“Walt, I think you missed our turn. Weren’t we supposed to turn left back there?”
“Shoot, you’re right. I’ll find a place to turn around”
“Well, there’s no traffic. Just make a quick U-turn, and we won’t be late.”
“I’ll find a good place to turn around, up ahead.”
“Walt, there’s no traffic. It’s safe to do a U-turn here.”
“I’ve got this, John.”
I remember being frustrated by Walt’s response. Why drive on? Why not just make a U-turn? Had I been behind the wheel, I would have slowed down, pulled way over to the right, and then swung the car around for a U-turn. Maybe it would have required another stop-and-start, but the road was clear, so who cared about making an illegal U-turn?
As I remember, Walt drove on for another half-mile or so until we came to an intersection, where he turned his car around and headed back to our destination, a restaurant.
Some background: It was 1969. Walt and his wife, Lillian, were our backyard neighbors on the campus of Virginia State College, an HBCU (Historically Black College or University). Walt was head football coach and a Professor in the Department of Physical Education, and I was an English Instructor. Our wives bonded first, sharing the highs and lows of new babies, both about 18 months old. And, conveniently, one of their other children was old enough to babysit, meaning we could have a night off.
Oh, and Walt and Lillian were/are African Americans, we were/are White.
I’m pretty sure it was rare for a White couple and an African American couple to socialize in public in Southside Virginia back then, but I don’t recall being uncomfortable, probably because I had spent my entire life–29 years–swimming in a sea of whiteness and was–to put it kindly–blissfully unaware.
In fact, I might never have given that driving incident another thought if I hadn’t missed a turn seven or eight years later, the way Walt did that night in 1969. I was with National Public Radio at the time, driving to interview teachers and students at a Bureau of Indian Affairs school on a Navajo reservation in Arizona. When I realized my mistake, I did what I had wanted Walt to do: I checked to make sure the road was clear, slowed down, pulled way over to the right, and swung the car around for a U-turn.
No big deal, right? But then I heard a siren and saw flashing lights. A cop pulled me over.
But still no big deal, because I assumed the cop would understand and cut me some slack. And so when he approached my window, I smiled and explained why I had made that turn, something about being late for interviews with Navajo teachers and students. I figured he would appreciate my dilemma and let me off with a warning. However, he didn’t smile back, just said, “You’re on our land, White man, and you have to follow our rules.” And he wrote me a ticket.
This may be hard for you to believe, but my mind immediately flashed back to that evening in Virginia, and I suddenly understood why Walt, a Black American, had refused to make an illegal U-turn. For the first time in my life I had a glimmer of understanding what life must be like for non-White Americans. True, I had spent two years as a minority on a Black campus, but that experience hadn’t punctured my ingrained sense of White privilege.
Because of my own illegal U-turn and the subsequent traffic ticket, I thought that I had put two and two together. For years I believed that Walt hadn’t made that illegal U-turn because he was afraid of getting a traffic ticket.
Then a White cop in Minneapolis casually murdered George Floyd on May 25, 2020. On video. Knowing he was being videotaped, the murderer displayed indifference, even contempt, for more than 9 minutes while Mr. Floyd struggled to breathe and eventually died. And his fellow cops stood by and did nothing.
Only then did I grasp the awful truth that, if Walt had been pulled over for making an illegal U-turn back in 1969, the consequences could have been far worse than a traffic ticket.
I am not clueless; I know about–and am outraged by–the idea that “Driving While Black” is justification for police intervention, but knowing something intellectually and even emotionally is vastly different from actually feeling it in your bones.
For many White theater-goers, Christopher Demos-Brown’s powerful 2018 play “American Son” made real the awful terror that ensues when skin color determines treatment. The entire play takes place in a police station, where an African American mother is trying to get the police to help her find her teenage son. He was driving the family car, on which he had put–in an act of youthful defiance–a bumper sticker that proclaimed “SHOOT THE POLICE” with a (small) image of a camera, not a gun. It’s gut-wrenching because at that moment we know that the young man will be shot and killed by a policeman.
“American Son” is not about White privilege. Its subject is being Black in an America where the inescapable companions of White privilege are hostility or indifference to those who aren’t White.
I am not claiming to have been ‘transformed’ by my insight. I remain the product of all of my experiences, not just those two U-turns, one taken and one not taken. However, I do understand that White privilege is pernicious, and, while it’s not the equivalent of White racism or White supremacy, it’s in that neighborhood.
Unfortunately, White privilege isn’t disappearing. In fact, in our current political climate, it seems that a growing number of White Americans are openly embracing not just White privilege but White supremacy. Former President Donald Trump has brought out the worst in many of his followers by making it acceptable to ‘say the quiet part out loud.’ Trump and his enablers have endorsed and even celebrated being openly vulgar, selfish, clannish, parochial, violent, and racist.
We seem to be getting further and further away from Dr. King’s dream that someday we will be judged by the content of our character, and not by the color of our skin.
We are a divided country, a long way from being the best we can be. Can we reverse directions and treat others–whatever they may look like and whatever they happen to believe–as we wish to be treated? Generosity toward all begins with listening to those around us, especially those we disagree with.
4 thoughts on “My White Privilege”
This is a truly wonderful analysis of racism seen through various lenses. I am grateful for it!
Phyllis Gardner, MD
Professor, Stanford University
This is quite wonderful they way you conjoin the two U turns, the double entendre of them, as in You Turn. Thanks!
Spot on, John. Sadly too few of we whites have ever experienced what people of color experience all too frequently. I consulted with a program out of St Louis called the National Leadership Program that paired urban and suburban student leaders (both those elected to school offices and those who were natural community leaders)
Kids in the programs went into the neighborhoods of their partners (urban kids into countrysides and suburban kids into central cities ). Both groups had fears of the unknown, and had to lean on their partners to navigate challenges the program put in place for them to navigate.
The personal growth for all was remarkable. understanding the lives and challenges of their partners was profound
Would that more of us were able to have those experiences early in our lives. Sadly, we are moving in the opposite direction
Thanks for an insightful piece
Like you, I grew up in a sea of whiteness, blissfully unawares.. There was as you know, one black student in our boarding school and my mother thought it was the most progressive, forward looking thing she had ever heard of. The problem was more ignorance and isolation than bigotry. I lived in a sea of affluence and opportunity at the northern end of Park Avenue at 95th-96th Street, one block from where the trains of the then New Haven Railroad came out and lower Harlem begins. In all my growing-up years i can’t recall once setting foot north of 96th on Park. It remained an unknown world until my daughter married a doctor at Mt. Sinai.Hospital and lived for a time in hospital-subsidized housing at 97th and Park. That was my first venture north of 96th and Park. New York is till compartmentalized by race and privilege but it’s more recognized now.