I consider myself fully transitioned—that is, someone who does not feel any need to pursue further treatments or surgeries to affirm his gender identity. I also “pass” as male; strangers, by default, use he/his pronouns to refer to me, and none would guess that I was transgender unless I suggested otherwise. These two facts have granted me an enormous privilege: the privilege of a cisgender white man.
Despite the arguments of the alt-right, it is nigh undeniable that white men* wield the majority of power in the United States. White men are given more slack for wrongdoings, and more reward for accomplishments.They possess a sense of safety and confidence for which other groups of people must fight. But most of all, white men are given the loudest voices in our politics, our economy, our entertainment, and, often, our daily lives.
Upon going stealth—a phrase used for transgender people who “pass” and choose to actively hide their transgender status—for a time, my newfound privilege was not an immediate discovery. At times the transition of privilege was so subtle that I could not notice it until someone pointed it out to me.
In group discussions during class, I realized that other men were neither interrupting me nor explaining things to me that I just said or obviously already know. I received more attention from teachers. My interests and talents were respected and more widely acknowledged. Walking around or taking the subway at night was no longer fear-inducing because I stopped feeling the lascivious stares of other men that had once followed me everywhere—and sometimes, the men themselves followed me too. I was never told on the street to “smile more” again. No strangers decide I look sociable enough to strike up a conversation with me, and I like it that way.
But I recognize that this great privilege carries with it a great responsibility. When privilege becomes ingrained in one’s behavior, it is easy to assume that it is normal and natural. I have found myself interrupting women and even, to my great embarrassment, “mansplaining.” In my early days of stealth, I took the newfound privilege for granted, simply because I was so tired of the constant vigilance that was required in my once being a woman.
Recognizing this transition to privilege, however, has been one of the most empowering experiences I’ve had—but not to serve myself.
I remember a day I spent with a few friends of mine: all of them girls but me. As we waited for the bus, a man in front of us started talking to one of my friends, singling her out of the group and asking her questions about herself. She didn’t respond and looked to us for help. With unsuccessful attempts to ward him off by my other friends, I stepped in and said, bluntly, “They don’t want to talk to you.”
The man was taken aback. He accused me of not allowing my friends to speak for themselves, and I replied, “You wouldn’t listen. It’s none of your business to talk to them, anyway. You can talk to me if you really want to have a conversation.” The man left us alone with only a few grumblings.
Unfortunately, this situation is in line with a flirtatious man not leaving a woman alone until she tells him she already has a boyfriend—an all-too-common experience. The man I met did not respect my friends’ rights to not speak to him, but he did respect my role as the “alpha male” of the group and backed down when I approached. But exercising white male privilege in a beneficial way is not about asserting dominance. It is about using one’s voice, which is already so magnified, to elevate the voices of those who are silenced. It is about tackling the privilege and entitlement that other white men feel, and doing one’s part to stay informed and educate others with a voice to which is more listened.
And transgender men—myself included—understand this more than anyone else. As a white person, transitioning to male grants a privilege many do not have. Those who do understand how white male privilege can cause harm will learn (or already know) what they can do to make sure they don’t fall claim to the temptation of entitlement.
I am still constantly learning how to exercise my newfound privilege in a way that is constructive and socially just. I aim not to speak for others, but learn from others and give appropriate attribution to those who would otherwise go ignored. Sometimes, it’s just about asking someone who’s not white and male what they think. Other times, it’s reaffirming that non-white, non-male voices are just as significant.
*It is important to note that identities other than “white” and “male” interplay into a specific award of privilege that is generally described as “white male privilege.” Generally, what is implied in the phrase “white male privilege” is a litany of other qualifiers, such as straight, cisgender, able-bodied, neurotypical, and upper-middle class, which is too clumsy to repeatedly use. Lacking any of these qualifiers, however, does not remove the privilege that a white man would have over a white woman or black man who lacks these same qualifiers. So, for both brevity and comprehensiveness, this article uses “white male privilege” and its derivatives as a short form.
