So I’m driving down the street with
my 4-year-old nephew.
He, knocking back a juice
box, me, a Snapple, today y’all
we are doing manly shit. I love
watching the way his mind works.
He asks a million questions.
Uncle, why is the sky blue?
Uncle, how do cars go?
Uncle, why don’t dogs talk?
Uncle, uncle, uncle, he asks,
uncle, uncle, uncle, he asks
uncle uncle uncle
as if his voice box is
a warped record. I try my best
to answer every question, I do.
I say it’s because the way
the sun lights up the outer space.
It’s because engines
make the wheels go.
It’s because their minds aren’t
quite like ours. I say Yes.
No. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. I don’t know.
Who knows? Maybe. We laugh.
He smiles at me, looks out the window,
spots a cop car, drops his seat
and says,
“Oh man, Uncle, 5-0, we gotta hide.”
I’ll be honest. I’m not happy
with the way we raise our Black boys.
Don’t like the fact that
he learned to hide
from the cops before
he knew how to read.
Angrier that his survival
depends more on
his ability to deal
with the “authorities”
than it does his own literacy.
“Get up,” I yell at him. “In this car, in this family,
we are not afraid
of the law.”
I wonder if he can hear
the uncertainty in my voice.
Is today the day he learns
that uncle is willing to lie to him,
that I am more human
than hero?
We both know the truth
is far more complex than
do not hide. We both know too many
Black boys who disappeared.
Names lost.
Know too many Trayvon Martins
Oscar Grants
and Abner Louimas, know too many
Sean Bells, and Amadou Diallos
Know too well that we are
the hard-boiled sons of Emmett Till.
Still, we both know
it’s not about whether or not
the shooter is racist,
it’s about how poor Black boys
are treated as problems
well before we are treated as people.
Black boys in this country
cannot afford
to play cops and robbers
if we’re always considered the latter,
don’t have the luxury
of playing war
when we’re already in one.
Where I’m from,
seeing cop cars drive
down the street feels a lot
like low-flying planes in New York
City. Where I’m from, routine traffic
stops are more like mine
fields, any wrong move
could very well mean your life.
And how do I look my nephew in his apple face
and tell him to be strong when we both know
black boys are murdered every day, simply
for standing up for themselves? I take him
by the hand, I say
be strong. I say be smart. Be kind, and polite.
Know your laws. Be aware of
how quickly your hands move
to pocket for wallet or ID,
be more aware of how quickly
the officer’s hand moves to holster, for gun.
Be Black. Be a boy and have fun,
because this world will force you to
become a man much quicker
than you need to.
“Uncle,” he asks, “what happens
if the cop is really mean?”
And, it scares me to
know that he, like
so many Black boys,
is getting ready for a war
I can’t prepare him for. 

In Allen Johnson's piece, he explains that "white people are generally assumed to be law-abiding until they show some sign that they are not, while people of color are routinely assumed to be criminals or potential criminals until they show that they're not."  Javon Johnson's poem addresses this issue of privilege--what it is like to exist in this system and experience day-to-day terror that a white person has the privilege (luxury) of avoiding. White people do not have to "Be aware of how quickly your hands move to pocket for wallet or ID" because a police officer is not likely to assume that our hands are moving for a gun.  

She gives fifty examples (though there are countless others) of White Privilege in the every-day sense, such as:

3. If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live.
4. I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me.
5. I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed.

40. I can choose public accommodation without fearing that people of my race cannot get in or will be mistreated in the places I have chosen.
41. I can be sure that if I need legal or medical help, my race will not work against me.

Examples that reference housing and legal/medical help intersect neatly with issues of class.  Considering the Institutions that contribute to Class are inherently racist, it is not a far stretch to think about how white people have the privilege of being seen, more often than people of color, to inhabit a higher class.  In other words, white people (even if lacking social, economic, and political capital) will "pass" as being a higher class than people of color.  This "lower class" standing works hand in hand with racism in such a way that it creates a hostile environment for people of color to exist (likeliness of being hired, promoted, given a loan, and so on).

Allan G. Johnson discusses privilege centered on race.  This is a large part of the multi-faceted System of Privileges that occupies this Society that favors White (Cisgendered) Male Heterosexual Able Bodied Christian Property-Owners above anyone else.