It’s a privilege to be white, and white people should start admitting it.
The array of special privileges is wide.
There is the quantifiable kind, easily read from the statistics. Whites, for instance, have incomes 40 percent higher than those of Hispanics and two-thirds higher than those of blacks, according to Census data. Whites are also more likely to have health insurance and a college degree and to own a home.
The mechanisms that create these disparities are hard to identify, but few can admit they don’t exist.
A recent study by the Department of Housing and Urban Development confirmed the existence of a particularly insidious one: It’s generally easier and less costly for whites to receive home loans.
This means it’s harder for non-whites to buy houses in areas with good schools and consequently to raise their children with the same resources available to white kids.
There is also the hidden kind of privilege, which pervades our daily life but is harder for statisticians to put their fingers on.
I should know. I am, after all, about as white as they come.
When I go shopping, for instance, I can be pretty sure I won’t ever be followed or harassed by security. Blacks and Latinos on the Third Street Promenade would be hard-pressed to say the same.
I know that if I answer a question incorrectly or inarticulately in class, people won’t assume that I did so because of my race or because I grew up in a bad neighborhood.
I know that when I go to a party, people won’t look at my skin color and question whether I have an invitation.
Can a black student say the same? Can every white student admit that they’ve never wondered something similar when a group of blacks or Latinos enters a party?
Whites rarely admit that they have these privileges. Peter Hammond, a UCLA professor emeritus of anthropology who teaches a course on “White People,” provides a good analogy: “If you ask a goldfish about his environment, the last thing he’ll mention is the water.”
The same can be said about white privilege. While most of us ““ white people, that is ““ believe racism is awful, it’s hard for us think of ourselves as accessories to a social system that privileges us.
Admitting our privilege is scary because it implies that maybe we’ve attained our position ““ at a top university, expecting a comfortable life and decent salary ““ unfairly and undeservingly.
Growing up, regardless of our parents’ income, we didn’t ever have to face people who believed we were less capable because of our race. We didn’t have to do our work in spite of such sentiment.
When we opened up our history books or newspapers, we saw people who looked like us achieving great feats, and were encouraged.
When we were hired for our first internships or when we went in to see a school counselor, there was no question that we would have to overcome a negative perception of our race.
Rather than admitting openly that we’ve had these advantages, we instead call kids without them “underprivileged” or “disadvantaged.”
Think, honestly, aren’t those the words that come to mind when black or Latino children tour the campus?
Perhaps it’s not that they lack advantages, but rather that we have them in excess.
It’s just a matter of resetting the bar. Americans are taught that to be white and middle-class is the norm, when in fact for many others, it’s not at all.
Racial equality is a long way off, and if we’re ever to achieve it, we’re going to have to be frank with each other about race.
We must not feign color-blindness, but rather identify and openly discuss privilege where it exists.
“Get to know as many non-white people as possible,” Hammond advised. “Ask others how they perceive white privilege ““ the secret is to keep your mouth shut, and let them do the talking.”
Only when white people do this and own up to their own privilege will the ugly and unjust inequality of our society begin to break down.
Got privilege? E-mail Reed at treed@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.