Now that is a fantastic question.
While this question can apply to a lot of self-identities here-- namely nationality, language, class, sexuality, and culture-- I think that most of the time people are asking me about race. While I can't really talk about one of these things without talking about all of them, it's about time that I talk about my whiteness here in Martinique. It is something that I can't really get my head around yet. I think that I will probably spend the rest of my life learning and unlearning what it means to be a part of systems of oppression. En tout cas, here it goes.
I am white.
I have spent a lot of time (here and elsewhere) talking about other people's whiteness. On more than one occasion, I have caught myself thinking and/or saying something like: "At least I'm not like that white person." I'm slowly admitting to myself that by constantly pointing at the whiteness of others, I am trying to remove myself from my own. In this way, I am trying to avoid thinking about the racism that I have inherited, that I embody, and that I perpetuate.
I am trying to say what so many other people have said before me, but what many of us white people have the privilege not to listen to. As one of my history professors said, "we live in a bi-polar society: master and slave. This framework didn't go away with the abolition of slavery. It is still in every one of us."
True, I have never owned slaves, but I do directly profit from the empires that have been built on their backs. I can walk down the street, into a store, or into a job interview and instantly be perceived as trustworthy, intelligent, capable, and attractive. As Jessica said yesterday, "people take one look at you and one look at me, and instantly, they don't trust me. They trust you. I'm black, your white, and it all runs deep."
What does it feel like to be white here? To be real, it feels dirty.
Before I came here, I constantly surrounded myself with white people. I was reaping all of the benefits of racism, but didn't see most of it, because all of the people around me where enjoying the same unearned privileges that I was.
Since being here, it's a hell of a lot harder to ignore when I am being treated differently than the person next to me. When I walk down the street, I am literally called "princess" by people who have never seen or talked to me before. I can ride for free on the bus, while five minutes later a black man is publicly ridiculed for not having the money to ride. People assume that I have money, that I'm intelligent, that I am kind, and that I am worth listening to, before I have ever spoken with them. Yes, these factors are directly tied to the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, but also the various other identities that cannot be found at the surface.
So when people ask me: "how does it feel to be the minority?" In all honesty, I am constantly going back and forth between confusion, anger, relief, ignorance, and guilt. What I really want to say though, is why are you asking ME? Why am I the credible source on what it means to be "the racial minority?" After all, the interests and privileges of white people are constantly being represented and protected in legislation, media, job markets, and basic social interactions. That doesn't sound like what it means to be the minority to me.
