Subtle Insidiousness of White Privilege

The first time some one suggested that I, as a white female settler person, experienced an inherent privilege, I was offended.

My instinctual defensiveness rallied to assert that I came from a broken home, a violent home, certainly not a well-to-do cushy home.  The circumstances of my childhood and teen years led to poor choices, including substance use and not finishing school; for a period I was homeless - not roofless - but homeless nonetheless and unemployed and living off the good graces of family and friends.  How did that make me privileged?

Several years later, when pondering my violent history in comparison to the violent histories of my First Nations female friends, I came to the conclusion that my whiteness lent my experience of violence and sexual abuse a different, more positive, more strengthened outcome. You see, in my case the violence and abuse were not systemic; I may have been caught in the quicksand of  familial violence and sexual abuse, but had unlimited, unconditional access to the resources that pulled me out. And therein lay the difference. And therein lays the privilege.  Many First Nations women who are caught in the quicksand of lateral violence do not have the same access to the help and resources that I had, simply by virtue of the colour of their skin and the socioeconomic disparity that colour renders, and many more myriad and complex reasons.

Do you see?

Fast forward several years, to yesterday in fact.  Having come to terms with my own privilege, I am intentional about doing something about it and or with it,  towards advocacy and justice, and recognition, and acknowledgement. Not much, but something I suppose.   So yesterday, I was a one day conference at @Regent College in Vancouver, where 4 Indigenous theologians from NAIITS were talking about the history of Christianity and North American Indigenous culture, contextualization and cultural practices.  A wonderful day, highlighted by compelling truths, vulnerable stories, @CherylBear singing and drumming, and bannock that conjured up memories of Grandmother.

At one point in the day a prayer was spoken using smoke and when it was first announced that smoke was going to be used, I actually heard audible gasps in the crowd.  When the smoke was lit, some people actually tore out of the room making a great show of coughing like they were dying.  I remember thinking..."perhaps if they'd explain that smoke is really no different from the incense bell used by Eastern Orthodox maybe people wouldn't be so offended"....in fact, I made a statement to that affect to my daughter, and then thinking nothing more of it, the day ended, we came home, I googled NAIITS, did some exploring and then went to bed.

This morning, at the precise instant that I floated awake, this statement struck me upside the head..."WHY SHOULD INDIGENOUS CHRISTIANS HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO A ROOM OF FELLOW BELIEVERS THE USE OF SMOKE IN THE WAY THEY PRAY?"

 Seriously!I'm pretty sure Holy Spirit was giving me a talking too!

Do you see?

That is how subtle and insidious white privilege can be...with all the best of intentions I was thinking Indigenous people needed to explain their practice...but why? To spare the feelings of us white folk? When have I ever had to explain mine?

The grace that comes with this realization of entrenched, harder-to-scrape-off than we think privilege is the realization that while there is no condemnation for those who follow the Jesus Way, there is conviction...and my conviction compels me to tell this story and put it all out there so hopefully, you will see.