Tag Archives: Racism

Right Use of Privilege: How It’s Done


Bob, over at Eschaton, alerted me to this amazing video.

One of the facts of life is that some of us — well-educated, familiar with the law, relatively well-to-do, unafraid of the police — have a lot of privilege to throw around. And some of us — old, African American handymen who do odd jobs in upscale neighborhoods — not so much. And in between are the police officers, able to throw their weight around when dealing with old handymen but intimidated by women whose racial, financial, and legal backgrounds equip them to demand what address the police are looking for, to tell them that just because a man is black doesn’t make him a burglar, and to order the police to go find the correct address. (In the end, it seems to be the case that police were called to the neighborhood because a wealthy homeowner punched in the wrong security code. Which probably doesn’t make the handyman feel much better about being accosted. We all know that a white teen carrying a gym bag through the same neighborhood wouldn’t have been stopped.)

This is an inspiring use of privilege to make things better. Those of us who have it must become better at using it. I’d like to think I’d be this brave, this calm, this articulate (esp. in my nightgown and jacket). We can spend all day long regretting how our status privileges us. But that won’t change anything. Storming out in our nightgowns, challenging authority, and defending someone in need seems like a better solution to me.

I love the moment when the white attorney grabs the black man’s hand and says, “Come on, Dennis, you can go. Come on, you’re coming with me.”

I don’t know this woman, but she’s one of my heras.

Picture found here.


And that, my friends, is excellent framing.

/Hat tip: Ina

No Justice; No Peace. Know Justice; Know Peace.


You can read my recent post on the Trayvon Martin verdict over at Pagan Square.

Picture found here.

We’re All Standing on the “Self-Defining Ground of the Slave Quarter” Today


On a day when I found, as a Southern American and a member of the Supreme Court bar, a lot to cry about, chef and historian Michael Twitty‘s letter to cooking show personality Paula Deen brought a different kind of tear to my eye. As is often the case, Twitty’s writing begins and ends with the creation and preservation of a sense of place.

You, just like me cousin, stand squarely on what late playwright August Wilson called, “the self defining ground of the slave quarter.” There and in the big house kitchen, Africa, Europe and Native America(s) melded and became a fluid genre of world cuisine known as Southern food. Your barbecue is my West African babbake, your fried chicken, your red rice, your hoecake, your watermelon, your black eyed peas, your crowder peas, your muskmelon, your tomatoes, your peanuts, your hot peppers, your Brunswick stew and okra soup, benne, jambalaya, hoppin’ john, gumbo, stewed greens and fat meat—have inextricable ties to the plantation South and its often Black Majority coming from strong roots in West and Central Africa.

. . .

[Noting that his studies of Southern cooking have taught him the value of reconciliation, Twitty contnues:] I would like to invite you to a gathering at a historic antebellum North Carolina plantation. We are doing a fundraiser dinner for Historic Stagville, a North Carolina Historic Site. One of the largest in fact, much larger than the one owned by your great-grandfather’s in Georgia. 30,000 acres once upon a time with 900 enslaved African Americans working the land over time. They grew tobacco, corn, wheat and cotton. I want you to walk the grounds with me, go into the cabins, and most of all I want you to help me cook. Everything is being prepared using locally sourced food, half of which we hope will come from North Carolina’s African American farmers who so desperately need our support. Everything will be cooked according to 19th century methods. So September 7, 2013, if you’re brave enough, let’s bake bread and break bread together at Historic Stagville. This isn’t publicity this is opportunity. Leave the cameras at home. Don’t worry, it’s cool, nobody will harm you if you’re willing to walk to the Mourner’s Bench. Better yet, I’ll be there right with you.

You should read the whole thing.

Paula Deen should go.

Picture found here.