Entitlement, privilege, and racism
When I was a little girl my mom used to send me to the store sometimes. I grew up in a small town where everyone knows everyone, in the Netherlands. The store was not too far from our home in a short walking distance. There was a liquor store, a snack bar (Fastfood takeaway, where they sell warm snacks, fries, hamburgers ice cream, etc) and a supermarket right next to each other. Every Thursday evening we would eat fries with a hot snack and usually a vegetable salad with that or applesauce and each week I and my brother took turns buying the fries.
One day when it was my turn to buy the food it was a usual busy Thursday evening and there were quite a few ppl waiting. There were always two people working so everyone was just patient and wait there turn. The person who was taking the orders was new, I had not seen her before so I watched her work while I was waiting. She looked a few times around at me and the other customers and when it was time to take another order from another customer she would simply say: “whos next?” As time passed by some customers who received their orders left and new ones came in.
Finally, the last person in front of me had given their order and soon it was my time to tell them what my mom had written on the little note she always gave us to take along in case we forgot. There it was, the woman’s voice friendly and clear once again said: “who’s next?”. I took a small step forward so I would be right at the counter and opened my mouth to speak when a woman behind me begun to give her order before I could get a word out. I turned around and looked a little up at her, a man next to her looked at me and then at the woman behind the counter.
I knew that he knew I was before the woman because they had come in almost at the same time. I thought he was going to speak up for me, but no, he didn’t and then the lady who had spoken before her turn was done giving her order and the woman loudly said again: “Whos next?” She looked at me but the man who had looked at me opened his mouth to give his order. So quickly I said, “It’s my turn, I was already before that lady who also went before me, they both came in after me.”
Everyone turned their heads at me while I said that and I felt a little anxious. Mind you, most of my childhood I was being bullied at school (15 years long) so you can imagine my insecurity perhaps, trying to stand up for myself amongst all these adults. I was a little upset because the man knew I was before him because I was already inside before he came in. On top of that, I was always taught not to speak when adults talk and to wait for my turn. This kinda felt I was breaking those rules but, it was my turn and I also knew I had to stand up for myself. So I did as well as I could at that young age (I was about 8 or 9 at the time).
The lady behind the counter who had been taking the orders looked at me and she continued to take the man’s order. When he was done another person stepped forward giving their order and I was kind of pushed to the back and no one heard me say any more for the second time that it was my turn. Except for one person, the other lady who was working behind the counter and who I did know for as long as I had been living there and going to that snack bar. So she stepped towards the side of the counter where i was near and said aloud: “Hold on, it’s her turn all you guys been skipping her now and that’s just not right, come here girl” looking at me and reaching for the little paper in my hand, “Whatcha need?”.
Again everyone stared at me and I felt a little embarrassed and shy from all this attention and also because not all the looks where just as friendly especially not those who had skipped me in line and were being told on. Instead of feeling bad and guilty, they were upset with me because I existed basically and that kept them from skipping in line. I reached with I had towards her and gave her the little paper. At least I wouldn’t have to speak, I wasn’t even sure how my voice would sound now.
She moved the other orders back and started working on mine now first while there were still people waiting to receive their order who had been in front of me. Those too now were not happy with me probably when they realized I was being served first but no one dared to speak up anymore because they all knew what had happened and that that had been wrong. ” Don’t worry girl’ don’t let those grown-ups intimidate you, I got you, just speak up when it’s your turn.” The woman said aloud again, I guess she noticed the faces the other customers had been making and she put them in their place.
Shortly after I received my order, I thanked her with a big smile and kept my head up as I walked out of the door and as soon as I was outside out of sight of their sight I ran home confused, relieved that I was out of there, but still feeling awkward and anxious because I would face these people again sooner or later since I lived in a small town.
This is just one small example of how entitlement and also in some way privilege works. Those grownups felt entitled to skip my turn simply because of their “power” over me as adults and simply because they were adults.
What did all this get to do with racism? Nothing, nothing at all. Why is it in the header then? Because, my dear readers what if this was not little me in a snack bar but what if this was about a little 4-year-old boy who had to face a judge in court whos language he may not even be able to understand fully. Alone, without an attorney, without his parents, because they were deported by ICE back from the USA to Mexico.
That’s the moment that this story turns into not only entitlement, privilege, and racism but its plain child abuse. That little child will be traumatized for life being ripped away from his parents having to live for several years into something that’s supposed to be a safe shelter where he possible has to face all kinds of physical abuse and maybe even sexual abuse, not knowing if or when he ever see his parents again, not understanding what happened to them.
That’s when. Let that sink in.
You may have felt bad for me after reading that first part of my story, and it was a little sad but guess what, I was privileged. How? Because with my white skin I wouldn’t have to worry much about being discriminated, separated from my parents, or locked up because my parents are Mexican. Don’t think for a minute that people with different skin colors or cultures do not have to face all the hardships in life too.
Thank you for reading. I hope this little story will make you think twice about a thing or two in this world.
Much love, Luna
