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In the spring of 1995, our MEU anchored off the eastern coast of Africa, just below the Horn—about 10 to 12 miles from shore, close enough to see land clearly on the horizon. Our area of operations was the region around Somalia’s capital, Mogadishu, just north of the equator. I remember the weather: warm, with rolling clouds reminiscent of Texas skies, but without the oppressive humidity I knew from home. The ocean breeze was salty and soft, the sea itself calm. From the flight deck of the USS Ogden, our amphibious transport dock, the mood was quiet and focused—a rare stillness before Naval flight and LCAC (Landing Craft Air Cushion) operations began. That day, everything felt routine. The ship, affectionately called our “rust bucket,” drifted peacefully as we awaited orders to go ashore.
Prior to the beach landing and Operation United Shield, our days were structured and repetitive: wake up, do PT, eat chow, do live-fire weapons training off the aft deck, eat chow, do gear and weapons maintenance, eat chow, and do a couple of fast-rope drills from CH-46 helicopters to kill time. We made sure our Humvees were ready to roll at a moment’s notice; however, physical training helped manage stress and keep our nerves steady as we waited for the final hour.
Looking back on that operation and the experience some thirty years ago, I began to reflect on what it really means to be privileged. My time in the Marines forced me to consider privilege in new ways—not just as a matter of material advantage, but as a collection of opportunities, responsibilities, and challenges that shaped my character. Later in life, with more body fat around my waist and more white tinting my beard, I have found myself questioning what it truly means to possess privilege, especially when comparing my circumstances to those of the people of Somalia. While I was born in a country with freedoms and liberties, many in Mogadishu were burdened by civil war and the daily struggle to secure basic necessities like clean water, food, and safety. In places where government and diplomacy are absent, and power is held by the corrupt and violent, basic human rights are stripped away. As scholars have pointed out, it is unjustifiable when some enjoy comfort and resources while others suffer intolerable deprivation (Edwards, 1967, p. 198). What does it actually mean to come from privilege?
According to Webster’s, privilege is a special right or benefit granted to a person (Kauffman, 1989, p. 270). Some might say my service in the Marines was a privilege, though I volunteered at eighteen, nudged by my father to find direction. Yet, when most people talk about privilege, they’re usually referring to advantages conferred by birth—family name, inherited wealth, or social status. Another perspective sees privilege as a liberty or status assigned to someone simply because of where they were born or the community they belong to (Edwards, 1967, p. 195). As a native Texan, I never felt I was born into privilege.
My family has no notable ancestry or special status—our name is ordinary, and our story is unremarkable. Privilege, for me, was never something handed down; it was something I had to work for. Yet the more I reflect, the more I realize that simply being born in a place of relative peace and opportunity is itself a kind of privilege—one that millions are denied through no fault of their own.
Maybe true privilege isn’t about wealth or status, but about recognizing the responsibilities that come with our advantages, however modest they may seem. If we can acknowledge this, perhaps we can do more to make sure opportunities and basic rights are accessible to everyone. That, to me, is the real challenge—and the real measure—of privilege in our world today.
References:
Edwards, P. (1967). Rights. In The encyclopedia of philosophy (Vol. 7, pp. 1-545). Macmillan company & the Free Press.
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