The backpack of privilege

When you're someone who talks about isms a lot, people often think you have a victim complex. In fact the other day, when trying to give a colleague an abridged version of my concerns with The Help, I was told 'Oh it's not so bad! Cheer up!'

However this couldn't be further from the truth, and it wouldn't happen if people were more fluent in the language of privilege. I'm actually well aware of the massive amounts of privilege I carry with me every day. As a heterosexual, cis-gender, able-bodied, normal weight, medium complexion woman with hair in a 3A pattern, life is pretty easy for me compared to many other people out there. But when I talk of some of the challenges I face, it is so often interpreted as complaining or feeling sorry for myself or, my personal favourite, 'playing the race card'. What these attitudes evidence is ignorance of critical race theory or a deep discomfort with some of the central tenets of feminism.

It isn't hard to see why this has happened. Acknowledging ones own privilege can be confronting, and it is often assumed to be an attack by the person who points out the privilege. People become defensive - 'I made it here through hard work,' 'there were no scholarships for me,' 'I'm struggling too!' In today's difficult fiscal environment, privilege has not exempted anyone from difficulty, so it is harder to understand the more nuanced elements of this discussion. Which is why Peggy McIntosh's 'The Knapsack of Privilege' is one of the best and most timeless illustrations of privilege around.

"I think whites are carefully taught not to recognize white privilege, as males are taught not to recognize male privilege. So I have begun in an untutored way to ask what it is like to have white privilege. I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools , and blank checks."

It is reassuring to see that a number of McIntosh's examples are either dated or not translatable into the New Zealand or Australian context. Hey, at least we're doing something right down under! But sadly, many others are not:

I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify to the existence of their race 
I can go into a music shop and count on finding the music of my race represented, into a supermarket and find the staple foods which fit with my cultural traditions, into a hairdresser's shop and find someone who can cut my hair.
I do not have to educate my children to be aware of systemic racism for their own daily physical protection
I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group
I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having my co-workers on the job suspect that I got it because of my race

Of all my reading on critical race theory and feminism, no other article has resonated with me as much as this one. As a member of a "model minority" I actually share many of McIntosh's privileges. But as a member of the non-white minority in Australia and New Zealand, I also do not. That last point, about affirmative action, plagued my university days with a number of other students and lecturers insinuating that things were easier for me because of 'quota'. I've often been asked what Indians/Maoris/Samoans/Mexicans think of particular issues. And don't get me started on finding a hairdresser.

My husband and I had an eye opening experience on a recent trip abroad. I can guarantee that at least once, on any international trip, I will be pulled aside for a 'random' check at an airport. While it may indeed be random, I can't help but wonder if it is because of the way I look (and Jeremy Clarkson hopes it stays that way!) My husband, however, who is the whitest man alive, breezes through airport security. But on our last trip he had his first experience of a random spot check.

What for me is a humiliating and expected experience, for him was almost welcome. He found it surprising and informative. He was pleasant and chatty with the staff, where I am generally annoyed and abrupt. For him to see something I go through almost every time I'm in airport as a learning experience, is a perfect illustration of white privilege.

I've come to realise that travelling is a perfect microcosm of white/male privilege. Assumptions seem all the more pronounced and thoughts that usually remain silent are spoken. I've termed this the "backpack of privilege", and here are some things it might contain:

1. You are handed the bill in restaurants, as my husband always is
2. You can go through customs without a customs official expressing surprise that you are a New Zealander
3. You can enter bars and fancy restaurants without concern
4. You are asked to make decisions on behalf of you and your travel partner
5. You can go through airport security confident that you will not be racially profiled
6. You can travel with a partner of a different race and not have it assumed you are a prostitute, as happened to me in Sri Lanka and Brazil

I'm sure there are many more, and I'm sure it's harder for many others. Acknowledging privilege isn't easy for most, but having privilege doesn't mean one is a bad person. It's just the way it is. Perhaps if more people were willing to talk about it, we could move towards a world where privilege mattered less.