This month’s synchroblog subject is on the “invisible knapsack.” Anti-racist activist Peggy McIntosh coined the term to refer to the privileges she, as a white person, experiences, didn’t earn, doesn’t necessarily merit, and doesn’t necessarily think about; they’re just resources she has that others don’t. “White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack,” she wrote, “of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks.”
Ironically, you can’t really talk about the experience of wearing the invisible knapsack unless you are the beneficiary of white privilege—i.e. you’re white, or pass for white. So I suppose that’s another thing we can tuck into the knapsack, as all the non-white synchrobloggers try to figure out how on earth they’re gonna tackle this subject without coming across as frustrated with clueless white people.
Well, I’m white, so I can talk about my experience at least, and then—since this blog is about following Jesus, after all—tie it together with how any of these revelations might help all of us, white and nonwhite, follow him better.
This post is part of a synchroblog, a bunch of different Christian bloggers reacting to a common topic. Wanna get in on it? Visit the synchroblog blog.
When it’s not a blind spot.
I have, annoyingly, many racist relatives. To them, this knapsack is far from invisible. They not only know it’s there: They zealously guard it. If you’re not white, they don’t want you having any access to its contents.
In fact, it doesn’t take much to get them to complain endlessly about nonwhites’ knapsacks. Oh yes, everyone has one: Minorities’ knapsacks are smaller, and largely based on pooled community resources rather than institutional privilege, but they do exist. The racists claim those knapsacks have been filled to the brim by the government and bleeding-heart liberals, who have granted them all sorts of unmerited perqs and status. Any time a program is created to help minorities, the racists will rant and rave about how minorities totally don’t deserve it: That money, they claim, was stolen from the taxes of hard-working white folks like themselves, to be frittered away on illegal immigrants or overly-fertile baby mamas.
Racists spend a large amount of time comparing knapsacks. Theirs? Not full enough. Losing contents all the time. They don’t look at those government programs as balancing things out so that every American eventually has the same knapsack, the same chance at success and failure that is supposedly the American dream. Of course not; that’s not how greed works. Instead they bellyache that they’re becoming the real minorities in America, the true underclass.
Obviously these relatives have no trouble exposing their full-blown racism to me. I’m younger, so they won’t care what I think until they someday need me to donate a lung or parts of my liver (but let’s not get into that). However they do care what their peers think. Racism is no longer politically correct. Even their conservative friends won’t approve. So they hide it. Sometimes they disguise it as conservatism or libertarianism. Certainly they hide their knapsacks—from nonwhites. To other whites, it’s not only accessible, it’s wide open: Take what you like. Again, they’ll never come right out and say this, but the underlying attitude is, “We whites gotta look out for our own. But screw everyone else.”
That’s the key to the problem. It’s not necessarily a race thing, although for some folks it obviously is. It’s a looking-out-for-your-own thing.
Why it stays a blind spot.
People look out for their own. I look out for my friends. As Christians should; as Jesus taught us. He also wants us to look out for everybody, but let’s not jump to the end of this piece just yet.
Now, I have friends of many different races. Many don’t. Of course, my racist relatives’ friends are exclusively white. Other racists, of every race, will likewise limit their friends to the same race. But even non-racists, far too often, are monochromatic in their friend lists. People choose friends based on what we have in common, and cultural similarities are a really handy basis for friendship, so it stands to reason. I did likewise, but in a different direction: I grew up in multiethnic neighborhoods, went to multiethnic schools, and go to multiethnic churches. I’ve been to predominantly white churches, and lived in predominantly white towns, and they just feel weird and unnatural to me. No, I’m not some kind of super-tolerant, color-blind liberal; it’s just how Mom raised me. Others are weirded out by such things, and likewise gravitate to their comfort zones.
So when each of us opens our knapsacks for one another—when we look out for their own—we can only pull from what resources we have. But my resources, ’cause I’m white, happen to be greater. My forebears set things up that way, and I unknowingly inherited it. Some of my white contemporaries want to make absolutely sure I keep this “heritage”—one of those code words for white privilege that far too many non-racists unthinkingly propagate. That’s why they’re fighting so hard for “traditional values”—more code words—lest they’re forced to share their privileges and resources with others, like socialists.
Had all my friends been white like me, I would never have noticed the difference between my knapsack, and my black friends’ knapsacks. I would have assumed they were identical. After all, both in school and in church, we’re taught everyone’s the same. In fact, I might even have agreed with my racist relatives: How come they get extra government services, since our knapsacks are the same? (If you’re wondering how, out of the blue, a kid who was raised as a non-racist goes wrong, this is one of the many reasons why.)
Instead, my black friends were surprised to discover what I had access to that they didn’t. And so was I. “What do you mean, you don’t have that? What do you mean, you’ve never tried that? What do you mean, you can’t go there? What do you mean, they won’t let you? Why was that cop hassling you instead of me?” Each of these imbalances came as a shock to me, because I believe we’re the same, so I just assumed our knapsacks were the same. Most privileged non-racist white kids unthinkingly assume so. We’ve been told racism was dealt with. And if everyone we meet is of the same race, we’ll never see otherwise.
But I saw otherwise. Lots and lots of otherwise. Still do.
How Christians can fight it.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously stated that the time of Sunday morning worship was the most segregated hour in America. This is still true. There are white churches and black churches. There are Latino churches that aren’t Latino-only for legitimate reasons, like that they speak Spanish: They’re Latino-only because the whites in the neighborhood won’t go there, or out of necessity because the Latinos in the community aren’t welcome in the white churches.
Whose fault is that? Doesn’t matter. Just make absolutely sure it’s not your fault, or your church’s fault. And remember, your leadership is not your church: Your pastors might be welcoming to people of every race, but there might be some racists in your congregation who are quietly weeding out everyone they don’t approve of. When you discover them, follow Jesus’s procedure and get ’em straightened out. And if you can’t get it resolved—either the leadership doesn’t care, or are racists themselves—find a better church.
Make friends with someone of another race. Yes, this is an affirmative-action friendship, and be upfront about it: Tell ’em you don’t have any friends (or enough friends, or enough close friends) of another race, and you recognize that’s a character flaw, and want to do something about it. If you hide that fact, it’ll come out, and you’ll look like a hypocrite, so begin with honesty and kill the hypocrisy before it grows. And never assume one friend of another race will be plenty, or enough: Few things are as pathetic as one who has one minority friend, and thinks they (or their friend) are now an expert on that race’s issues. You aren’t getting to know a race, but a person. Your friendship has to become close enough so that your friend can feel free to point out your blind spots, and so that you’ll accept the constructive criticism. Only then will you truly learn about that race—and your own. Until then, all you’ll learn is superficial trivia.
Generosity with the knapsack.
Lastly—and this gets to what Jesus taught—share your knapsack with everyone.
If you love only those who love you, why should you get credit for that? Even sinners love those who love them! And if you do good only to those who do good to you, why should you get credit? Even sinners do that much! And if you lend money only to those who can repay you, why should you get credit? Even sinners will lend to other sinners for a full return.
Love your enemies! Do good to them. Lend to them without expecting to be repaid. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to those who are unthankful and wicked. You must be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate. —Jesus,
My privileges are not just for me. Oh, I’ll take advantage of them whenever I can; I’m no fool. But I won’t hoard them for myself. I’ll use them to help out my own—my family, my friends, my church family, my sisters and brothers in Christ—but I’ll likewise use them to help anyone and everyone. Not just white people. Not just American citizens. Everyone.
When you have a power you can only use on yourself, sometimes you gotta wonder whether or not it’s an illusion. Many times that’s exactly what it is. Those resources in your knapsack aren’t necessarily there, or they’re only accessible for evil. When you try to use them for others, you can’t.
But every so often, the Holy Spirit will make up the deficiency. Supernaturally. Because you acted in obedience and faith. Because you loved your neighbor, you loved your enemy, you did for the least of Jesus’s sisters and brothers. The invisible knapsack is one thing, but there is an infinitely bigger knapsack of the riches of God that we barely ever touch. We won’t find it until we open that first knapsack for someone other than ourselves and our friends.