Editors Note: This is the first in a series of columns exploring the issues of privilege and, conversely, adversity as encountered by various segments of society. The series will run every Thursday.

Privilege is a tricky thing. We can have it and not even know it. We like to think we’ve earned our own way. So you grew up in a very safe neighborhood? Your parents had above-average income? Your school had the best equipment and the finest teachers? No matter. When you succeed, you want to think it’s because of your own abilities and hard work. So, as you’re crossing the finish line in a marathon, it’s a buzzkill to think about the limo that dropped you off at mile 25.

That’s the subtle temptation of privilege. There’s actually nothing wrong with privilege, all by itself. A wealthy student is obviously privileged, but unless she claims that she has earned all her advantages, the benefits she enjoys are just facts of her life.

While I don’t enjoy the privilege of great wealth, I do benefit from a few kinds of privilege. One of them is called “male privilege.” Simply because I’m male, I enjoy certain benefits that are not available to most women. I don’t need to apologize for this – it’s nothing I caused or consciously exploited. But I need to be honest about it. The minute I pretend I’m not privileged, I actually help perpetuate social injustice.

Male privilege works in many ways. I don’t need to wonder, as women often do, whether I’ll be taken seriously at the next meeting I attend. I know my ideas will be heard. Unlike women, I never have the experience of watching others talk as if I’m not even there, never looking at me or wondering what I’m thinking.

As a man, I’m more likely to be taken seriously in any situation. A car salesman, for example, will never suggest that I come back with a brother or husband or father. He assumes I am there to make my own decision.
Because of events like these, and many, many others in ordinary life, it would be foolish to deny the existence of male privilege. It would be dishonest to pretend I don’t benefit from it.

The whole issue becomes a lot more serious when male privilege goes well beyond such minor daily advantages. Unlike the car-buying scenario, where I am not harming a woman’s rights by expecting the salesman to take me seriously, there are situations where a man’s privilege makes him complicit in the exploitation of a woman. When a man dominates a meeting because his voice is louder and deeper, he may prevent a smarter, harder-working female from advancing her ideas.

If a businessman implies that a woman got her promotion by sleeping with the right bosses, he denigrates all of her accomplishments. If a male student shows less respect to a female professor, he undercuts her authority with other students. If he interrupts female classmates to object to their ideas or to argue his own view, he devalues their thinking. In all of these instances, male privilege is at work, and the man who thinks his complicity isn’t harmful is fooling himself. Worse, he’s not just taking advantage of an uneven playing field – he’s contributing to social injustice.

A male professor can usually approach a new classroom with a high degree of confidence. He knows that the students will automatically take him seriously and assume that he knows his subject matter. They will probably not test his toughness or push at the limits of class deadlines, policies or assignment expectations. They will tend to accept his evaluations of their work without argument or pleading. He actually starts with an easier job in the classroom than his female colleagues – and not because of anything he’s earned, anything he’s achieved through his own talents. He has an easier job to do because he enjoys male privilege.

The reality is this: men have no choice about male privilege. We’ve got it. The choice we have is between honesty and lies, between integrity and cheating. If we pretend the advantages don’t exist, we lie. If we use our unfair advantages to get ahead of others, we cheat. It’s not complicated.