I ooze privilege, I bathe in it, I wear it around all day, every-day.
I feed my privilege basic white girl coconut-milk mochas, and I let it grow up watching Friends and The Simpsons and Seinfeld.
I gave my privilege nothing but itself. It cannibalised. It saw itself everywhere growing up; on TV, in the faces of Barbie Dolls, in positions of power, in magazines.
It grew in deeply embedded, systemic racism.
My privilege told me I don't understand, completely, because I can't. It's not my experience of the world.
My privilege continued to feed on the institutionalised racism that runs rampant through NZ.
It whispered "you can't understand." It said "it's not that bad anymore." It said "it's 2020, come on. We're all equal."
I was trying to explain to my husband what it's like to go walking, at night, as a woman. How you're always thinking "who's that man, is my phone ready to hit 111, if I scream from here will someone hear me, oh thank god there's more people coming."
The heavy sadness when I realised my husband NEVER feels frightened walking at night, NEVER feels scared while out jogging. Has never, not once, as a man, had to think "shit I'm alone, what if that man overpowers me?"
One time I heard someone say "We don't need feminism. It's stupid. Just work hard and you'll be recognised for what you do." And I wanted to scream in their face with all my womanly power how STUPID *they* were. Could they not see we were fighting generations of saturated patriarchy??
It's confusing, and hard, to talk about racism when you're white.
But it's not about us. It's not about me. I want to change and I want to unravel all the damaged parts of my privileged brain and re-wire it to understand completely. I want to ask "What can I do?".
I want to say "Tell me. I want to learn."
But it's my job to learn. It's no ones job to teach me.
My privilege needs no more feeding. - 2 hours ago