I have a confession. I used to think I was better than other people. I don’t want to say I was ever a racist, but I might have been. It’s hard not to be when you grow up under the guise of white privilege in the United States. My confession: I had little understanding for those who were different from me. And I didn’t need to – I never stepped out of my realm of convenience (my bubble). My life was good. I attributed that goodness to something I had done; but the truth is there is nothing I could have ever done that would explain the level of status to which I was born.
This is a fact of being a white person in America. You believe you’re just a little bit better than everyone else.