sermon on the Mount. On Nov. 17, 1957, in Montgomery’s Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, he concluded the learned discourse that came to be known as the “loving your enemies” sermon this way: “So this morning, as I look into your eyes and into the eyes of all of my brothers in Alabama and all over America and over the world, I say to you: ‘I love you. I would rather die than hate you.’ ”

Go ahead and re-read that. That is hands down the most beautiful, strange, impossible, but most of all radical thing a human being can say. And it comes from reading the most beautiful, strange, impossible, but most of all radical civics lesson ever taught, when Jesus of Nazareth went to a hill in Galilee and told his disciples, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”

The Bible is a big long book and Lord knows within its many mansions of eccentricity finding justification for literal and figurative witch hunts is as simple as pretending “enhanced investigation technique” is not a synonym for torture. I happen to be with Dr. King in proclaiming the Sermon on the Mount’s call for love to be at the heart of Christian behavior, and one of us got a Ph.D in systematic theology.