This is the perspective I’ve tried to express so many times about being a black/biracial child adopted by a white family.
It’s a phenomena where the adopted child is covered by white privilege conditionally.
When a non-white child has not yet reached puberty and they are in the presence of a White person perceived to be their caregiver they are afforded certain conditional aspects of White privilege. Which one might think. How interesting to be non-white and experience White privilege for a little bit.
It’s actually one of the most psychologically damaging aspects of the adopted child’s psyche as it relates to the formation of their identity of self.
As you talked about how your children’s father is unfettered by these daily traumas I immediately thought of how white women are able to raise their children differently in the US.
As a child under the perceived covering of “very respectable White people” I was very happy and confident. This is akin to what white children experience in their early years of development. Everywhere they go they are greeted with smiles and people happy to see them. Their parents or caregivers through an expression of power and monetary resources are able to create a controlled environment. Where they and their offspring are well liked and fit in. People of color are often at the mercy of conditions around them. Obviously wealth changes this to a degree but wealth will never make up for racism.
I’ll use my own life as an example. I was in a very controlled sheltered environment. I spent the first four years of my life primarily at home with my grandmother who was a retired elementary school teacher. Our routine consisted of errands run in the morning to my grandmother’s favorite shops, the library and occasionally appointments. Now to be fair my grandmother was a very outgoing person. Not all white people are outgoing like this. Anyway, almost every shop we visited whether it was the pharmacy or any of the stores in town . We were greeted favorably by well established acquaintances. I in turn was given this same level of respect as being under her care.
I hate to use any racial term referring to my grandmother. She was not white or black she was my grandmother. She gave me unconditional love and spent all her time making sure I was happy and safe. I was often given balloons or toys by strangers at the places we visited. I spent my first four years almost completely covered by my grandmother’s influence in the town in which we lived. She was well known by everyone at the local church. The one or two days I spent in preschool was also part of that same church. My grandfather was a retired engineer and a deacon in the church. His family was very well connected and influential as well.
My mother and I lived with my grandparents until I was four.
Once me and my mother left the well controlled and well established bubble that was created for us the racism started. I can honestly say my first four years as far as I could tell was untouched by racism. That is conditional privilege. People of color raised by other people of color get to witness racism directed at their parents or caregivers. I never witnessed this and I also was temporarily covered by their influence.
Once we moved an hour away my mom who worked as an architect for the county enrolled me in a local religious private school. It was in line with our family’s faith and I never really questioned Christianity until I was around eleven or twelve. Anyway, the school I went to was not prepared for a black/biracial child who had come from a setting where she had received for all intensive purposes the kind of White privilege even the most privileged of white children rarely get. Back with my grandparents I had the level of confidence to walk up to complete strangers and ask for things. They always knew who I was and responded with kindness or helped me find my grandparents. I was never greeted with any distaste. I literally thought all adults in my vicinity were there to entertain me. Yes, I was spoiled beyond belief looking back but this is the experience many white children go through unquestioned. I was not however white and once I left my grandparents “town” the White people at my new private school were going to make sure I knew it. I won’t go into the details suffice to say lots of N words were thrown around and lots of white women bullying me for acting uppity. Because of course until first grade I did not in fact know that I was black and that black was negative. I’m sure the White people had a hard time understanding why I pranced around like I didn’t know I was black yet but they were determined to make sure I knew.
My mother who was just starting out simply was not outgoing and did not have the connections to continue to cover me under an umbrella of White privilege. So in essence I remember what White privilege felt like. It felt like I could have been anything. It felt like all possibilities were open to me and that life was waiting to happen. I was very happy but as soon as the bubble burst I was thrown into a world of confusion and trauma.
We visited my grandparents often, spending months at a time with them per year. Each time I was elated to return to my grandparents. Looking back was I elated to return to the place where my privilege would be recognized? Playing outside, painting and writing stories with my grandparents. Playing the piano and going to the beach on Sundays. Traveling around town while feeling welcomed and liked everywhere I went. As time progressed, I got older and slowly even the privilege afforded me by my grandparents slowly sloughed off me.
My grandmother suffered from more health problems and couldn’t go out as much. She died when I was eleven. But not before one other event of conditional privilege I witnessed when I was ten. I stopped wanting to go to school. Unbeknownst to them I had been molested at church and I was being picked on at school by all the white children. My grandmother knew something was wrong so once again her privilege came to the rescue. She attended my first day back to school with me after months of me faking an illness. She sat at the table with the teachers and after that I was treated differently by the administrators there. They loved her. It was actually impossible not to love her. So some of this is “skin privilege” in so much as I am aware that they may not have bent over backwards for a black grandmother to do the same. But some of it is just charisma. Even to this day I still have friends who I have maintained from that school say to me, “ Hey remember that time your grandmother came to school with you ?” It obviously was unprecedented. My grandmother vouched for my worth among white people that day. I don’t know exactly what was mentioned but I’m sure she got to talking about her life and that was enough for them. Many of the teachers long after that day still asked me,” How is your grandmother?” Even into high school long after my grandmother had passed on. The connections my grandmother fostered with the administration once again got me out of many situations where most kids would not have been afforded that same privilege. They had decided she was a person of high social class. A white person that they could relate to as educators I’m sure. I was seen as an extension of her and that even if I was not white that I was “right” as well. This is my experience with conditional White privilege.
It still follows me even now. When I began to get pulled over as a young adult. An instance occurred when my mom arrived on the scene the police officer apologized to my mother and said, “ If I’d known she was your daughter I wouldn’t have even pulled her over.” That is conditional White privilege. Not only does it afford me a financial safety net. But it also can apparently show up and change the decisions of law enforcement. The officer on the scene told us to fight it in court and hinted in so many words that he would not show up. Now whenever I am pulled over for speeding( not in many years I’m a good driver now)I’m simply told to drive safe and they let me go.
I know theoretically this sounds nice and in some situations it’s helpful but it doesn’t leave me with any good feelings. It is in fact conditional and my worth as a human being in white society depends on the conditions of the white people around me. So in actuality nothing has changed. I am not a white person making the conditions around me favorable I am at the mercy of conditions. Favorable in many instances but still dependent. This places stress on the psyche. I often feel guilty when I am seated next to other African Americans whose circumstances and conditions were affected by a lack of proximity to whiteness. Not just whiteness but white power. At the same time when I am on my own in any setting I have to fight to be seen as human. Waiters and waitresses always are initially put off by my accent. It’s as if they want very much for me to be a stereotype but they can’t square it with my accent. I’ve even found myself accidentally trying to exercise white privilege. I just realized how it functioned the other night. Some of you that engage in White privilege don’t realize that the power of persuasion is in fact your White privilege. It is such a part of who you are you don’t even realize what it is. The moment where you say walk over to that front desk person and decide you ought to try and persuade them by garnering sympathy for your unique situation. Some might call it reasonable social skills but please be aware people of color who do not have the same privilege of education as you in some instances are unable to persuade these establishments. It’s little tiny scenarios everyday that you can tip in your favor that people of color often can’t.
