What is it to be white? What does it mean – a question I have rarely asked myself.

From the beginning, when you are born and you become the eyes of the world for the very first time, you see colours. You see faces. You see difference. But in that difference, is beauty, it is contrast and sameness. You do not see a better or a worse. So, how can it be, that when we grow, see, learn and listen to the world that we begin to see colour not as a difference that creates beauty but as a difference that creates segregation.

I do not understand. It is utterly incomprehensible to me that the pigment of a person’s complexion could be what forms their identity. What tells them they can or can’t, or who they are in the world. But what I do understand is that it does. So deeply embedded in our history that it cannot vanish just because it is kept below the surface. It sparks fury inside me, it sparks confusion and guilt. I am furious with the way some are forced to experience life. I am dispirited.

Because as a whole we refuse to truly see, because white privilege isn’t “white privilege” to those who have it; as those who do have it prefer to believe that it is something that has no relevance to them. Comfortable in the paradise of their own ignorance, they turn away. They do not suffer under the oppression of ‘white’. I don’t. When the truth begins to peer around the corner, discomfort sets in and rather than facing guilt, we turn around and walk the other way. We bury it in the soil. Out of sight out of mind. 

Just because it is covered up by ignorant, afraid hands, doesn’t mean it will disappear. Because I am white, I am ignorant. Because I am white I have the chance to pretend that skin colour is insignificant because I want so desperately for it to be so. But I also have the chance to see it. I see racism, I see white privilege. But I can still pretend that racism is something of the past; because I am white. Just because I truly believe in equality, because I disbelieve in the possible truth of racial superiority does not mean that it isn’t there. We can say, yes, these are the things that should be done. These are the steps that should be taken. We can hear the statistics, see the lines on the graphs, dots and figures. But we forget; we are not dots and figures, lines and graphs, we are human. Conflict happened. Miscommunication happened. Cruelty happened. The repercussions of a long-ago battle still haunt us. What was once a hot war is now cold. What began with racism turned into white privilege. This is not to say that all people with white skin breeze through life, with their successes down to their skin colour or that all people with black skin are bound to fail. We are humans. We face pain and excitement, disillusionment, pride, fear, controversy, worry, love. All of us. Every ‘white’ person, every ‘brown’ person, every woman, every man. But some start their obstacle course steps ahead, while others begin with lead bricks tied to their feet. No matter how fast some run, they will always be pushed back by this inequality, by the other side of white privilege. The obstacle course of a black person never ends. No matter what they will be fighting for the right to win while I will earn a medal for participation. It is not okay. It will never be okay. It is grossly unfair. I feel it so deeply, but I realize the reality; that this is so apart of who we are now as humans, that it can never be fully undone. There will never be utter equality. That breaks my heart.

I am white. I have never felt that my white skin has the power to affect my success, I would hate to believe that it did. So I didn’t. The idea that because of past prejudices, current racism and continual doubt means that people are the victims of despicable crime, constantly held back by the bars of their oppression- and their oppressors- makes me utterly furious. It makes me realise what I am. I am not a step behind. I am white. “…being white is not to talk about levelling the playing field, but to acknowledge that “white people own the playing field.” How can I un-own the playing field? I don’t want it.

“I am brown”. She has always called herself ‘brown’ rather than ‘black’. Brown is the colour of her skin, not her label. To me at least. I have thought about what it is to be her, to have African blood and beautifully brown skin, to arrive in Oamaru and be bullied for that skin. To be pushed to the ground, kicked and punched because her colour was different, even though it wasn’t different from the person doing the kicking. A little Maori boy bullied a little African girl because she had brown skin. My brain goes blank as to reasons why. But now I realize – it is because somehow, to be white is to win. To be white is to have a chance at going through life without racism beating down one’s walls. I think about the way her skin is something she is forever conscious of. I think about her and everything I wish was different for her. I didn’t think about what it is like to be me, what it means to have my white skin. I feel guilty. I feel guilty when I look at my skin and realize that I will never truly know how she feels, and that I am actually relieved by that. I resent myself for what I have, that others will never have. Guilty because of my position and theirs. Why is it me and not them? Why is it them and not me?

I remind myself that to have awareness is a beginning. To know and feel and understand the severity and reality. To open your floodgates to the discomfort, disappointment and desperation. I remind myself that I am not helpless because I am not ignorant, I am not helpless because I am so acutely aware. But then I worry that it makes me worse. I know, I feel, I have the passion and drive to do something yet I manage to push it away. We make the excuse that we can’t make a difference while knowing the difference that needs to be made.

I cannot change the colour of my skin. But I cannot look away either.