I Can’t Wait Till Sundae
White privilege isn’t only the caramel and chocolate and cream and cherry on top, it’s also the vanilla underneath.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
I’ve been waiting for many a lifetime. I’d rather not wait for mine. It’s not that I don’t want the whole sundae. It sure looks tasty from afar. But for now, after Emmitt and Trayvon and Jordan and Tamir. After Botham and Atatiana. After Renisha and Jonathan and after the other one or ten thousand prior to and subsequent of, a scoop of vanilla will do.
Sure, the toppings of white privilege would be nice. Sometimes they are big, like greater inherited wealth and greater job prospects and greater healthcare. And sometimes they are little, like sharing a park without challenging someone’s sense of serenity and sharing an elevator without challenging someone’s sense of security and sharing a neighborhood without challenging someone’s sense of sanctity.
But all of the time, white privilege is THE one fundamental privilege, the privilege to live in a skin that society doesn’t fear or isn’t allowed to claim to fear when it’s convenient.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Although my mouth waters for it when I see it being served to others. I ask how is it and whether they enjoy it and they act like it’s no big deal. They tell me I have it also. They say it’s on my menu too. They tell me our servings are equal.
They cringe at the notion that they may in fact be somehow privileged. They cringe at the notion that they may in fact have a sundae. I cringe because I’ve given up on the notion of ever having a sundae. I cringe because I know that I may never have even a scoop of vanilla.
They love to boast of being self made. They love to say they had no big things to speak of or little things to mention. This they point to as proof of their lack of privilege. They like to believe or pretend to believe that white privilege is the caramel and the chocolate and the creme and the cherry on top. It is. But it’s so much more than that because it’s so much less than that. Because it’s also the vanilla underneath.
Because all of the time white privilege is THE one fundamental privilege, the privilege to live in a skin that society doesn’t fear or isn’t allowed to claim to fear when it’s convenient.
And for that simple scoop of vanilla I crave. My dessert plate is bare. So please, I’d rather they not tell me that our servings are identical when surely they know the sugar they taste is sweeter than the blood I taste. Please don’t pretend that I have a sundae when surely they know that I’m dying for the vanilla underneath.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
I’ve been waiting since long before Emmitt. Since long before 1955 when he was 14 and walked into that market and was said to have whistled at that white woman. Since long before his confessed killers, J.W. and Milam, admitted they beat him and shot him and drowned him. Since long before that Mississippi jury of their Mississippi peers freed them.
I’ve been waiting since long before Trayvon. Since long before he was 17 and wore that hoodie in the rain. I’ve been waiting since long before Jordan. Since long before he was 17 and listened to that thug music in the car. I’ve been waiting since long before Tamir. Since long before he was 12 and had that toy gun in the park.
They were children. Their combined age is less than retirement age. Some say their black lives mattered. They didn’t. Neither did their black deaths. Alas, still no caramel and chocolate and cream and cherry on top. Alas, still no vanilla underneath.
And Till the day I get THE one fundamental privilege, the privilege to live in a skin that society doesn’t fear or isn’t allowed to claim to fear when it’s convenient, there never will be.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Because every day I somehow lose more and more of the societally valued traits that are intrinsically mine yet I begrudgingly retain the stigmas with which I’ve been historically maligned. Perhaps as Frederick Douglass said, “slaves sing loudest when they are saddest,” I’ve made my malignant state seem cool. They love my music and my moves. So much so, Elvis became a king. They love my braids and my rows. So much so, Bo became a 10. They love my assets and my curves. So much so, everyone keeps up with Kim.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Because that notwithstanding, when they’re not loving my coolness, they’re fearing my blackness. And that fear, real or imagined or claimed when it’s convenient, is a matter of life and death. Mine. Some people’s actions make them threatening. What a privilege that must be. Some people’s existence make them threatening.
Perhaps others wouldn’t deem it so appropriate to appropriate if their consequence was my consequence, the perilous existence in my skin.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Because I want to taste the privilege of fair skin now rather than stomaching the burden of unfair skin daily. I seek not the ability to leap tall buildings. I simply want the privilege to sit safely in mine without my threatening skin seeping beyond the confines of my walls. Without it billowing through my windows. It was so threatening that officer Amber had to shoot Botham as he sat on his couch eating ice cream. It was so threatening that officer Aaron had to shoot Atatiana as she played video games in her bedroom with her nephew.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Because what if today I have a car accident like Renesha or Jonathan? Will I have the privilege of knocking on a stranger’s door for help? An act so threatening that homeowner Theodore shot and killed an unarmed and injured Renisha. An act so threatening that Officer Wes shot and killed an unarmed and injured Jonathan. Neither did anything wrong. They did precisely as anyone should. Except they were missing one thing.
They were missing THE one fundamental privilege, the privilege of living in a skin that society doesn’t fear or isn’t allowed to claim to fear when it’s convenient.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
Because if you change their skin color, you’d change their fate. Privilege Emmitt and Trayvon and Jordan and Tamir with fair skin instead of unfair skin, perhaps they would’ve lived to the ripe old age of 18. Privilege Botham and Atatiana with fair skin instead of unfair skin, perhaps they would’ve enjoyed the comforts of their own homes. Privilege Renisha and Jonathan with fair skin instead of unfair skin and perhaps they would’ve gotten help from a caring neighbor instead of a hashtag from a grieving community.
They may not have had the big toppings of greater inherited wealth and greater job prospects and and greater health care. They may not have had the little toppings like sharing parks without challenging others’ sense of serenity and sharing elevators without challenging others’ sense of safety and sharing neighborhoods without challenging others’ sense of sanctity.
But they would have had THE one fundamental privilege, the privilege of living in a skin that society doesn’t fear or isn’t allowed to claim to fear when it’s convenient.
They may not have had the caramel and the chocolate and the cream and the cherry on top. But they still would have had the vanilla underneath. They would have had the privilege of life. And with the privilege of life, perhaps they may have one day gotten to order from the menu with the caramel and the chocolate and the cream and the cherry on top. They may have one day gotten to taste the vanilla underneath. But alas, we’ll never know.
They weren’t allowed to wait Till sundae.
#EmmittTill #TrayvonMartin #JordanDavis #TamirRice #BothamJean #AtatianaJefferson #RenishaMcBride #JonathanFerrell
@PoliticoNupe
