White Privilege at Roadblocks, And Why It Makes Me Uncomfortable

By Bye Bye Fatman

White Privilege at Roadblocks, And Why It Makes Me Uncomfortable

One thing that genuinely shocked me when I moved to Zambia, and before that when I lived in Malawi and Botswana, is the way some white people speak to public officials.

Rude is putting it mildly. Entitled is probably closer.

I have seen it most clearly at police roadblocks. On occasions where I have been a passenger with other white people, I have watched the tone change. The eye rolling. The impatience. The talking down to young officers, male and female, as if they are an inconvenience rather than public servants doing their job.

These officers are often very young. Many are just starting out in life. They wear the uniform of the Republic of Zambia and represent the state. They deserve respect.

Yes, I am aware that not every officer is perfect. Like any institution anywhere in the world, there are bad apples. And yes, I think many roadblocks are unnecessary. I do not enjoy them either. I am also aware that, on occasion, bribery has happened.

But here is my lived reality. I rarely experience problems at roadblocks. And I suspect that is because of how I conduct myself.

I greet officers politely. I call them sir or madam, regardless of their age. I treat them with courtesy. I acknowledge that they are doing their job.

Most of the time, that is enough for them to wave me through.

If they ask for documents, that is my responsibility, not their inconvenience. Insurance, fitness, licence, those are statutory requirements. Why should I be offended that someone is checking I am compliant? That is literally their duty.

And here is the uncomfortable part. Why should I expect to be treated differently because I am white?

I should not.

I have seen the same entitlement in other spaces too. Banks. Government offices. Shops. Situations where some foreigners try to jump queues or demand immediate service, relying on the politeness and humility that many Zambian people naturally show.

Often they get away with it. And frankly, it disgusts me.

It is embarrassing to watch. And it exposes how quietly white supremacy can seep into everyday interactions, not through violence or slogans, but through tone, impatience, and assumed superiority.

I am a guest in this country.

Yes, as a visitor I deserve courtesy. But courtesy is not preference. It does not mean being exempt from rules. It does not mean being spoken to first or served faster.

I am also very aware that I have a public platform now. Nearly two hundred thousand people follow me on Facebook alone, many of them here in Zambia. Wherever I go, there are eyes on me, even when I do not realise it.

That accountability matters.

I do my best not to take advantage of my skin colour. And if I ever do, consciously or unconsciously, then I deserve to be called out. No excuses. No special treatment.

If we are serious about respect, then it has to show up in how we speak to people with less power than us. Especially young public servants. Especially in a country that is not our own.

That is the standard I hold myself to.