Am I a Terrible Person for Claiming a Black Woman is More Privileged than I Am?

I am a white male. Which should be obvious from looking at my avatar. But before you respond in outrage over the question posed in the title, hear me out.

I was born in a state with a small, rural population. By the standards of the state, the town I grew up in was a thriving metropolis. But compared to the major cities of the U.S., it wasn’t large at all. The population in 2020 was about 15,000. Too large to be a village, but too small to be a city. It is a town.

I am in my fifties, just barely too young to be a Baby Boomer.

And while my classmates in junior high were very self-congratulatory when it came to their non-racist attitudes — they seemed to go out of their way to befriend the few non-white students we had — they had a virulent hatred of homosexuals.

As someone who was coming into the physical changes and awareness of my budding sexuality, I was horrified when I realized that my attractions were for my own gender. And felt utterly hopeless when my efforts to change my attractions were unavailing.

In school, the hatred toward anyone even suspected of being gay was disturbingly intense. You simply wouldn’t believe that children our age were even capable of hatred of such magnitude. In fact, the hate was so severe, that you could not be indifferent to or tolerant of suspected homosexuals. You had to hate them with just as much intensity; otherwise, you would be treated as gay yourself.

I was assaulted in the hallways, thanks to a complicit faculty happy to look the other way. I was afraid to walk home from school and would intentionally make myself sick on gym days sometimes so I wouldn’t have to go to school.

The bullying got so bad that my mother was compelled to take me out of public school and send me to an Episcopalian boarding school. So, because I was being bullied in school, I had to be sent away to a boarding school. School ties, blazers, penny loafers, and daily chapel became my reality.

Post-secondary education at my small state college was somewhat better than junior high. While the harassment still happened, at least the punches and the pummeling stopped.

One memorable incident at college occurred during my freshman year. I was walking up the hill from the psychology/sociology building to my dorm. This building was a bit removed from the campus proper. As I proceeded up the sidewalk, I happened to notice two guys walking down the hill toward me. I recognized them as students who lived in the same dorm as I did, but on a different floor and different wing of the building. I had no classes with them and I didn’t know their names. I never once exchanged words with them. Not that I was avoiding them. It’s just that our paths never really crossed to the point where we would have engaged in conversation.

Anyhow, as we approached each other, they looked toward me with baleful expressions. I was perplexed by this. As far as I knew, I had done nothing to either one of them. But despite this, their glares remained fastened on me with intense loathing.

“Faggot!” one of them spat, sotto voce.

I continued to walk toward them. I don’t remember feeling offended by this so much as confused. Why were they assuming so much about someone they didn’t even know? Through Junior High, High School and College, I never dated or made any sort of romantic overture to anyone.

“Queer!” the other one said.

This continued as we approached each other. They hissed, snarled and spat every offensive name for homosexual I’d ever heard of. I said nothing and maintained my nonchalant composure. I passed between them as we continued our separate walks, and they said nothing as we moved past each other. As I continued to walk, I looked back toward them just as they happened to look back toward me.

“Faggot!” they yelled in unison.

You may be wondering why I never defended myself, particularly in Junior High. I think it was for a few reasons. Part of the reason was that I had internalized the malignant hatred of homosexuals that I grew up with. Obviously, it was a very, very bad thing to be gay. I must be something truly horrible.

But I think the primary reason is that I grew up conditioned to be hit. I come from a very large family. My mother had six children with her first husband. When he committed suicide, my mother, now left to raise six children alone, married the man who would become my father. Together, they had three more children, of which I am last, making me the youngest of nine.

My father, unfortunately, was a very angry, violent drunk and my mother divorced him before I even started school. With a mother who was away from home working to support her very large brood, we were left to raise ourselves. As the youngest, by more than two years, I got the worst of it. My older siblings (with the exception of the three oldest) simply believed that it was their right and duty to discipline me, and discipline usually involved pummeling. They saw nothing wrong with this. Which shouldn’t be surprising since my mother was a hitter. That is simply how discipline was done.

And I was disciplined for even the pettiest of infractions. Sometimes even for things that weren’t infractions at all.

For instance, one of my sisters decided it was wrong for a child of my age to use “big words.” And her definition of big words was somewhat arbitrary. For instance, if I said “larger” instead of “bigger,” I was using big words.

So, as we were walking home from school, there was a certain location removed from the main road we had to cross where she would pummel me until my ears rang and I was bawling. This sometimes happened twice day, both to and from school. And sometimes, it happened when I hadn’t even used any big words.

I tried to tell our mother about this, but she apparently didn’t understand the severity. She only giggled and said “She’s just jealous because she doesn’t know what the words mean.”

There is a concept in psychology known as “learned helplessness.” Essentially, it means that when a child is faced with a disagreeable situation and all attempts to escape the situation prove unavailing, the child stops trying to avoid the situation. The child learns he is helpless to escape the disagreeable situation, so he simply accepts it.

The problem arises when the same situation plays itself out in the future, the older child/adult has already been conditioned to accept the situation, and makes no attempt to escape the situation, even when there are escape routes that didn’t exist previously.

I learned I had to accept getting hit and being bullied. The authorities I appealed to, such as my mother or the faculty at school, had the ability to stop it, but made it clear that they would not.

And now, at age 56, which they call “middle-aged,” I face life as a person who has never dated nor been in a romantic relationship, and have come to the terms with the fact that I will die alone.

Now that this cursory look at my life experience has been shared, I can explain where the black woman comes in. I was watching one of Kaitlin Bennett’s videos. (Kaitlin Bennett is an attractive young commentator who first came to fame for posing with an assault rifle at her alma mater while looking stunning in a minidress. This, of course, conclusively proves that she’s going to have informed and insightful opinions.) With Kaitlin Bennett was Joel Patrick, a black conservative and Trump supporter. And the two of them were visiting the University of Akron.

During their exchange with a group of college students, Joel Patrick was challenged by a student, a young Black woman who recalled a time when she was out running with her mother and was called racial slurs and “these people.” They were also told that they don’t belong in the town they live in.

When Joel Patrick asked her how that affected her, her ability to find employment, earn money, and “exist as a free person in this country,” she replied, “Because it makes you feel unwanted!”

I don’t dispute that what was done to her and her mother was disgusting and cruel. But frankly, I’m not impressed.

She’s never been assaulted for being Black. If she were, since she was talking about the discrimination that she’s experienced in her life, she doubtless would have mentioned instances of being assaulted over an incident of simply being called names in the street. And when she described how it made her feel, she chose the word “unwanted.” Not “threatened,” “fearful,” “intimidated,” “afraid,” “helpless” or something similar.

I was afraid to walk home from school because I was targeted for assaults by kids that I recognized as from my school, but had no classes with and had never spoken to. I couldn’t have even told you their names.

Had she attended my school when I did, she would have been fully supported and sympathized with. My schoolmates would have gone out of their way to assure her that she was, in fact, wanted. But gay people had no white knights. In fact, I recall a Black female student at my school participating in the harassment against me.

This young lady replying to Joel Patrick does not know what it means to be afraid to walk home from school. She most likely dated while in school. She had friends and romantic relationships. She did not know what it was to make herself sick on gym days because she was afraid to go to school. She did not spend her junior high and high school years without friends, while being wary of literally everyone. She was never assaulted in gym class or in the halls at school for being black, her assailants abetted by a complicit faculty who was only too happy to look the other way. She never approached her guidance counselor about the problems she was having, only to have her complaints summarily dismissed.

And one day, I believe, she will meet someone and eventually form a permanent relationship with them. All things that I never had and can’t have. (And for those who are going to respond in outrage over the suggestion that I “can’t have” these things, kindly keep your shirt on. I’ll get to that in a minute.)

I submit that this young black woman is far, far, far more privileged than I am. But when I tried sharing this story on reddit, the response was almost universally negative. I was heavily downvoted, but only one person deigned to actually respond to me.

Here is her response in its entirety, interspersed with my replies.

My dude you have some very deep personal issues and instead of resolving them with therapy you’ve started projecting a toxic mentality towards others.

I have attended therapy for many years. Most recently with a therapist I’ve seen for over seven years. I did the workbooks, and she complimented my hard work on these workbooks. I also attended the groups along with my individual sessions and was as open and honest about my experiences as I could be.

You need to stop looking at people like it’s the Suffering Olympics. Many people have had childhoods far worse than yours.

At no point did I say that my childhood was the worst one in all of human history. I freely admit there are many people who have had childhoods worse than mine.

You are claiming she’s “privileged” because she will likely get married one day and have romantic relationships, yet you have chosen to exclude yourself from attaining the very same thing, yet you frame yourself as the victim.

No one is stopping you from dating, finding a partner, and getting married except yourself.

During one of my several stays in the hospital for depression, I was questioned about my relationship status. I replied candidly that I don’t have one and never did. The examiner (whatever his official title was) noted that I reported never having been in a relationship and that I seemed remarkably unconcerned about that fact. After a few more individual sessions, “schizoid” was entered into my record.

We live in an age where a wealth of information is literally at our fingertips. Thanks to the internet, we can perform in-depth research anything we want. Yet, I find it a frustrating irony that, despite all this information, so many refuse to avail themselves of it.

As I’ve had to explain several times, “schizoid” has nothing to do with “schizophrenia.”

There are descriptions of schizoid personality disorder on the internet, but essentially, a schizoid is an isolationist who generally seems aloof, distant and prefers solitary activities. And they tend to be bully magnets, which would explain a lot. It should be noted, however, that the term schizoid applies only to individuals whose apparent schizoid tendencies cannot be explained by another present mood disorder that can exhibit the same tendencies.

While the DSM-V is not available online (at least not for free), this Psychology Today article quotes much of the description. I also like the description of the late pediatrician and psychoanalyst Dr. Donald Winnicott, who said that schizoids “prefer to make relationships on their own terms and not in terms of the impulses of other people.” Failing this, they prefer isolation.

It should also be noted that schizoids are not curable. No one, with any amount of therapy, medication or any other form of treatment has ever been cured of schizoid personality disorder. While many of the accompanying mood disorders can be alleviated through therapy, schizoid personality disorder is not correctable. While some schizoids have been known to form personal relationships, these relationships last only as long as the schizoid stays in therapy.

In other words, a schizoid who forms a romantic relationship is most definitely an outlier. And a schizoid who is able to maintain this relationship even when therapy is discontinued is unheard of.

The point is, the fact that I don’t have romantic relationships is not a choice. I simply feel like the necessary stamina and emotional investment to form one and maintain one is far beyond me. I feel the energy drain out of me at the very thought of it. It seems so exhausting. I also feel this would have been very different if I had been allowed to form romantic relationships during my formative years. I would have learned the basics, like what my boundaries and dealbreakers were, and how to respect those of my partner. But without that learning stage, I simply feel like I have too much to learn, too late.

You built yourself a prison and have chosen to remain there while accusing others of having more “privilege” simply because they chose to be free.

The door to your prison is open, you just have to walk out.

I find it horribly, horribly insensitive to suggest that this supposed “prison” is of my own making. Even without considering the schizoid aspect, I didn’t ask to be excluded from dating, socialization, and interpersonal or romantic relationships during my junior high, high school, and college years. A certain prejudice, over which I had no control, dictated that that’s how it was going to be.

I didn’t have any experience with interpersonal or romantic relationships while my peers did. They learned and acquired the necessary skills at a time when I was kept from it. It was not merely disdain, or a few instances of name calling that kept me from it. It was often met with violence.

Also, racism is very much alive in America and that woman will face challenges you never will.

Homophobia is also very much alive in America.

And I’ve already faced challenges that she hasn’t and never will. So, am I supposed to acknowledge her victimization over challenges that she hasn’t experienced yet and might never experience?

I can’t help but feel it’s incredibly contemptuous and insulting to suggest that my lack of experience during my formative years is no impediment, and my consequent lack of social skills is self-imposed. To suggest that my supposed prison is of my own making is victim-blaming on steroids.

I realize that the reader is not likely to see me as sympathetic, since I am casting myself as a victim. But I do this only after considering, as dispassionately as I can, whether I could look at someone in my situation and not see him as oppressed and victimized. And I believe I would look at a person in my situation and most definitely conclude that he was oppressed and victimized. And I would be loathe to describe him as “privileged.”

You need to spend less time comparing yourself to others, and more time looking within yourself to figure out why you choose to live a life of self-imposed misery.

The claim that I need to spend less time comparing myself to others is especially ironic. I mean, isn’t that what the claims of white privilege is all about? Comparing the situations of non-whites and whites?

To say that I shouldn’t compare my situation to those of others suggests not that it’s wrong to compare them (since the claims of white supremacy are all about comparing the situations of non-whites to whites). Rather, it suggests that we are uncomfortable when whites, especially white males, see themselves as having less privilege. And I realize that black women are generally seen as occupying the very bottom rung in the social privilege ladder. And I am not suggesting, nor did I ever suggest that I was somehow less privileged than any and all black women, or even most black women.

But with this in mind, I also realize that to suggest that my situation makes me less privileged than that of a particular black woman is probably a particularly egregious offense to the wokeist crowd.

And I’ve encountered this before. When I brought this up to a friend (who has been otherwise absolutely wonderful to me), he insisted that I will never be able to heal as long as I compare myself to others. But I can’t help but notice that he, as a wokeist himself, is preoccupied with comparing the situation of non-whites to whites. Apparently, as long the situation of the non-whites is acknowledged as less privileged than that of the whites, it’s all right.

It seems we only have a problem when a white male, even a gay white male, dares to suggest that a particular black woman has more privilege than he does.

Nonetheless, I aver and believe I have proven that I am less privileged than a black woman whose most traumatic experience of prejudicial hatred was being called names on the street by a total stranger that she will never see again. Further, I would claim that, compared to me, she barely knows what prejudicial hatred is.

Does this make me a terrible person?