chunks of flommus
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white privilege

If you’ve never dealt with any real problems in life, suffered any real tragedy or loss, really struggled or gotten knocked back or been mistreated, then you’re probably a lot more likely to be the type of person who grabs a tiki torch and heads out to yell angrily about your manufactured grievances and the perceived slights to your identity while inciting violence and hatred toward those you see as encroaching on your entitlement.

Likewise, if you’re someone who is quick to defend those people, sympathize with them, argue that we need to try to understand them, hear them out, compromise, meet their needs, that we aren’t so different from them, well, you’re only partially right.

Speak for yourself, because it’s you who isn’t so different from them. If your default is to make excuses for those monsters, you’ve never really dealt with any seriously real shit either.

I’m not a huge fan of the word “privilege” because it’s been misused and overused in so many ways by all the wrong people that even when brought up for legitimate reasons it now unfortunately has the effect of causing people to roll their eyes and shut off. I don’t think that’s entirely unjustified.

But it absolutely takes a whole hell of a lot of privilege to be a white supremacist or defend one, at all, to any extent, for any reason. And there are no good reasons to defend them. Not a single one.

—emily duchaine

Flommist Emily Duchaine lives in the Pacific Northwest. She likes to drink mead, learn about sharks, and listen to the Talking Heads. She pretends to be a professional businesswoman most days. Copyright © 2017 Emily Duchaine. Image from Charlottesville.