E-race-ism

The term white privilege is used to label the contemporary advantage that Anglo lineage has gained from the likes of convenience, legacy, exploration, exploitation, commercialism, education, slavery, genetics, industry, technology, and other factors.  I find that this concept is difficult for some Anglo people to recognize or acknowledge.  As people grow closer and closer to identifying with the colonial concept called 'prosperity' so does the belief in their right to property.  What role does generational advantage (A.K.A privilege) play in the understanding of prosperity?    

I think privilege is a characteristic of competition and life doesn't have to be a matter of winning or losing.  I feel bound to intellectual concepts that promote culturally tainted values like competition and advantage.  I feel like I have missed out on how valuable sharing, collaboration, and vulnerability can be in commerce, education, and technology.  The word privilege points to the corrosive prosperity that very few in the dominant societies care to confront.  Dominant societies, meaning those that participate in luxurious markets or have first world problems.  Prosperous peoples rarely relinquish their desire for prosperity.  How else can we help these self-made believing peoples feel valued?  (Self-made by Franklin's definition and not the definition of Douglass...for which Douglass' definition is more appealing)

Privilege is a strategy of luxury, possibly leading to the understanding of being owed, honored, obliged, or authorized.  I find that this darker quality exists in close minded, fearful, stubborn, aspiring, and dogmatic peoples.  The hard part is that when you put a racial component in the front of such an authoritative word, I see the disservice it does to the commonality that all people suffer from the misuse of privilege.  Even more complex is that the definition for the proper use of privilege is too personal or perceptual.  

I wouldn't disagree if we called white privilege, colonial privilege.  I do find it unfair to many humble and modest Anglos that white privilege has become a blanket condition.  But I have spent many hours and thoughts on how to find peace when dealing with privileged people.  I found that privileged people who live in luxury or thoughtless spending, cannot see themselves as excessive or thoughtless with their resources.  I find the opposite.  Privileged people believe they are bettering the world by bettering themselves.  There is virtue and rational in what luxuries they are participating in.  Privileged people can almost always see themselves as blessed.   Privileged people conjugate with and around similarly privileged people.  Racial privilege is real, but it distracts from the real corrosive privilege that pollutes cultures of people.  

I find that cultural privilege is a formidable concept worth confronting.  I see that racial privilege is far to radioactive to approach.  I think as I have erased the racial component that often precedes privilege, I can encounter truer shared value for life, resources, and technology.  I have also added to the concept of privilege a heavy dose of responsibility.  I have this idea, a faithful belief, to be responsible to questioning and bringing awareness to the irresponsible.  I hope others do the same for me.

Arthur Schatz—The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images

Happy Birthday Cesar Estrada Chavez.  You helped me to prefer responsibility over privilege; service over commerce; and progress over profits!

Trust in Pride

With permission from Cecelia, here is her contribution on the subject of toxicity in the Chicano culture.  First a brief description about Cecelia.  Cecelia and I met at a writing workshop.  I was there with a living hero, Jimmy Santiago Baca.  He allowed me to participate despite never being published or credited as a writer.  Cecelia was there too.  She supported me during a really difficult moment during the conference.  I didn't believe myself to be a writer and I was among professional and aspiring writers.  I was challenged to share my work out loud.

I was asked to read aloud my novice writing.  With my voice trembling in my tentative tone, I read a poem.  It got rocked and I was told my writing wasn't passionate.  I was called out, and I remember it went something like this, "your writing seems to lack passion".  With that statement, woke the calloused part of my soul.

I found an inner passion to describe the sadness I live with.  I told them about the parts of me that skirt around the big dogs because I don't feel I belong.  I have never been asked to read aloud.  I told the group how difficult it is to play passionately because what I am passionate about will provoke and confront their privileged metaphorical Anglo playgrounds.  I have to be somewhat abstract to conceal the sacredness of the moment and those involved.  But I let my educated, learned, and vetted understanding of myself and history propel my passionate, possibly disappointed, perspectives flow.

They came out in a voice that turned from trembling into a shaking near tears fountain of rawness. Out came my thoughts, from the depths of the cellars they have been kept quietly pacing.  Like bunched up New Mexicans at the labor lines waiting for the opportunity to contribute to my cause.  It felt like a petition, and quickly I realized I had spoken my truth.  At the end I found myself embarrassed and ashamed.  I felt like I had no right to be so passionate in someone else's passion playground.

But to sum it up, I described how I hold myself back because it feels like my place.  My place is modest and purpose centered.  I watched my grandmother prepare the best New Mexican food for the richest Anglos in New Mexico, and never ask to be called a chef.  I watched my grandpa build cabinets for several churches in the North Valley of Albuquerque never asking for recognition or profits.  I try to live the same way.

Here I was a wanna be writer among skilled writers just happy to be in the same room as Jimmy Baca.  I couldn't be passionate because I was scared that what I had to say would hurt feelings.  The source of my passion is in their ancestors injustice.  Especially the judgment, maybe jealousy,  I see in how free the Anglo culture is allowed to be proud and loud.  The passion I have is rooted in the paradox of being given opportunity to be great but only knowing how to be modest.

Cecelia and a few other strong Latin writers supported me and best of all shared the feelings.  I had skeena.  I have shared my passion with people who rarely understand and often call me disruptive, cynical, and harsh.  I have had to remind myself that I am a tender person who is a warrior.  I have to keep close the reminder that I was raised not to fight, and not to be afraid to protect myself.  Cecelia ratified my emotions, ideas, and passion.

We sat at dinner and she shared her story with me.  I knew after leaving that weekend that I must speak my passions modestly.  I will not be afraid to defend myself, my story, and my perspectives.  I will know that my truth is not necessarily offensive but can incense emotions in others.  It's not my responsibility any longer to wonder how my story will make others feel.

Thank you for the standing along side me.  It has felt for awhile as if my ideas are isolatingly antagonizing.  It is a joy and relief to be in the spirit of great people like Cecelia.

Cecelia  shared the following:

Ron,

This is a reflection on both Toxic Humility and Mistrust of Pride, as I see the two topics inextricably linked - at least in my experience as a Mexican-American woman growing up in southern California in the 50s and 60s.

My father was a strong man, with a humble spirit, and unspoken pride in his heritage, his work ethic and the accomplishments of his children.  He taught me "never draw attention to yourself" as that was arrogant and unnecessary.  He believed that "If you work hard and do what you have signed-on to do, people will notice and they will recognize you and reward you, as appropriate.  You don't need to promote yourself."

I have lived my 65 years of life believing this is true, acting in concert with it and seeing his prediction play out in my own life.  And yet, there have been moments when I too have been unable to take pride in the "magnificent" parts of myself and that has felt uncomfortable and (although I never would have come up with the term myself) "toxically humble."

These posts have shined a light on layers and layers of my being and my identity - for me to reexamine.  I will let you know where that road takes me.  Thank you, Ron.

Cecelia

Mistrust of Pride

"Son I am proud of you", that phrase brought that clinching feeling in my throat, the feeling I had learned as a child to hold tight, to fight back, and endure its cramp.  The feeling that was actually uncomfortable enough to feel like pain.  A feeling that freezes the thoughts.  Back in the moment, on a grass field, busy with parents hustling kids around soccer fields, I think I was 35.  At this point in my life I had found comfort in crying.  Why now was I holding these tears back.  It was a conversation with my dad, that I wasn't prepared to hear.  He followed up describing that he was proud of the path I took after my divorce.  He was proud of the feelings that I was willing to endure.  He was proud that I took my pain seriously.  He shared how many things he did differently.  I wanted to cry.  Even writing this I still hold back tears.

I have a good idea for how to process my suffering, but what I am now being encourage to do is something new.  I am being asked to be proud.  The dysfunction in the catholic Chicano is the lack of emphasis in the ciriculum or catechism about healthy pride.  I actually feel toxic when I start to be appreciated, valued, and honored.  I have shame in being magnificent.

Where did this shame to feel accomplished come from?  There is an overwhelming need to depreciate myself.   I believe there is an aspect of pride that requires modesty and then it can be appropriate.  I feel the need to give glory to God, my parents, my elders, my mentors, my friendships, my dogs, my children, and the academy award list goes on extinguishing any appreciation for the gift I am expressing through the actions deserving gratitude.  But then there comes the mistrust of pride.  Is vanity creeping in?  

My moral compass starts to spin wildly as my navigation panel dials spin recklessly faster and faster until I feel ashamed for doing something wonderful.  My blog, my marriage, my friendships, and my attitudes might be gentler had I somewhere along the way of life been told I'm proud of you.  This was that day.  My dad took a sledge hammer and swung it hard with his words, "I am proud of you", it landed solidly right in the middle of my catholic Chicano ego.  He shattered the cinder block wall that had been hindering my luminescence, like the Berlin Wall coming down, my ability to see my greatness with the blessings and grace from God, is trickling out from the deshreveled concrete jungles.  My ability to feel helpful, worthy, valuable, magnificent, and successful is happening.

Dad, I am proud of you!