Beyond the Complexity of My Whiteness

Will someone please define whiteness for me?

Acuras and credit cards tell me that my whiteness is oppressive.

Writing about my whiteness is really easy. My whiteness is something that I am. I don't mean that my whiteness is this accident of birth.

My whiteness is reflected in documents like my birth certificate, driver's license, and eventually my death.

That's what part of my whiteness is now. But that's the kind of thing where my whiteness is kind of strange.

My impulse is to emphasize the ways in which my whiteness is different.

My whiteness is protected. My whiteness is not the one of money, it is not the one of privilege.

My whiteness is emphasized by contrast with the beautiful complexions of my friends. Please advise.

My whiteness is no cause for celebration. It's a cause for worry. My whiteness is getting in the way of my ability to see.

My whiteness is a force field around my body. It is unjust, immoral even. As we flee across the hills my whiteness is covered.

My whiteness is not my main political concern. My family traded in their cultural heritage.

My whiteness is throwing off the needle of my moral compass. My whiteness is permanent.

There are situations in which my whiteness is certainly not an unmarked category. It is not at the center. Only a few more years.

My whiteness is invisible to the power structures of these countries: Canada, Denmark, France, The Netherlands.

My femaleness is very visible. My whiteness is a homing device for the sketchtastic men that congregate here.

My whiteness is overwhelming me, but so is your titty name.

My whiteness is a mask for all the cultural and political oppression I have suffered. My whiteness is made an issue by everyone else.

My whiteness is a product of time, not individual intent. This does not mean that the fact of my whiteness is not accidental.

I find it irrelevant whether my whiteness is genuine or not. My whiteness is not an issue. Am I one of the privileged, waving a flag?

My whiteness is passing along certain information, certain exercises, certain physical frames.

I don't understand how these constructs operate in your country. My whiteness is not quite the same as yours.

Being uncomfortable with my whiteness is healthy. My whiteness is a stigma of too many connotations, an unfathomable cultural schism.

My whiteness is not to be confused with a Socratic dialogue.

My whiteness is what people see first, leaving me something of a blank slate until I open my mouth and my class falls out.

My whiteness is an accident of migratory history. For that I am to suffer myriad punishments.

My whiteness is visible and I have no choice but to be viewed. I have had long discussions about these ideas with a co-worker who is Chinese.

My whiteness is pressed close. I am uncomfortable to see. Wait a minute, I'm not white.

My whiteness is contestable. My whiteness is the factor that protects me from being stopped.

My whiteness is terminal. Join in the fun.