Thank you so much for starting this thread, Nat. The topics of passing and privilege are fascinating and fill my mind with questions about the phenomenon of discrimination, in whatever form it comes. It occurs to me that none of us are immune from prejudice, whether guilty of it ourselves or indicting others.
Jean Cocteau said that "all privilege leads directly to the guillotine". Like a mask, no matter how beautiful, the privilege of passing for something "other" obscures the true self. I think about that a lot. Passing may confer privileges but the beneficiary invariably pays, the amount dependent on the degree to which that passing aligns or is at odds with one's identity and the expectations of others. Whether the self is camouflaged by circumstance, perception or design, all the accolades, critiques and condemnation are based on a fiction. Attribution is given to the alter ego. If privilege is then "presumed" by either those in power or by those who are discriminated against, death of the self comes twice. Once because one is unknown and again when condemned for what one is not.
I recall a story about a man from the islands who was sold to a family for slave labor when he was an infant. He was never given a name, told his age nor spoken to. He recounted that the worst part of his struggle was not his servitude but his utter lack of an identity. His story of being unnamed and unknown reminds me of those who live invisible lives on the margins of acceptability. They are the blank slates upon which others' prejudices and projected self references are writ.
What of the complexities of passing and presumed extreme privilege bestowed upon one by nothing other than an accident of birth? How does one quiet the clamoring of the social climbers that surround those who remain hidden precisely because they want to be truly known? Those who want to be accepted for who they are outside the cliched conclusions about derivative power and protected from those who want it?
I know a girl whose appearance is at once both her truth and her disguise. She hides behind long flowing blonde hair, delicate features and a painfully shy demeanor from those, who if the truth of her birth were known, would be inauthentic themselves. Ironically, it is by passing for what she is not that she is able to truly be herself and discern the truth in others. Her blonde hair and fair skin hide the fact that her mother is a black celebrity. By hiding, she has a voyueristic view into the psyches and unadulterated prejudices of those around her. Her radiance and beauty is a disguise of sorts, too. It masks the loneliness she feels and she is glad for that.
Whether revered or reviled, the self is at least a foundation from which to interact with the world. But some are never seen or worse, denied legitimacy. Sometimes, members of the very communities that are trying to dismantle identity discrimination fall into defensive traps; policing perimeters based on a person's appearance and presumptions about their histories and character. This kind of 'profiling' risks belying not just the individual's truth but reinforces visible and stereotypical markers of all groups' conformities. The marginalized become perpetrators of that which they despise. How often the cruelest cuts come from those about whom one cares the most. So for some, passing can render them orphan of sorts, even when born to castes that are considered untouchable.
To actually exist to people other than oneself is the only way a person has even a hope of mutual regard. Without that, a connection may be intense but one-sided and like gravity, the influence profound but unseen. To what degree is one a slave to social mirrors? At what risk does one break them? What is the price of truth to oneself and others? Sometimes the truth has very grave consequences indeed and not just for the "passenger". I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the balance, on the scales upon which one measures cost and expresses or suppresses according to social perception, reflection and consequence. The answer lies in whether they and those around them can withstand the image shining back from the glass for the mirrors are held in not just their own but by so many other hands. If that mirror cracks and wounds are inflicted, whose hands bear the stains? What good is the chest-inflated pride of belonging if that membership is wielded in a way that causes collateral damage? Fire, whether friendly or not, can still destroy those with whom one shares the trenches.
One of my favorite stories of an insider's view of passing, privilege and the misdistribution of power is from the matriarch of a family who describes herself and her brood of thirteen children as "the league of nations of the hood". The parents have created a rainbow of colors and ethnic backgrounds for the children. Their mother says that separately they each pass for what they are not and are vulnerable in different ways. But together? She sighs with satisfaction and laughs. She says, "Together? When we walk down the street, everybody knows we are a FORCE".
I often think of her insight and words by which she truly lives. When we are together it is our differences that make us stronger.
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