My shame

When I reread "White Privilege," I confess I felt I ashamed. I had read this list years ago and was enlightened and outraged to read it. But over time, that outrage subsided, and the enlightenment I experienced faded with the years. I gradually again began to take for granted my white privilege, and didn't consider the oppression it imparts. I hope - especially for my students - that its imprint will sear this time.

As I walk through my daily life, the so-called privileges roll to me without effort. I can drive my car anywhere and not fear that I will be stopped or mistreated because of the color of my skin. I can walk into almost any group in Oregon and be among the majority. I can shop in a store and not have people hover. I can return from a trip, and unlike one of the most distinguished historians in the country, not worry about having to get into my house without raising suspicion. I experience privilege - actually, advantage - at every turn of my life. And most important to me, I can arrange to protect my child most of the time from people who might not like her.

I am not sure if the obliviousness to this white advantage stems from a desire to retain the myth of meritocracy, as Peggy McIntosh suggests. I think it's bald-faced selfishness on my part and the part of other whites. We have the luxury of not thinking about those advantages and how they oppress. To think about them and to consider how they give us advantage is threatening and too difficult to bear. It threatens our advantage because any person with a conscience would see that the advantage should not be sustained. It should be addressed on the personal level daily and systematically.

I actually watch "Boys of Baraka" in anger and shame. I have read and seen clips or articles about the wonderful work the school is performing and the marvelous progress and opportunities for their students. But I can't help but ask, why do these boys need to be separated from their families and communities and travel to Kenya to make those strides and receive those opportunities? What does that say about America? What does that say for the thousands of boys who remain in Baltimore without those opportunities? The scene of the woman on the plane was dramatic in showing her appalling reaction to the boys. But the sad reality is that she might as well have represented the face of America because of how the country has treated children from low-income and predominantly minority neighborhoods. We have the "Boys of Baraka" and countless others by our indifference.

Throughout my reading, talking and watching for school this week, I can't escape returning to thoughts about Lou Boston, whose funeral was held Saturday.

I had the honor and privilege of knowing Lou through my church, St. Andrew in Northeast Portland, where Lou was a leader in promoting difficult and powerful conversations about race among parishioners and throughout the archdiocese. He established an annual Martin Luther King Jr. award for people in the church and outside who are committed to racial justice. He also served in Portland on a range of boards for many educational and social service institutions, ones particularly focused on creating opportunities for African American males.

You can read more about Lou here, and I mention him in this context because I know I can learn from him in becoming a teacher and think you can, too. As his son said at his funeral Mass, Lou saw every meeting of a person or a group as an opportunity to bridge divisions between races and people, an an opportunity to build community. He was relentless in promoting racial justice. I hope we all can do that in our work as teachers.