My friend and colleague, Pastor Noah Filipiak, interviewed me for his leadership podcast, “Behind the Curtain.” You can listen here. Most of the people he interviews are actually famous, so you might want to check it out.
My friend and colleague, Pastor Noah Filipiak, interviewed me for his leadership podcast, “Behind the Curtain.” You can listen here. Most of the people he interviews are actually famous, so you might want to check it out.
I got selected by the WordPress editors for their year-end round-up of the year’s best posts. Pretty cool. Thanks for reading.
One thing that happens when your blog actually starts getting read is that you get criticized from every possible angle out there in the wide world. So when I wrote a post about white privilege a few months ago, I took all kinds of heat from conservative white folks who told me I was racist for talking about race or for promoting an idea like privilege, and I took (somewhat less) heat from people of color (or white people speaking on behalf of people of color) who told me I was racist because “privilege” as a concept, especially when analogized to the dangers of riding a bike, minimizes the reality of racial injustice. (The thing folks from these various perspectives seem to have in common is that they hate “liberals,” though for very different reasons).
One of my more radical critics slammed me for “feeling I needed to have—or perhaps deserve—an ah-ha moment in which we feel we understand what it’s like for any one person of color.” Why, according to Wallace (who, for the record, is white), am I such a racist jerk for trying to foster some understanding of other people’s experiences? “Because really ‘getting it’…is impossible, and presumptuous to boot.”
So apparently, on the road to racial justice, not only is empathy a waste of time, it’s literally impossible. Wow. But, its not just my attempt at generating empathy that’s a waste of time, according to Wallace. Thinking and talking about privilege is a waste of time too. Why? Because what we really need to be talking about is white supremacism.
Wallace goes on to talk about how the mass incarceration of black and brown people is an example of the systemic injustice that he calls “white supremacy.” Now, I actually agree with what he has to say about mass incarceration. But what I really don’t agree with is the idea that ‘white supremacy’ is a helpful handle for talking about systemic racial injustice. But I am apparently totally out of style, ’cause it’s the word all the cool kids are using these days.
Another word that’s really popular right now is “triggering.” This is the idea that certain words or phrases or lines of thinking set off an emotional reaction in someone who has experienced trauma in their life. Most of us are familiar with the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder. A trigger is something that consciously or unconsciously connects to a memory of trauma and causes an emotional reaction.
Now, I think it’s totally legit to talk about how victims of racial and other injustice are victims of trauma and therefore if your aim is fruitful dialogue you should avoid potentially triggering words/phrases/etc. (In fact, the last section of the bike analogy was basically saying, “Look, white people, if something you do unintentionally triggers a negative reaction in a person of color, try to have the wisdom and patience to not take it personally and stay in the conversation.”)
But here’s the thing: I cannot think of a more triggering phrase than ‘white supremacy’ if you’re trying to communicate with white people about systemic racism. The face-value definition of white supremacy and the psycho-emotional imagery connected to it are all about the KKK, burning crosses, lynchings, neo-Nazis, explicit racial hatred, etc. The wikipedia definition:
the racist belief, or promotion of the belief, that white people are superior to people of other racial backgrounds and that therefore whites should politically, economically and socially dominate non-whites.
Why on earth, if you’re trying to foster genuine dialogue by communicating to people who don’t believe that “whites should politically, economically and socially dominate non-whites” and you’re trying to help them understand how they might be participating in racial injustices, would you want to lead with “You’re just like the KKK”?!
I understand that people want to highlight that there is a certain historical continuity between the overt racism prior to the Civil Rights movement and the current structural injustices in the US. And I also understand that sometimes provocative language is what’s needed to wake people up and get them to realize something.
But ‘white supremacy’ isn’t used like it’s provocative language by those who use it: selectively and strategically deployed to rattle people’s cages with the hope that it might open their eyes. No. It’s just the jargon everyone’s using. It’s used like insiders’ lingo, one of the shibboleths of the far left that demonstrates that you’re an insider. You don’t use passé or liberal language like ‘racism’ or ‘privilege.’ Nope, you’re really radical ‘cause you say ‘white supremacy’ and you don’t even flinch. Kind of like a bunch of 6th-graders dropping the F-bomb. It’s not really about transgressing some social norm so much as it is about proving you know what’s up.
I guess if your goal is to prove you’re more rad than anyone else, ‘white supremacy’ is probably great language for that. But if your goal is to foster the kind of dialogue that can actually effect change, I can’t think of any language that could more counterproductive.
Most culture war issues boil down to being about either sexual ethics or economic justice.
The trending paradigm on the Left is to push for more acceptance of a widening range of sexual practices—indeed, to frame the non-acceptance of those sexual practices as human rights violations on the order of violent fascism. On this view, the most just world would be the one in which everyone can have sex with whomever they choose regardless of the sex, gender, marital status of the two partners, or, indeed, of whether there are more than two of them.
At the same time they clamor for economic justice, whether its from the more moderate standpoint of liberalism, which wants to see more government instituted economic programs, or from a more radical standpoint, which wants to deconstruct “capitalism” altogether.
Meanwhile conservatives are fighting for “family values,” and want to see the sexual ethics of by-gone years legislated in hopes of curbing the cultural onslaught of proliferating sexual identities and the erosion of marriage-based sexuality as the norm.
And these same people trying to shore up the boundaries of sexual expression want to tear down the boundaries of “regulation” in the marketplace. In fact, they want to tear down the boundary between the market and the rest of life. Anything can be improved by “privatizing” it, even things that until recently hadn’t been considered commodities, like war, police protection, and schools. In their view, the most just world would be the one in which everything is a business, and everyone can carry out trade as they see fit, without any interference or moral guidance from the state or its regulatory bodies.
Of course, when I frame it that way (a way which admittedly lacks a lot of nuance and doesn’t mention all the folks opting for “magenta” over blue or red), it’s easy to see a kind of inconsistency in both ideological bents. That frame will also help us see what the two have in common, but let me hold off on that for a minute.
Both of these views of the world have a lacuna, a blindspot that keeps them from really attaining the more just and equitable world they say they want to attain.
The thing they both fail to see is this: Structural injustices and immoral expressions of sexuality are deeply connected to each other. In fact, they have a cause-effect relationship that runs in both directions.
Economic and power injustices create conditions in which people are more likely to choose or be forced into sexual/family brokenness. E.g., poor woman are more likely to get abortions, men who don’t have access to work with fair wages are less likely to stay committed to their families—and women are less likely to marry such men in the first place. There seems to be a strong correlation, between income and a couple’s ability to stay married. (And I would say, just observationally, that divorced couples with significant income also have the ability to mitigate some of the negative consequences of divorce, e.g. they can maintain two economically-viable households, so their children can still see both parents). Anyone who’s wanted to go on a date with their spouse but couldn’t afford a babysitter understands there’s a connection between economics and family stability.
Conversely, sexual immorality tends to perpetuate or exacerbate circumstances that keep people in poverty or limit their life choices. E.g. children raised in single-parent homes are less likely to go to college and more likely to do drugs, promiscuous young people are more likely to have children they are not financially or emotionally prepared to raise, women who procure abortions are more likely to commit suicide or inflict self-harm, etc. It could also be said that sexual transgressions visit upon children the same kinds of injustices that structural/economic injustices do at a micro-level. E.i., a child’s rights to live, be raised by her own parents, have to strong sense of self/identity, etc. are violated by abortion, adultery, divorce, etc.
So, from this vantage point, both sides are building up with one hand and tearing down with the other—their just doing it with the opposite hands.
What’s behind this counterproductive behavior? The thing they both lack is a genuine understanding of human dignity, because both begin with woefully incomplete understandings of the human person.
The Left’s anthropology is probably best crystalized in the thought of Michel Foucault. Foucault’s primary concern was with analyzing the abuse of power, and particularly how political and societal structures impose power on the body. Foucault was explicitly critical of humanist philosophies and the notion that there is any such thing as “human nature.” By undercutting humanist notions that there is a universal human nature that forms the basis of human dignity, Foucault effectively reduces human relationships to the operation of power and human beings to bodies—bodies which are sites of the exercise of power and the experience of oppression. Foucault’s influence on the radical Left is can be seen in their inability to move their discourse beyond discussions of power and the body.
The Right’s anthropology is typified by the likes of Ayn Rand. For Rand, the human person is viewed as an autonomous individual agent, who acts ethically when she acts on her own behalf. Because people are just living organisms, their fundamental goal is to continue to live; therefore, their primary moral obligation is self-preservation. Rand believed that the greatest good would be achieved by everybody acting in this way. Her influence on the Right is still pervasive, and apparent in the starry-eyed insistence that the Market will cure all ills—so long as we don’t impose any crazy “restraints” on it, like minimum wage, child labor laws, or universal healthcare. Because the Market, after all, is just the playing field where everyone is allowed to act in her own self interest. (My Christian readers should read this by Elizabeth Stoker Breunig on how ragingly un-Christian Rand’s thought is).
The problem (well, one of the problems) with both of these anthropologies is that they are unrealistically individualistic. For Foucault, the human being is a body imposing power on others or being imposed on by them. For Rand, the human is a living organism trying to stay alive. Neither recognizes that the fundamental reality that humans are not just individuals but members of families. Humans are conceived and birthed and raised by parents and nurtured into adulthood by families. This is not accidental to, but constitutive of our humanity. It is not peripheral to how we make economic or sexual choices.
Another way of saying this is that neither the anthropology of the Right or the Left has space for the category of love. The fundamental truth that humans are agents of love, who live in families and communities constituted by love, and make choices and decision based on love does not factor into the ideological grid of either side.
Try bringing the word “love” into a discussion of economic policy in a group of conservatives or a debate about race and oppression in a group of leftists and watch the blank stares you are met with. For folks operating under the influence of these ideological systems it literally cannot compute.
But it has to. Because it’s reality.
I don’t know know how or if love can become a category in our political discourse in the US, but I can’t imagine how we can actually make some progress toward a just and moral society until it does.
Your revolution is limited, bent, needs work
It’s more than hemp bracelets and a Che Guevara T-shirt.
—Mars Ill, “You Can’t Stop”
In 2007 the leftist political magazine In These Times featured a cover story entitled “Preaching Revolution” about a new generation of Christians that secular leftists “need to know.” On the cover: the iconic silhouetted image of Che Guevara made over with a crown of thorns. Jesus as Che. The story, which focussed heavily on Rob Bell (then at Mars Hill Church in Grand Rapids, MI) discussed how the rhetoric of revolution and radicalism was out of vogue at the time with the secular left since it was viewed as too extreme to be practical, and meanwhile, ironically, that same rhetoric was gaining traction with this new generation of evangelical Christians.
The evangelical credentials of Rob Bell have since been called into question (and I imagine even at the time he would’ve been uncomfortable with the label himself), but that’s beside the point. What the article got right, and what continues to be true, is that there is tremendous appeal—especially among Christians who are younger than, say, 50—to the idea that Christianity is radical, countercultural, and revolutionary. (In fact, a quick internet search reveals that there are lots of churches literally named Revolution).
In the seven years since, this trend has shown no sign of abating. Countercultural Christianity is here to stay, at least for a generation or two.
Now at times, the language of radicalism is just being (what I’m sure the secular left would consider) co-opted. That is, it’s nothing more than marketing. In the US at least, there is a great deal of marketing value to the language of revolution and counterculture. It can sell computers. It can sell tacos. It can also sell churches.
Even politically moderate and conservative Christians have adopted it. Tim Keller, pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian, is fond of the phrase he coined that Christians should be “a counterculture for the common good.” But, even further to right, the idea of being “radical for Jesus” or “resisting the culture” fits perfectly with fundamentalist theologies of cultural separatism and the persecution complex of more civically-engaged politically conservative Christians. It is not at all unusual to hear words like “revolution” or phrases like “radically living out the gospel” on the lips of the Mark Driscolls of the world.
At other times, the ethos of radicalism runs a little bit deeper than a sexy spray-on gloss. Take, for example, folks like Shane Claiborne who have successfully brought some of the elements of Christian anarchism and radical Anabaptist theology (e.g., voluntary poverty, solidarity with the poor, abstaining from governmental politics) into more mainstream expressions of Christianity. Then there is Jim Wallace, advocating for a politically-engaged but nonpartisan Christian leftism. There are a number of popular biblical scholars, including N.T. Wright and Walter Brueggemann, who have emphasized the anti-imperial message running through both the Old and New Testaments—and exerted a great deal of influence on preachers in the US and UK. Or, at the more academic level, there is the Radical Orthodoxy movement, where theologians like John Milbank are in serious dialogue with leftist philosophers like Slavoj Zizek.
The ideas and praxes of this second group are not always compatible, but they have in common a sense that a more faithful Christianity will be a more countercultural one. They employ language like “contrast community,” “counter-polis,” “resident aliens” and “peculiar people” to describe what the church should be. And they see their role as a prophetic one calling Christians to be more radical, more willing to look different.
My guess is that someone who came into my church on any given Sunday would count me as one of this new generation that is preaching revolution. Admittedly, I read and listen to and like a lot of the folks in that previous paragraph. I am also, admittedly, prone to framing Christian discipleship as countercultural. However, I think that the Christianity-as-counterculture move has its limits. And they are significant enough that they’re worth thinking about.
The first is the potential the rhetoric of counterculture has to backfire. It’s intended goal is to get Christians to be more radical. That is, to be willing, for the sake of Jesus and his kingdom, to live differently than the pagan world around them. But, in the post-cultural-revolution US, we Americans have a completely inverted relationship with conformity and rebellion, wherein our first impulse (collectively as a culture) is nonconformity or rebellion. I.e., we live in the complex and somewhat paradoxical situation in which rebellion is conformity to our cultural norms. Our culture is counterculture.
In such a situation, the “countercultural” Christian can have her cake and eat it too. That is, I can identify as radical and feel that I’m being countercultural while adopting views and practices that are actually embraced and celebrated by the culture around me. This can happen on a very superficial level (“I’m so rad ‘cause I have tattoos and listen to punk rock”) or on a deeper level (“Look at me counterculturally supporting gay marriage!”).
Nothing is inherently wrong with having one’s cake and eating it too, but, if genuinely radical discipleship is the goal, this situation is most definitely NOT shaping people to do that. When push comes to shove and actual nonconformity/rebellion/willingness to be persecuted and hated by the world is called for, I’m almost certain my tattoos will not have prepared me for it. If anything, those of us in this situation are atrophying our capacity for genuine resistance by stroking our own egos. The kid who buys the “WALMART SUCKS” T-shirt at Hot Topic is engaging in praxis that is shaping him to be a consumer, not praxis that is shaping him to resist consumerism. The pride with which he wears the shirt only makes it worse.
Case in point, the struggle that avowedly countercultural Christians increasingly have with fully embracing the (actually) radical sexual ethic of historic Christianity. The article mentioned above quoted Jim Wallace as saying of young, revolutionary Christians “[they are] breaking away from the Right in droves – but they will never be captured by the left. They’re going to challenge the left on a lot of things: For these Christians, sex is covenantal and not recreational. And they oppose abortion and they are not going to move away from that.” Seven years later, these words ring hollow. Many of the revolutionaries have indeed been “captured by the left” on sexual ethics, and very few are “challenging the left” on these issues. (Though see Elizabeth Stoker Bruenig for a refreshing example).
The second concern I have is that, depending on one’s social context and historical moment, Christianity isn’t always countercultural. There are always some points at which the values of the dominant order overlap with the values of the kingdom of God. But it seems that we countercultural Christians are conditioned to be opposed to, or at least suspicious of, anything “conservative” or “mainstream.” The danger in this is not merely that it sets us up for knee-jerk thinking, that it shapes us into haters who are automatically against whatever we perceive is part of the regnant order. The greater danger beyond that, it seems that folks for whom the countercultural-ness of the Christian faith is its central appeal are prone to choose being countercultural over being Christian when the two come into conflict.
Sometimes the way this plays out is that people allow a political ideology to shape their views more than the faith and then do a lot of biblical or theological gymnastics to maintain their ideologically-shaped views are Christian. But I also know folks who eventually left the faith altogether because other, more radical lifestyles/worldviews were more appealing.
Don’t get me wrong, I still want to be part of a revolution. I’m not ready to let go of the language of counterculture just yet. In fact, I think it’s a pretty necessary lens for viewing the Christian faith. But those of us for whom it’s our favorite lens need to do some careful thinking about how we use it, to make sure we’re using it to clarify, and not distort, what it means to be faithful to the kingdom.
If you own any kind of electronic device that has ever used iTunes, you may have noticed you received a gift from U2 last week. Or did you? The band’s thirteenth album, Songs of Innocence, “released” itself into the accounts of every single iTunes user.
Apparently, U2 wanted to give the music away, but they also didn’t want to give it away—because of the degradation of the value of music caused by giving music away. So, they asked Apple to buy it, reportedly for $100 million, and give it away to every one of their customers. (Of course those of us who aren’t Apple CEO’s or members of the Illuminati will never know how this deal was actually arranged, but…). Says Bono:
[Apple] bought it as a gift to give to all their music customers. Free, but paid for. Because if no-one’s paying anything for it, we’re not sure “free” music is really that free. It usually comes at a cost to the art form and the artist… which has big implications, not for us in U2, but for future musicians and their music… all the songs that have yet to be written by the talents of the future… who need to make a living to write them.
At first take, this seems generous of U2. It seems to subvert the transactional nature of capitalism, so it’s kind of sticking-it-to-the-Man-ish, or at least kind of like sticking the Man with the bill so the little guy can get some free music. U2, one of the biggest bands in the world is giving away their new album. They didn’t need to do that. Millions of people would gladly have paid good money for it. If it’s free to me, it’s a gift, right?
Except the problem is, in the process of selling the album to Apple, U2 turned it into advertising. It’s fuzzy exactly how it’s functioning as advertising, but it’s not at all unclear that it is. It’s sort of an ad for the new iPhone. The debut single from the album was performed live for the first time ever at the product launch for the iPhone 6. And a video (called an “ad” on their website) for it, which can be viewed at apple.com, ends with an image of the Edge smashing his guitar which the viewer is seeing on a screen-within-the-screen of an iPhone 6 being held by a revolutionary fist.
It’s sort of an ad for iTunes. The aforementioned video for the first single is shot in the now-recognizable, heavily branded visual language of iTunes commercials: high-contrast, near-sillouettes of human figures against solid backgrounds.
And this time the colors of the near-sillouettes have been updated to the not-quite-flourescent-not-quite-pastel color scheme of iOS7 and 8 and employ Johnny Ive’s signature use of gradient. So it’s sort of an ad for iOS8 too.
All of which is to say, it is no longer an act of generosity. It is no longer surprising or countercultural that it is free. Because advertising is always free. Which is to say it’s not a gift.
But, you might protest, the fact that it became a commercial in the process of the business rigamarole that got it into my hands for free shouldn’t matter to me. How I got it doesn’t change the music itself. Except that it does. Try as I might to hear it as something else, “Miracle (of Joey Ramone)” is a commercial to me. It came to me as a commercial. It sounds like a commercial when I listen to it. I cannot NOT hear it as a commercial. The chunky, fuzz-toned guitar riff is still enjoyable to listen to, but invariably sparks a kind of Pavlovian association to the Apple brand and thickens a linkage between my aesthetic tastes (and, therefore, my desires) and Apple products.
[There’s a whole nother layer of this around the fact some of these songs are about U2’s punk rock roots and the fact that they are dragging their punk rock heroes into these advertisements, but the subsumption of counterculture by consumer capitalism is a theme I’ve already explored elsewhere, so I won’t go into that in this post].
I’m not hating on U2 here. In fact, I hate U2 haters. I like U2. My instinct is actually to trust that their intentions are entirely innocent (Get it?). But I’m not making a comment about U2 here at all. What I’m talking about is the gesture. The gesture of giving music away for free (even music that someone else paid you for) and what the possibilities are for the meaning of such a gesture in our current cultural context.
[Sorry, another thing about the punk layer that I’m not going to write about: Another way I’m not hating on U2 here is that I’m not saying that they are appropriating or a co-opting punk rock in a way that’s disingenuous or predatory. I’m old enough to remember that U2 has a legitimate claim to being a part of the punk revolution. They are not stealing Joey Ramone or Joe Strummer or reconstructing a personal history that isn’t true. They really did make really important, influential music that was heavily influenced by the original punk scene. Joshua Tree was mind-blowing and deserves the spot it has claimed in rock history.]
There may have been a different way that U2 could’ve given this album away—Radiohead and Jay-Z and the Wu-Tang Clan have all tried slightly different models—a way that would’ve not turned the music into advertising. But even if they had, would the music still have retained the qualities of a gift? Would the gesture of giving it away still have meant what a gift means?
I’m doubtful. No matter how they had chosen to do it, there’s is no way a band as big as U2 operating in an economy such as ours could’ve given away their music such that it didn’t some how redound to their benefit (e.g., free publicity, increased sales of their other albums, concert ticket sales, etc.) Even if their intentions were good, the net result would be a scheme, a PR stunt, a “new business model.”
And the nature of a genuine gift is that it involves a sacrifice on the part of the giver. Generosity involves giving someone something beyond what you owe them or what they deserve without regard for the cost to yourself.
The reason this is so interesting in relation to U2 in particular is because grace—the religious name for this kind of selfless giving—is such a prominent theme in their music. The most obvious example being the song “Grace”:
Grace, she takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain
It could be her name
Grace, it’s a name for a girl
It’s also a thought
That changed the world
I believe in that kind of grace. And I believe that it did change the world. But I’m pretty sure me getting a free copy of Songs of Innocence has very little to do with that kind of grace.
Global capitalism and cloud servers might create the illusion that humans can do something genuinely generous for 500 million people, but I’m not convinced that’s even possible. And I’m certain that if it were possible, whatever that gift would be, it wouldn’t be an ad.
A few weeks ago, I posted this about white privilege–explaining how riding a bike for transportation has helped me to understand it more. And it has gotten quite the response. Way more hits than anything else on the blog. Reblogged all over the place. Almost 1,000 comments so far. Obviously, white privilege is something people want to talk about.
A lot of people said it was helpful, but lots of other people told me it was dumb or terrible or racist. So I’d like to respond to a couple of the arguments and critiques that I see as themes in the comments.
First, a lot of people pointed out that the analogy fails at the point where I choose to get off my bike. This is a really valid point to make. The experience I have as a cyclist—the disproportionate sense of power, the inequality of our road system, the fear of getting squashed—those all disappear for me when I get off my bike. For people of color, however, there’s no getting off the bike. I didn’t say that explicitly in the original post. But I understood that when I wrote it. So I really want to validate that that IS important to remember.
But I also don’t think it damages the usefulness of this analogy. The analogy still works at lots of other salient points. If you read through the comments, you can see where people made lots of smart connections and extensions of the analogy. (Warning: you will have to wade through a lot of dumb comments, I was pretty hands-off with the moderating).
Second, a couple of people were offended because they felt like the comparison was belittling. I just want to make clear: I was in no way saying that my experience as a cyclist is EQUIVALENT TO what people of color experience in terms of the level of inequality or the amount of struggle that it creates in my life. It was meant as an analogy, not a direct comparison.
The point was that having an experience where I am a) a minority, with b) significantly less power, who is c) trying to operate in a system that is designed around the majority—an experience that I don’t have very frequently as a white man—has helped me to empathize with folks who have those kinds of experiences in life for other reasons. I shared my experience because I know that other white people have trouble listening to privilege talk and analogy is a way of coming at it sideways and hopefully building some empathy.
In addition to those two critiques of the analogy, there were lots of other commenters pointing out other ways they thought the analogy broke down (or just unsubstantiated complaints that it was a bad analogy). To all of those folks, I guess I would just say, that is the nature of analogies. They show likenesses between two unlike things in a way that helps us understand one of them better. The two things being compared are necessarily not EXACTLY the same, otherwise there would be no point in comparing them. And on some level, this how all language works. We connect abstract ideas to concrete pictures so that we can better grasp their meaning. See, I just said “works.” Language doesn’t really work, but the concrete image of a person or a machine working helped you get what I meant. (Ah, I just did it again, “see” and “get” are not what’s actually happening when…You get the picture…Oh!) One commenter, Colubris, in response to someone who didn’t seem to get this, said all this much more succinctly (and sarcastically):
Yeah, metaphors can be hard. Keep working at it.
In short, if you didn’t like the post just because you were able to find some point where the analogy breaks down, your beef is with language, not with me.
Thankfully, I had lots of people tell me that it did help them get white privilege for the first time, so, whatever its weaknesses, I think it works. In fact, I had folks say the analogy was “perfect,” that it was the “best analogy they’ve ever heard,” and that it “moved them to tears.” So, I think we can still trust the power of language, specifically metaphor, to convey meaning. Some white people said, “OK, I get it. Now what do I do?” My friend Noah wrote a good what-now? piece here (in which he cries a lot about me copying him).
Third, a lot of white folks said that the problem with my post was that it just whined about my experience as a biker and didn’t make specific connections to analogous experiences people of color face. E.g. John Klapproth of Anchorage, AK, who read the article over at Quartz wrote in:
You do not define, in any way, what white privilege is, nor do you give any concrete examples of white privilege. You make a nice comparison to bike riding but you don’t tell me what it is you’re comparing the bike riding too.
This is a valid critique of my post as an argument for the existence of white privilege. But my post is not an argument for the existence of white privilege. It is an attempt to help people hear the language without automatically getting defensive. A thought experiment to help create empathy in folks who might otherwise have trouble empathizing. It was a way of helping white people (other cyclists at least) to be open to the idea that in the same way they know they experience something on the road that drivers don’t see—because of their vantage point—people of color experience something in life that white folks have trouble seeing because of our vantage point.
To draw out all of the specific connections between cycling under-privilege and racial under-privilege would be to put me in the place of speaking for people of color, which I tried not to do. I let people speak from their own experiences in the comments. Some folks pointed out some more subtle things like media (mis)representation of black people or studies that show that non-white-sounding names on job applications are less likely to be called for an interview, but one commenter went right for the jugular:
The white privilege of not having your murder justified by showing “thug” pictures, pointing to marijuana use… and militarizing against peaceful protests in the name of said victim.
Fourth, a lot of people accused me of being racist for simply using the term “white” or bringing up racial categories at all. I can understand why some white people think the color-blind route is the way to go. But here’s the thing: most people of color are saying it’s not, so maybe we should listen to them. This is complicated, because “race”—as we’ve come to understand it in the US—is most definitely a socially-constructed thing. As a Christian, I am definitely a non-essentialist, i.e., I believe we are really all a part of the human race. And as someone in a “mixed-race” family, the socially-constructed nature of race is transparent to me. Within the confines of my home, “race” disappears. My kids don’t see me as a white dad, they just see me as dad. I don’t see them as my black kids, I just see them as my kids. As in, we literally forget about race. But we don’t live within the confines of our home. We have to go out into the world, where people say dumb things like, “What country were your kids adopted from?”, where I have to worry about how they might be treated and how it’s impacting their self-understanding, where, as one of them is about to be a teenager, I have to worry if he might get arrested for wearing a hoody, or worse, get shot.
So the fact that race is fictional—or as Henry Louis Gates says, race is a trope—doesn’t mean that just invoking the human race will make all the injustices it has caused or perpetuated go away. We have to acknowledge it still matters if we’re going to work toward a future where it matters less.
Lastly, a lot of drivers argued that I was just wrong about my experience as a cyclist, or made some kind of comment about all cyclists being jerks or drivers being justified in thinking all cyclists were, because most of them are. Like Mike S.:
….sometimes [drivers] are just frustrated that many bikers act like superior jerks who own the whole road and put multiple people at risk with bad behavior.
Ironically, even though these folks completely missed the point of the article, they accidentally proved it. Drivers who think that cyclists aren’t facing significantly more risk on the road, or that we don’t have to do more work to get to the same place, or that the transportation infrastructure isn’t made for cars with bikes as a mere afterthought, can only be speaking from a lack of experience of riding a bike for transportation. Thus, they demonstrate the point about white privilege–you don’t see it because the system is designed for you. (I’m really, really tempted to say they need to check their privilege here…but I won’t).
Because you don't have to interpret Scripture on your own
Author, Professor, Public Intellectual