While my cross-racial experiences at home have been limited, I was thinking about an African colleague I had in Kyrgyzstan. She was a nurse from Zimbabwe. By whatever combination of personality or culture, we were ships passing in the night. Someday when everything is made right, I hope to understand each other. Her six-month experience was miserable among other reasons because of unwanted attention she attracted as a black woman. I attracted attention too, but it wasn't an oppressive, negative, sometimes mean attention.
It made me think of American/white (not that those are necessarily synonyms) privilege abroad. I remember meeting another plain-looking American lady once in Lebanon or India or somewhere and having her bemoan tongue-in-cheek that when she returns home, no one treats her like a princess. I've written about this before (2009), but it is easy to think you're someone really special when you travel or work in the developing world.
You can go where others can't or get visas on arrival, people carry your bags, you get served first, or the best spot on the minibus instead of the local mom who might actually need it, you get to have dinner with the American ambassador to Malawi. There can be an underbelly, it's not always borne of sincere admiration or beautiful hospitality, but some of it is unwarranted privilege. (The discussions about gender expectations or America's role in the world will not be discussed here, but hopefully around the dinner table sometime.)
This must not be dissimilar to having all they systems work for me in the U.S., but it is exacerbated. Maybe because of the exaggeration, it's easier to recognize abroad than at home.
As I contemplate my return "home," 45 miles from where I grew up after 15 years away, I wonder how me extending welcome to the stranger (I still gravitate cross-culturally) will look? And how will I move across racial lines in this mostly-homogeneous city?
It made me think of American/white (not that those are necessarily synonyms) privilege abroad. I remember meeting another plain-looking American lady once in Lebanon or India or somewhere and having her bemoan tongue-in-cheek that when she returns home, no one treats her like a princess. I've written about this before (2009), but it is easy to think you're someone really special when you travel or work in the developing world.
You can go where others can't or get visas on arrival, people carry your bags, you get served first, or the best spot on the minibus instead of the local mom who might actually need it, you get to have dinner with the American ambassador to Malawi. There can be an underbelly, it's not always borne of sincere admiration or beautiful hospitality, but some of it is unwarranted privilege. (The discussions about gender expectations or America's role in the world will not be discussed here, but hopefully around the dinner table sometime.)
This must not be dissimilar to having all they systems work for me in the U.S., but it is exacerbated. Maybe because of the exaggeration, it's easier to recognize abroad than at home.
As I contemplate my return "home," 45 miles from where I grew up after 15 years away, I wonder how me extending welcome to the stranger (I still gravitate cross-culturally) will look? And how will I move across racial lines in this mostly-homogeneous city?
1 comment:
Hi, Hannah-- I haven't visited your page for longer than I realized. Loved the photos of Max and of Kyrghistan, I know that's not spelled right. And I was really happy to see some of your thoughts on white privilege, a difficult and worthy topic for introspection and conversation. You may be interested in the series 'White People' that is available at www.lookdifferent.org along with a lot of other interesting videos. WP has interviews with a lot of young people trying to understand what it means to be white, conducted by Vargas, the journalist, whose first name has escaped me for the moment. And I recently read Ta-Nehisi Coates new book 'Between the World and Me'. It's not a very long book, but it is one of the most moving and well written pieces I have ever read. He recounts some of his experiences and feelings about growing up black in Baltimore, and he does it with exquisite use of the English language. So maybe you would like to check those two things out. I have to confess that the least likable thing about living in Wyoming for me is that there are so few people of color. I grew up with and lived with different races and ethnic groups my whole life. Fort Collins was the whitest place I ever lived, but even there I had a diverse set of friends. So I'm sympathetic with your wish to be closer to people of other backgrounds. And applaud your bringing this subject up. Thanks.
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