My Black privilege: another five point primer

There is such a thing as Black privilege. Oh maybe not so much in these United States, where on any given day I may or may not be denied my right to life, liberty &/or the pursuit of happiness, but in other parts of the world where people like me are not the minority? In other parts of the world where Blackness doesn't need to be magical? Oh yes, there is such a thing. Since I came to this country, though, I see y'all tryna take away the privileges of my Blackness. Lucky for me, I am too old to let go of my me easily. You will have to pry it from my cold dead hand.

I did a White privilege: five point primer recently, so the least I can do is five points on the privilege of les chocolats. Fair is fair. 

1. I bleed the blood of conquerors

It is easy to see enslavement as only negative. Certainly, there is tremendous brutality. In a recent exploration of my own family tree, I've discovered that on my father's side, back six generations or so, there is a White ancestor who fathered twenty-two children. As the first generation in the Caribbean, and as a plantation overseer (euphemistically referred to as a 'manager'), it is entirely probable that many of those sexual encounters were non-consensual. Still, the blood in my veins, the blood in our veins is the blood of survivors, conquerors. Whatever our various stories, every descendant of an enslaved person can make the same claim. Our genes are the ones that survived. This is not to denigrate those whose genes did not but it does acknowledge that our survival brought forth the African diaspora. We are it and everything the diaspora has given to the world has come through us. There would be no diaspora had we not survived. We. Are. It. 

Maybe our forebears should have tried to escape or to end their lives. That certainly was one way to go but mine did not; ours did not. I do not fault them for it. That they survived both the journey and the privations of plantation life; that they found ways to make love out of the unloveliness that was servitude? These truths I can only respect. That they, on through the generations, made my life possible? I am humbled. I am in awe. I am grateful and I acknowledge that I am indeed the seed of survivors. Because of them, I am. 

2. I hold the power of surprise

Unfortunately for many, the expectations of one such as me are low. Forgive me, but that's your problem not mine. OK so it really is my problem too, but only because of the continuing imbalance in the power dynamic.

I'll never forget that professor at my shi shi poo poo college in the North Eastern US, who after a class on TS Eliot one day, came over to me (one of maybe two people of color in the classroom), to tell me that she thought my contribution to the class was 'very insightful'. Oh, OK. I kinda thought that's what my mother was paying the earth, two arms and a leg for me to be but since my intelligence was a big ole surprise to her well, woo hoo!

It is a powerful (if sometimes frustrating and annoying as hell) thing, to have the element of surprise on your side. It is a powerful thing to stand around looking all Blackity Black Black and then drop knowledge and a couple of multi-syllabic words on folk. Oh don't get me wrong, it's got its downside. To re-purpose Twain, rumors of my inferiority have been greatly exaggerated but they are out there. I carry the knowledge of others' expectations with me wherever I go. I also carry with me the near constant fear that my frustration of your presumptions could cause me significant harm. There is nothing I can do with or about that but to enjoy others' sometimes obvious discomfort at my insights. I've become a great reader of pinched smiles and tightly gritted teeth. And an enjoyer of same. :-) 

3. I am the hope and the dream of the slave
I have been taught by the best. My truth is in every fiber of my being. It's in the history I know and the history I don't. Even what I don't know lifts me up, because in all of it my people have triumphed over unimaginable odds.

Kerry Washington reads Sojourner Truth's speech, Ain't I a Woman.

At the end of the day, whether I am to be one of the lucky ones allowed - and yes, I mean to say allowed -  to succeed is another burden with which I will struggle valiantly my whole life. No, I'm not a victim but I only control a part of this equation. I can and do, bring my all to the fight every day, but the nature of this society is that the deck is stacked and I have no control over the deckstackers. I will, as my forebears did, give it all I've got and the chips will fall where they may.

4. I will, from time to time, eat a canary
Every now and again, I will conquer apparently unconquerable odds and I will look like the cat that ate the canary. My success will have been created through hard work and generations of predecessors who got nothing the easy way. There is no easy button for me. I accept that.

My maternal great-grandfather was born in 1871, born free. His was the first free born generation. And yet, he became not only educated but an educator. One generation. I know this is the luck of the draw. I could have been born to someone who three generations after slavery's end still had no high school graduates in the family. I was not. This is my privilege. I own it and I make the best of it. So when I have my successes, be they small or large, that just ate the canary look will be for him, for my great-grandmother and for all the generations before who took whatever abuse they did so that I could have whatever small advantages and successes I have yesterday, today or tomorrow.

5. And finally, I will write and speak my truth
I come from a line of educators, thinkers and writers. My mother, my father, my maternal grandmother & father (both published authors) and my great-grandfather are/were all thoughtful, erudite individuals. My grandmother didn't attend high school, neither did my great-grandparents, and yet there are three Ph.Ds in my family and a good many degrees, first and second. (There's also a goodish amount of student loan debt, so don't think those degrees don't come with some lasting burdens.) From these roots, I have grown.

Little acorns yield great oaks, or so I'm told. I'm no great oak, but I am the sapling that my forebears planted. I will bloom and grow where I have been planted.

This is my privilege and it is real.