That, dear reader, is White privilege.
A few years ago, I quit my corporate job to live on the road for 15 months visiting National Parks. As a solo female traveler driving around North America, I sometimes thought about how being a woman could affect my safety on the road. But not once did I have to think about how my race might impact my trip.
That, dear reader, is White privilege.
If your first instinct is to insist that “nature doesn’t see color,” please stick with me here. I understand the knee-jerk negative reaction to the idea of “politicizing” the outdoors, and the desire to proclaim nature as a safe space for all. But the reality is, outdoor recreation and access have never been truly apolitical or safe for everyone (and still aren’t, as evidenced by recent events with Ahmaud Arbery and Christian Cooper). The outdoor industry is undeniably monochromatic, and it’s impossible to address the lack of diversity without looking at the politics that led us here.
To quote Outdoor Alliance, an outdoor advocacy coalition: “The history of America’s public lands and waters is inextricably linked to our history of slavery and racial discrimination, from the displacement of Indigenous communities to the history of racial segregation not only in National Parks, but in most public spaces.” Throughout the 1940s and 50s, it was the official position of the National Park Service to accommodate segregation in states where “separate but equal” was still legal. Until the passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1964, Black travelers wanting to drive across the country needed to utilize the Green Book just to find establishments that would cater to non-Whites.
Even now that there are no legal or physical barriers preventing people of color from escaping into nature, society offers subtle cues to make them feel less than welcome—cues that White people like me are unlikely to ever notice.
Consider the story of Rahawa Haile, a Black queer woman who hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2016 and faced countless microaggressions along the way.
Or the experience of Chad Brown, a Black outdoorsman and US Veteran who was met with outright hostility and threats by people who accused him of “‘taking’ fly fishing from white people.”
Or the countless other examples of Black people who are made to feel uncomfortable or unsafe in the outdoors.
It’s easy to dismiss these occurrences as isolated incidents, and in fact could be tempting to do so. After all, we as well-meaning White people could never imagine perpetuating racism. But the reality is that racism isn’t just a series of individual acts of aggression perpetrated by ignorant bigots; it’s a pervasive systemic phenomenon that takes place in often subtle ways . . . . and we’re all guilty of it.
I don’t claim to be an authority on Blackness in the outdoors—as a White woman, to attempt to do so would be irresponsible at best.
I can call attention to some of the ways in which I, personally, benefited from my Whiteness on my road trip:
Never the Only White Person: I was never the only White person in the room or on the trail. Not even close. I never felt threatened, because I was never the odd one out. (It’s easy not to “see color” when you fall squarely in the majority.)
Was Pulled Over Once: After driving nearly 50,000 miles in 15 months, I was only pulled over once after getting caught in a speed trap. My biggest fear was getting a ticket, not whether I’d make it out alive.
No Fear of Looking “Suspicious”: I was able to openly admire people’s #vanlife builds, without fear of looking suspicious. People often even encouraged me to take a closer look.
I Blended In: I could walk around wealthy neighborhoods and blend in seamlessly with the locals, eliciting smiles and waves instead of immediately being pegged as an outsider.
No Microaggressions: No one ever suggested I didn’t belong because of the color of my skin. I faced no microaggressions.
No Issue at Border Patrol: When passing through Immigration Checkpoints or Border Patrol, officers took one look at my White face and allowed me to pass through without further scrutiny.
Hid Behind my Whiteness: I was able to be a political chameleon, silently conforming to local ideologies to avoid discomfort or conflict. I was able to hide behind my whiteness; those with darker skin are not afforded the same luxury.
And these are just the examples that come easily to mind. If you’d like to examine the more subtle ways that most of us benefit from White privilege on a daily basis, I highly encourage you to check out Peggy McIntosh’s paper, “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack."
As the country seeks to reopen following the Covid-19 pandemic, travel experts proclaim 2020 the year of the road trip. But for many Black travelers, a road trip across America conjures more feelings of fear than of freedom. While decades have passed since the last Green Book was published, the dangers of traveling while Black still exist today.
If we want to make the outdoors truly safe for everyone, we first have to admit that White privilege and politics play a huge role in the outdoor space. Only then can we begin to dismantle the systemic barriers in place, and hope to share the healing power of nature with all.
