Read through the convoluted language of the opening paragraphs (I provided the indents between paragraphs), and tell me you don't understand why I am so grateful that I'm no longer sucking on the public tit.
The State University of New York (SUNY) at Binghamton reportedly hosted a training course for residential assistants on how to “stop white people.”Stop White People?
The course, titled “#StopWhitePeople2K16,” was listed on the university’s residential assistant training schedule for an event to give RAs an “overview of disabilities in Higher Education,” according to the Binghamton Review, the school’s student-run conservative newspaper.(emphasis added)
Geeze, Louise, the entire premise is racist. It was conceived and implemented by 'people' who don't believe that 'white people' can be the object of racism, because of 'white privilege'.
I don't know what others may think, but I worked my way through college. My parents could only sign "Guaranteed Student Loan" papers on faith that I wouldn't default, because they damn sure didn't have the money to put me through college. I caught a couple of scholarships because of my grades, but I started mowing lawns when I was 10 years old and worked weekend and vacations through high-school, and found summer jobs through college.
White Guilt: you do NOT want to go there, but ....
Let's TALK about how qualified you are to talk about "White Guilt", okay:
Two months after I graduated from College, I was drafted. I worked hard, signed up for every school the Army offered, and I went to Viet Nam as a Staff Sergeant because I earned "top 5%" from Non-Commissioned Officer's School.
The army wanted to send me to OCS; they also offered me Rotary-Winged OCS (Helicopter School, preparatory to service as a Chopper co-pilot in Viet Nam). I rejected both offers, because I didn't want to serve my country as much as I wanted to live through my involuntary enlistment. Instead, I went to NCOCC (Non-Commissioned Officer Candidate Course). I worked hard, and ended up in the top 5% of my class, and so I was granted an extra stripe.
While I was in the army (in Viet Nam) as a Staff Sergeant, I talked to a LOT of enlisted men who were black. They were angry, and they said things like:
. "They just drafted my ass, because I was black!"
. "If you a Black Man, you know you gonna end up in Viet Nam!"
. "Army just looks out for the White Dudes; Black Dudes end up in The Nam!"
I told them:
"I'm white. I was drafted. I am in Viet Nam. I'm in the Infantry, and I'm in The Bush with you right now. When Charley is shooting at you, he's shooting at me, too. So, tell me again how I've got that special treatment because I was white, please?"A couple of men didn't like that I was in charge of their unit, and threatened my life.
One Day ... during the normal rotation of duties, the Point Man on a routine patrol near a "Friendly Village", the Point Man (who was American Indian) tripped a booby trap .. three hand grenades (American) which were buried in the ground with a triangle of wires set up to catch on the boots of American troops working the area.
The grenades went off.
The Point Man, whose job was to guide us in the compass course which I had set to direct us to the next rally point, caught some shrapnel in his back, most of which were embedded in his web gear.
We always traveled in a 'zig-zag' pattern, to prevent our enemy from pre-plotting our course. Most times that worked; sometimes, it didn't.
This time ... it didn't.
The "Pace Man" (a White man, if it matters) whose job to keep track of the distance we had traveled before I designated the next azimuth we should travel to reach our designated rally point, received a few fragments in his heart. While the Point Mat caught some fragments in his backpack, the Pace man caught a few more fragments in his heart, and died before the Platoon Medic could render first aid. The Medic labored furiously, and wept when his patient died. I wept too, later. But first I called for helicopters to lift us out of what had turned into a battle-zone. Nobody else died.
In that battleground, I learned what "White Privilege" meant. Which was ... not a damn thing.
I realize that I have told that story before, many times, and I regret imposing it upon my readers again. But I've never before been told that I had a "White Privilege".
Nor have I had it suggested to me that I should feel guilt, because I was privileged; nor that I should "Check My Privilege" to teach myself that I had been ... somehow ... responsible for the downtrodden people of other races, who have experienced a life with so much less privilege than I have enjoyed.
I take you back to Viet Nam, 1969:
I felt no joy that day. Vietnam, March, 1969
Nor did I feel that I was especially privileged.
I was in charge of an infantry platoon, in the late 1960's. I made a "Command Decision", and it got people killed. We were aggressively searching for Viet Cong. and they were sneaky folks; they would infiltrate a village, cause some damage, and then exfiltrate; leaving booby-traps behind to kill the villagers who were not converted, and the American troops who arrived to support the 'friendly villagers'.
Sometimes, the Americans were too aggressive, and fell to the booby traps which the VC left behind.
On their best day, the VC caught American Troops in their booby traps instead of 'friendly' villagers.
This was the case, that day.
On that day, I felt that I had failed my friend.
We entered a known 'boobby-trapped" area, and it was my responsibility to dispose of the troops available to me: I was the Platoon Commander, and we were operating in a 'divided platoon' mode' which meant that I had half the platoon at my hand, and the Platoon Leader had the other half. I got there first, and I spread out the demi-platoon (two squads) so that we could cover the area aggressively.
I was too aggressive, and so I sent troops into area which were not cleared (and could NOT be cleared) for Booby Traps.
This was the situation into which I sent my friend-who-will-not-be-named.
I had asked him to go thusly, and so far, and then to turn. It was a known booby-trapped area (we had already tripped one mine, which was a dud, which often happens when a minefield is laid in an area and then the monsoons soak the mines until they don't work any more); and I had hoped that by directing troops in a zig-zag fashion, I could help them weave through the minefield. I was wrong.
I turned him far too late, if unknowingly, and he died because of the decisions I had made. I've regretted my decisions for fifty years, and I would have given every one of those years if I had decided otherwise.
I gave him a course ('azimuth') and a distance to travel, and he ran into a booby trap. And it killed him. He hit a mine which was still active, and he died. Bad call on my part, but "OOPS" doesn't count in war.
And it was my fault. Because he obeyed my commands to the letter.
Tell me, again ... please. About my White Privilege. Tell me how I have taken it for granted.
Tell me how I have abused it, after it has resulted in the death of a fine young man.
MONTHS LATER .. I received a letter from his parents.
They thanked me for the accolades I had ascribed from this fine young man (who was indeed nothing more than Cannon Fodder).
They thanked me for the letter which I had written to them, describing the bravery of their son.
In truth, he had done nothing more than to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I never suggested this. Instead, he had "...volunteered for the most dangerous place at the worse time, and given his life for his country...". I wish it were true. I told these men where to go, I told them what to do, and I put them ... every one of them .. In Harm's Way. I was in charge. Every man's death is my fault.
So ... tell me again about my White Privilege? When I would have given my life for theirs?
Perhaps you should, instead, talk about White Guilt?
Or perhaps you should just talk about some other subject upon which you have no personal experience to pontificate ?
Yes, I think that would be better.