Privilege is something I was not always aware of, but has always been on my side.
I wasn’t born as the baby with the proverbial silver spoon. I grew up in a middle class town in a modest middle class house. I am one of those who “worked hard for what I have,” and was never handed anything. But let’s be honest. Growing up middle class, with two caring parents, and being white and male, I was set up for success.
No one told me I couldn’t go to a private college in another state, I never had to help my parents pay a bill or take care of my sibling so my parents could work at night. I never had to consider that it might be challenging to repay my law school loans or that it would be hard to find a job. That freedom, that lack of impediments and never believing in “no” was the privilege handed to me solely by virtue of being born.
As an adult, my white male privilege is like a compounding interest. I have built a successful career, because I was able to go to a private college and law school of my choice. I own my third home, because I was able to get a mortgage for the first and defaulting on my payments was never an option. I have a wife that allows us to split child care time, so that I can get involved in groups and organizations, thereby increasing my contacts throughout the community. All of these things I work for, but never is there an impediment to my working for it. I never doubt I can do something or have something I want.
That is, until now. I am one of those that really — and I mean really — want the COVID-19 vaccine. But since Connecticut began its roll-out of the vaccine, I haven’t been able to get it. I am 39. For the first time I am experiencing a system that intentionally places obstacles in my way; a system designed by the government that prioritizes individuals based on their attributes. As I watched the news and read the governor’s press releases, I waited for my attribute to come forward. Essential workers were discussed as a priority group. That never came to fruition. When it was finally announced, I was put into the group our government decided was the least important. I was made unimportant not by something I did but solely by virtue of when I was born — something out of my control.
How could this be? Never had the government intentionally put an obstacle in the way of something I wanted. Most of the time the government pleasantly ignored me or had programs to help me. This was a change.
Worse, I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t call anyone I knew to cut the line (and, trust me, I know it’s a privilege to even say I can call people I know for help). I couldn’t buy a more expensive ticket to get closer to the vaccine. My advantages of privilege had been stripped away.
I watched as friends who are educators, first responders, everyone in my office and my entire family got their shots. I was annoyed, helpless, frustrated, deflated and jealous. At times I felt pure anger toward the system.
Of course, on April 1, I became eligible for my shot, so I knew this would pass. And having a car, a wife that can watch the kids and constant access to the internet (all part of this compounding privilege) will make my getting the vaccine fairly simple and the advantages my privilege has built will once again be obvious. But for this one instance in time and for this one desire in life, I could not knowingly or unconsciously leverage the 39 years of privilege I have.
I am most certainly not looking for sympathy — in fact, it is the opposite; it is embarrassing how well I have it. I am hoping that if any of you have felt anything similar to this you can begin to empathize with those who face these challenges in every aspect of their lives.
I cannot even begin to fathom the pain, frustration and anger a lifetime of government and societal obstacles would have. In the small amount of time I’ve craved the vaccine, I have been appalled that the government didn’t care about me. Can you imagine always feeling your government didn’t care about you or, worse yet, was actively working against you?
Imagine that frustration when you know there is always an impediment to your goals. When you have nobody to call or no way to remedy the education your kids are getting, the crime on your street, the lack of doctors that will take you without insurance, the location of nearest grocery stores, or any of the myriad things we deal with on a daily basis.
Being a white male, it’s hard to acknowledge that privilege plays a role in your life, especially when you do work hard. But when you realize that you cannot use your privilege, you have only the tiniest sense of how demoralizing, infuriating and crushing life can feel every day for so many in our community.
Carl A. Glad is the chair of the board of Sterling House Community Center in Stratford, a board member for the Southwestern Connecticut Agency on Aging and a member of the town of Stratford Commission on Aging. The views expressed in this piece are his own.
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April 05, 2021 at 11:05AM
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Opinion: A sobering glimpse of a life devoid of privilege - CT Post
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