White Like Me: Reflections on Race from a Privileged Son
Language: English
Pages: 208
ISBN: 1593764251
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Using stories from his own life, Tim Wise demonstrates the ways in which racism not only burdens people of color, but also benefits, in relative terms, those who are “white like him.” He discusses how racial privilege can harm whites in the long run and make progressive social change less likely. He explores the ways in which whites can challenge their unjust privileges, and explains in clear and convincing language why it is in the best interest of whites themselves to do so. Using anecdotes instead of stale statistics, Wise weaves a narrative that is at once readable and yet scholarly, analytical and yet accessible.
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if they condemned the attack. One reporter from Detroit was asked to get home as soon as possible so she could go to neighboring Dearborn (which has the largest concentration of Arabs of any city outside the so-called Arab world), and ask the same questions. Realizing the absurdity of such a request—after all, she would note, they never sent her there to ask Arabs or Muslims about anything but terrorism—she had declined the request, as did everyone else when asked to get local Arab and Muslim
they didn’t think it interesting enough to remark upon. The lack of inquisitiveness on the part of folks of color as to why anyone might hate America wasn’t due to insensitivity, of course. It surely wasn’t because they were any less horrified by the slaughter of three thousand innocent people, or any less scared about future attacks. But to be black or brown is to know that there are reasons to feel less than giddy about the United States; it is to have a love-hate relationship with the nation.
great-grandfather. Then, according to family legend (and in what can only be considered the Margaret Mitchell version of the McLean’s history), Sim went happily off to the Civil War with his master. What’s more, we even have dialogue for this convenient plot twist, as Sim exclaims (and I’m sure this is a direct quote, transcribed faithfully at the time), “I’ve taken care of Mr. John all his life and I’m not going to let him go off to war without me.” Cue the harmonica. For his loyalty, we learn
notes of marital discord. Only by escaping into the world of acting (a strangely ironic choice, I realize) was I able to make it through those grades at all. It was my refuge. I could lock myself in my room with a play script, avoid my father, escape the smell of Canadian whiskey or bad vodka on his breath, and avoid the verbal battles that were the hallmark of his relationship with my mother. The only times I would come out of my room were in those moments when I honestly felt that if I didn’t
absurdity of the exchange. “That’ll be all,” he replied. And with that, I left the principal’s office, knowing in ways I hadn’t before what I wanted to do with my life. My road was becoming clear. But as so often happens, there would be a detour. THE SCHOOL YEAR was winding down. Prom was done, and weekends from mid-May until the end of the semester in early June were filled with parties. Though only a junior, I was suffering a pretty serious case of senioritis, more or less phoning in the
