Frank Bruni does the unthinkable at the New York Times.
I’m a white man, so you should listen to absolutely nothing I say, at least on matters of social justice. I have no standing. No way to relate. My color and gender nullify me, and it gets worse: I grew up in the suburbs. Dad made six figures. We had a backyard pool. From the 10th through 12th grades, I attended private school. So the only proper way for me to check my privilege is to realize that it blinds me to others’ struggles and should gag me during discussions about the right responses to them.
What are the chances that Bruni would get a job with a broom, no less a column, with the New York Times today? But he’s got one card to play, and he plays it.
But wait. I’m gay.
Red lights go off. Sirens. Whistles. Continue reading
