Self Portrait Progression in Nine Takes
White Privilege is a given for many of us.
Walking down the street without fear, entering an establishment with confidence, or applying for a loan to buy a house is something that is part of white DNA.
Add to that mix the fundamentals of good family support, a decent education, and following the recipe book of consumerist principles of Madison Avenue, the American Dream can be achieved and enjoyed as the fruits of privilege.
It does require blinders though, and a steadfast dedication to ignoring the things that are not right in the USA. If you’re a first-generation American, those blinders re-assure you that your parents did the right thing immigrating here.
(And for the most part, they did) .
But, like a fly interrupting your nap on a bucolic summer afternoon, it keeps you from resting easy.
I was aware of the Amadou Diallo case back in 1999. How could you not? It was in the papers for weeks, then followed by a sensational series of court reporting articles by the local and national press. It horrified me that the murder of an unarmed black man at the hands of the NYC Police went unpunished. But I am Cuban and I am White. I had the privilege of race and the reputation of the cuban success story to live up to. I was busy building a life, setting an example, catering to clients, and climbing the ladder.
Amadou Diallo was not at the forefront of the blindingly white light emanating from my own first-generation ambition. I was on a mission and everything around me that was not my doing, I ignored.
Achieving success did not resolve the situation with the fly. It was still there, hovering, bothering and sometimes biting. That fly carried the names of people unknown to me, but whose presence I could no longer ignore. George Floyd bit me very hard.
Ignoring them makes my life dark, my existence petty and uncaring. I can no longer ignore the names, for if I do, nothing makes sense.
I need to swat that fly out of existence so I can breathe, so I can see the light.