2008 Woodie Awards
Stereotypes separate human equality
Victoria Riggs
Issue date: 4/12/05 Section: Opinion & Editorial
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In a spring 2002 semester women's study class taught by Christy Garst-Santos, we had an interesting exercise that taught me quite a lot about myself.
The topic was the state of white privilege that exists in America. The assignment was to answer a list of questions pertaining to everyday living. I would like to share my answers to those questions and pose the same questions to you.
* I have never had a job interview with a colored person. Have you?
* I have never had a colored supervisor. Have you?
* I have never had a colored teacher. Have you? (Seven semesters later I have now had one.)
* I have never had a colored physician. Have you?
* The majority of my co-workers have been white. Have yours?
* I have never applied for a loan through a colored loan officer. Have you?
* I have never been pulled over by a colored police officer, or had a colored judge presiding over a legal proceeding (divorce). Have you?
* My race is presented in a positive way in the newspapers I read. Is yours?
* Because the target group for the majority of advertising is white, I can relate to the majority of ads. Can you?
Awareness about underprivileged racial classes is a part of my earliest memories. I remember seeing on television at age 10 the fire hoses and police dogs turned loose on little black children in the early '60s. It was very confusing and troubling to me even at a young age.
The only "black" and "red" skins that I had been exposed to in southwestern Wisconsin were the angus cattle that calmly grazed in the surrounding pastures. The color of a person's skin was a non-issue in my family, as was hatred or discrimination.
The first time that I ever saw a real-life person with black skin was the time my family traveled through Chicago on the way to visit relatives in Indiana. A black family in the car next to us during rush-hour on the Chicago loop had several children in the back seat, which I studied intently until my mother reminded me that it was rude to stare. How I wanted to touch their strands of tough curly hair bound with colorful barrettes.
They wouldn't look back at me. It wasn't until years later that I realized that they were probably afraid that I would roll down my window and unleash a fire hose or police dog on them if they did. I was their enemy whether I meant to be or not.