Privilege.

I don’t have a passport. Currently, my birth certificate is filed somewhere in the labyrinth of boxes and piles in our loft. My spouse knows where it is and I’ve never bothered to know, because I haven’t been asked to verify my birth since I applied for college over two decades ago. I try to remember to carry my state driver’s licence, but I still forget it sometimes. Even after years of driving, I have yet to have a negative interaction with law enforcement. I could generalize and assume that my experiences are not remarkable and instead believe them to be representative of the majority, but that would exercise privilege I’m increasingly more aware of. I will leave for work in a few hours. I’ll drive on a state highway and then on a county road. I’ll walk with dogs in a secluded, rural area. We’ll stretch and snuggle and recover and I’ll head back home. After checking on the pups at my house, I’ll travel back further into the city and visit some cats who need care while their owner is away. A coffee run might happen at some point and possibly a stop to refill my gas tank. I’ll be in and out of my house, driving around, multiple times today and the likelihood of me encountering police isn’t low, but the chances of it being a bad interaction are. This is privilege- to leave my home with a degree of certainty that I’ll come back. That I won’t be asked to leave my vehicle. That I won’t have guns aimed in my direction. That I will have a semblance of anonymity. That I can trust a person working for the government does not wish me harm. If it happens that this changes for me, it seems logical to assume that the dangerous experiences others have had will become even more daunting. I hope that I will be sensitive to them, believe their stories, and use the privilege I have, whatever that might look like then, to provide comfort.