Who Am I: Part 2a (White Privilege: The College Years)

About a month ago, I sat down to write some personal reflections about race and reconciliation. I expected it to be an easy flowing process, but as it turns out I have more fear in sharing about tough topics than I thought. It was also difficult to take almost 9 years of processing about white privilege and white identity and filter than into a readable blog post.

As I looked through old reflections and journals, I found a reflection from a Sociology class I wrote during my sophomore year at Cal Poly, and I feel this sums up some of my experiences of interacting with white privilege as a young college student. Some background:  We did an activity called the Race Race - where our class was asked a series of questions about our lives (if our parents went to college, if we were raised by single parents, if we saw our gender or race represented in the media, etc.) that either allowed us to step forward or step backwards.

Here were my thoughts as a 20 year old college student from that activity and about white privilege as a whole: 

"In the privilege exercise we can see developing patterns of who has what. Many of us with privilege are born into it, not to say we don’t work hard to keep our status, but we were given opportunities to keep ourselves there. Many of us (not all) are white. Many of them at the very front (not all) are men. And some of us as we walk back to the classroom feel a sudden surge of guilt in the pit of our stomachs as we turn around to see some of friends and classmates far behind us. So why is this? The question we are asked is why do we feel guilty for our advantages? 

A lot of this white privilege comes from the communities we live in. Our own history has even widened the gap of available resources to white communities and those living in largely minority or people of color communities. Take for instance The Federal Housing Act of 1934, it had the possibility to bridge the racial gap that had been in existence since the formation of our nation. Millions of citizens were within reach of owning their own home by placing the credit of the federal government behind private lending to home buyers. However the overtly racist categories in the FHA’s “confidential” city surveys and appraisers’ manuals lead to the money being placed in the hands of white homeowners and stripped from communities of color.

And now look at the No Child Left Behind program. Instead of giving money into the schools that truly need it, they allow students to attend the schools that are performing better. Instead of providing opportunities for all in concentrates those in poverty so they all live in the same neighborhood, attend the same schools, and receive less opportunities. Not to say they can’t get to the same place as those wealthier than they, but it is inherently more difficult. It’s no wonder those of us who come from privilege homes feel guilty at times because we can see than there was a lot we did not do to receive that status. Of course we worked hard, just like anyone. But so did they, in fact, those who come from impoverished communities may have worked harder. 

I like how Booker T. Washington put it in his book Up From Slavery: “I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed... But out of the hard and unusual struggle through which he is compelled to pass, he gets a strength, a confidence, that one misses whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth and race.” Personally, I’ve received many blessings and opportunities from the life my parents wanted me to have. Here I sit, in a prestigious school earning something only 1 percent of the world can get: a college degree. I need not feel guilty of what I have been given and perhaps I am actually missing out on something when I don’t have to struggle as much to succeed.

But that doesn’t give me the excuse to ignore the needs of those below them. In fact, in order to break this cycle of institutional racism and oppression, it must start from the top. And that is where I think we who have privilege often fail, is we focus so much on personal success that we don’t give thought to our brothers and sisters below us, fighting to survive. And that is maybe why I feel guilty, because I haven’t done my part to help.

One of the big questions I wrestled with as a young college student (and even still to this day) was what to do with my already given privilege and how to feel about having it. It is one of the biggest questions I still often have to wrestle with to this day - especially as I engage with what it means to be both white and middle eastern but someone who looks white - I still "get" all the privilege that comes with being white in America. And it's easy to deny having it (or that white privilege exists) or to feel overwhelming guilty about it.

Neither is truly helpful, neither is truly beneficial. We don't determine our privilege when we are born but we can chose what we do with it. Learning how to engage with this is a circular process. Some days I chose well - I listen to others, I find great ways to steward my privilege, and I stay engaged with the struggles of my friends and neighbors. Some days I chose poorly and I check out, I speak too much (or not enough), and I live in fear or shame. Next week (or maybe month), I'll reflect on how to live out a life of stewarding white privilege well.

Note - for those not having interacted with the term "white privilege" before, I encourage you to read the articles listed below. They give a great description of what this looks like, how this influences our society, and even what to do with it: 

• White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Backpack 
• 5 Stages of White Privilege Awareness
• This is White Privilege 
• Race: the Power of an Illusion 

Who Am I: Part 1 (Growing Up Color Blind)

I have to admit I'm nervous to write this. Even as I deeply care about race, ethnicity, culture, and reconciliation I have not written much about it. It scares me to put thoughts to words to paper because what if they aren't received well. What if I don't make sense? What if is too controversial?

But I've recently felt the need to share certain parts of my journey and my story through this. I have not figured it all by any means. These are snapshots of my own journey through race and ethnicity and reconciliation. I knew I needed to write about my journey in discovering who I am as a multi-ethnic woman of God and hopefully this will encourage you to share your stories with me. Because as much as I want to share my own life, I want to hear of yours as well.

So here we go.

Who Am I - Part 1

Growing Up Color Bind 

Sometimes I wonder what to call myself. Ethnically speaking. Am I white? I look white. Well I look more peach like but that's beside the point. I mean look at that face. Looks white American to me I suppose.

My dad is Italian and Lebanese and my mom German and English and wee bit of Irish (at least I think she is). So what do I call myself? Western European American? Middle Eastern American? Just American? Italian/German/Lebanese/PlusSomeOtherStuff American? Growing up it was never really a question for me. I just guessed I was a white culture kid and since I fit into that category it felt fine to explore nothing more about it.

It was until a few years ago, at an InterVarsity conference where they were asking for the ethnic breakdown of the attendees and there was a check box for Middle Eastern and I found myself suddenly stumped. Because for the first time I could remember I suddenly could check 3 boxes - White, Middle Eastern, and Multi-Racial. This started a whole new reflective journey on who I was the I thought I was coming to and end in.

But lets go back to my childhood. Growing up I was definitely color blind. I knew things like race and ethnicity existed but I didn't know what they mean or why they were significant. I lived in a diverse neighborhood but went to rather homogeneous schools. It wasn't until college did I see how race and ethnicity really play out in our society (I'll get more to how my view on race and privilege changed next week).

Race and ethnicity was never talked about at home. Especially my own. I knew I was white because of my blond hair and blue eyes. I don't remember knowing I was Lebanese when I was child. I knew I was Italian mostly because of my last name. I guessed I was German because my grandparents name sounded German. But when it came to my culture and heritage, I knew next to nothing about it. I don't think it was my parents fault or even they purposely did so. In fact I feel just the opposite. I feel there were many factors both in our family and in society that lead to my heritage-ignorance.

Societal pressure to conform
My father's side more recently immigrated to the US so I'll focus on them. Both my grandparents were first generation Americans. My grandfather's Ermieta (but he was called Amos) was born in New Jersey but his parents had immigrated from Italy. They were Roman, spoke Italian at home, and yes had family in the mafia. My grandmother, Helen, was born in Iowa after her parents immigrated there from Lebanon. They worked at a family restaurant/nightclub/banquet. My grandmother spoke English, Arabic, and later ASL (as she had a degenerative hearing condition). (Of course I knew none of this until I was in college).

When my grandfather and grandmother met and later moved to South Dakota they had 4 kids (my father, my aunt, and one of my uncles pictured below) who then were half Lebanese and half Italian.

But that was rarely talked about at home. For they lived in a time where it was ideal to be a part of mainstream white culture. Instead of focusing on our cultural differences, it as ideal to assimilate into white America. And my family did just that. They stopped speaking their heart languages, they slowly stopped some of the cultural traditions, and began to assimilate into a midwest American culture instead. The languages lost, the heritages lost, and few things remained. They confirmed to fit in because of pressure to be just like everyone else. If parts of their lives didn't appear "American" enough, they were hidden so that even two generations later it was forgotten.

Generations of Family Brokenness
But it wasn't just societal pressure that caused a distance from their heritage and culture. Our family brokenness itself caused distance from each other.

My grandfather was hardened by the Depression and that created somewhat hurtful relationships with his children over time. While there has since been reconciliation, there was hurt growing up. My grandmother died from cancer when my father was only 19 causing a more tension between him and his father. They had years of distance, anger, and hurt. My father even moved out to California in part because he was hurting from his mother's death and wanted to be away from his father. Because of this distance both emotionally and physically, I was unable to learn much of my own cultural heritage from this side of the family.

My own immediate family carries its own brokenness as well. My parents split when I was 8 years old so passing on ethnic heritage and traditions became a second priority. The focus then became for my mother simply raising us and my father re-establishing a relationship with us after the hurt we felt. It was more about navigating a divorced family rather than passing on cultural traditions. Not that I blame my parents, far from it. I would have done the same. But because of family brokenness their priorities changed. It was just another unfortunate circumstance that lead to a greater distance between myself and my own family heritage.

Because of generational brokenness from within our family and societal brokenness the fact I was Lebanese or Italian or German or anything else easily got lost. For so long growing up I felt I had no culture because one wasn't talked about at home. I felt lost, like there were parts of me I didn't understand. Parts of me that didn't fully identify with all of white culture. And it wasn't until I started culture that some of those parts came to light.

Next week: Who Am I Part 2: White Privilege and Shame