The humbling thing I learned about my own white privilege and COVID mask-wearing

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I recently took my first out-of-state vacation in two years – hurrah! – requiring four flights. I had had both COVID-19 shots and the booster (not to mention the virus itself), but I knew I needed to cover up while flying, so I researched the best kind of mask to buy and came to the airport prepared.

The wheels were barely off the ground before I began a different journey, this one into a world of white privilege when it comes to rules about masks – and much more. 

Before boarding, I heard numerous announcements reminding everyone that the Federal Aviation Administration still mandates masks on planes, except for those 2 years old and younger. The mandate was just extended until April 18.

Soon after takeoff, I noticed a guy in the row ahead of me wasn’t masked. A couple of other fellows within sight wore theirs incorrectly (sorry, gents, it needs to cover your nose). I couldn’t help but note that they were all white, although the plane was carrying a highly diverse group of passengers. I walked up and down the narrow aisle, observing who was unmasked or wearing them incorrectly. The majority of those defying the FAA mandate were white men.

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From time to time the flight attendants would either kindly (or firmly) remind one of these scofflaws that masking is not optional – pretty much to no avail. Sure, the mask would go up, but then down again. Like spoiled children who know Mom won’t punish them for anything, these white men seemed confident they could unmask with impunity. They were correct.

Once home I did some research. According to a University of Southern California study released in January 2021, white people were less likely than any other racial group to wear a mask consistently while in close contact with people from other households. What’s going on here?

Amherst College psychology professor Catherine Sanderson, author of "Why We Act," told me it may be about perceived risk. People of color are more likely to have lost someone to the virus and feel more vulnerable to the disease, she told me, making them more inclined to don a mask. That may be so, but the FAA mandate doesn’t give anyone the right to opt out. Sorry, guys.

Duke University professor Mark Anthony Neal offered me a less benign theory. Since mask mandates have become politicized, he could imagine white men refusing to wear them because that aligns them with their political sensibilities.

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Why would these men think the rules don’t apply to them? How exactly does race factor in? Could this really be about white privilege, defined by Merriam-Webster as "the set of social and economic advantages that white people have by virtue of their race ... in a culture characterized by racial inequality"?

Licking my wounds at the park

I recently had a humbling lesson in white privilege myself. In a park that has a strict leash law – but which had an empty parking lot that morning – I unleashed my 2-year-old cocker spaniel. He’s a gentle dog who stays near me, and I have no worries about him running off. Halfway around the trail we met a silver-haired white woman, and I said good morning as Binx shook his rear end in delight. Our friendliness was not reciprocated, and I was scolded in no uncertain terms. The woman told me that nearly all violators of the leash law are white men like me. "You think you’re above the rules," she said. "You are exercising your white privilege."

Dumbfounded, I said nothing as I leashed up my pup and finished our walk. Her accusation got under my skin, but I certainly know the rules, and it wasn’t the first time I had let Binx run free. I had to admit that on some level, I had decided the rule didn’t apply to me.

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Duke’s Neal told me an unconscious undercurrent of my thinking could be, “Hey, I’m white and I can do what I want to do.” This is one of the ways white privilege has been defined – as an invisible force that we’re not even aware of. Neal calls that “white obliviousness.” Hmmm.

I wondered, would I have disregarded the rule if I were Black or Hispanic or Asian? Would I worry that even a minor infraction could bring on outsize consequences because of my skin color?

Oblivious to what others experience

I thought of a former boyfriend, a Black man, with whom I got into an argument one night about whether I should drive to his house or vice versa. It was definitely his turn, but that didn’t matter to Alonzo, who told me he was much more likely to be stopped for a minor traffic infraction because of his race. I didn’t believe him, but he was right: Black people are more than 2.5 times more likely than white people to be ticketed. I was oblivious to this differential because it had never impacted me.

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The certainty of consequences is one way to keep anyone in line, including limit-testing kids and scofflaw adults. If I had thought for a minute that unleashing Binx would have led to a fine, or worse, you can bet I’d have kept him tethered to me. White men might be much more inclined to follow mask rules if there were predictable, unavoidable penalties that applied to everyone.

As for me, I’m newly conscious of the many ways my white privilege is ingrained in me. And, likely, still unaware of other ways. More of us might want to start thinking about how oblivious we are to that – and you can rest assured I won’t be letting Binx off leash in the park again.

Steven Petrow, a writer on civility and manners and a member of Paste BN's Board of Contributors, is the author of five etiquette books, including "Stupid Things I Won't Do When I Get Old." Follow him on Twitter: @stevenpetrow