52% of white adults say that they do not benefit much or at all from their race. 

In stark contrast, 92% of Black adults say that white people benefit a great deal or a fair amount from their race. 

This dichotomy — outrageous yet rational — is hard to grapple with. How can two demographics live in the same physical reality, but yield such sharp differences in opinions on the relationship between whiteness and privilege?

Ultimately, it boils down to one thing: white fragility, a term coined by Robin DiAngelo. 

Broadly speaking, white people struggle to engage in productive discourse about race and racism because we have an inherent urge to protect and defend our white dominance. 

Now, for my fellow white readers, if you skimmed through the prior sentence and thought to yourself, “That’s true, but that’s not me,” I’m sorry to break it to you, but it is.

Hear me out: I truly believe that the majority of people (not all, of course) strive to hold acceptance as one of their core values. Throughout my life, I have witnessed an increase of visibility for diverse identities and a sense of inclusion that attempts to eradicate blatant discrimination. 

This progress is being recognized and commended, for a portion of white people are finally understanding the sense of urgency at the foundation of racial injustice and this crucial step — mere acknowledgment that inequity exists — needs to be encouraged. 

But in my experience, many white individuals are getting ahead of themselves — jumping straight to a false sense of liberation that would simply be unrecognizable to them if it was truly occurring. Perpetrators cannot recognize justice, for they are not on the receiving end of injustice. Liberation will arrive when Black people say it has, not when white people believe we have done enough. 

Liberation can’t commence until the crucial stepping stones before it — awareness, self-evaluation, and reconstruction, to name a few — are amended. Furthermore, our society can’t haphazardly prance toward Black liberation; each foot should be placed strategically and intentionally on the steps, ensuring a full and utter understanding of the pervasive presence of racism before advancement. 

Before striving toward authentic anti-racism, you have to understand white fragility and the subconscious role it plays in your activism.

You have to understand that becoming the “progressive, equity-driven, and no-room-for-improvement white person” is an unattainable identity; within our skin color resides an inherent advantage that no amount of activism, education, and discourse can change.

Attempting to obtain that identity would entirely defeat the purpose. The subsequent activism would still result in centering your own whiteness, or in other words, valuing your status as a white activist over the meaning of your activism.

Now, I am not saying that there is an alternate route — one not involving activism, education, discourse, and all the other productive resources we have to combat racism — to achieve a racially equitable and just country. I am saying that in tandem with these tools, you have to own the fact that, whether it be consciously, subconsciously, or somewhere in between, you perpetuate racism and white supremacy. 

How? Systemic racism enables white people to maintain power. Furthermore, excessive white power yields detrimental effects on the Black community. To put it simply, your privilege is borne out of the plight of others, so your identity is intrinsically linked to racism. There is no way around that, but you can still learn how to limit our harm and proactively seek equity.

It can be a hard pill to swallow, but this realization, which I attribute to Ta-Nehisi Coates’s “Between the World and Me,” opened my eyes to a whole new realm of anti-racism: inner work. We aren’t limited to the activism of our external surroundings; in fact, I would argue that a raw, unbiased understanding of the way one’s identity directly perpetuates inequality would create even more meaningful external activism. True activism is derived from an awareness that you always have room to improve. It’s not performative; it’s genuine and authentic.

Trying to become the “least racist” white person is a facade. The desire, in and of itself, is a paradox. 

There is no moral high ground, and after you realize that becoming “one of the good ones” isn’t possible, you shouldn’t be looking for one. Because that isn’t the point of anti-racism. 

The point is to amplify the Black voices around us and not only those, but all marginalized communities’ voices. Listen to the minorities in your life and respond to their needs with action. Give a platform to BIPOC activists. Consume media created by marginalized people. Shop at BIPOC-owned businesses. The list goes on.

Furthermore, the point is to step off of our pedestal and simply elevate the people who have been beneath us. To understand that it is OK to not be in control. To understand the reigns of our subconscious and start rebuilding it from the bottom up. 

And hopefully, eventually, the collective effort — of putting aside our need to protect white supremacy — will aid in the distribution of our excessive power to the people who need it most.

Maybe, for you, this was a hard pill to swallow. Or maybe it came as a relief. In fact, I think it should, for this journey that you may start embarking on isn’t about guilt or shame; it’s about self-improvement and acquisition. It’s about opening yourself up to equity without the upper hand. It’s about learning to take a step back in the moment and reminding yourself that now is not the moment to make this about yourself; it’s time to listen to someone else. You get to listen to someone else.

You get to listen to the Black voices around you. 

The 52% of white adults who believe that their life is unaltered by their whiteness aren’t listening. They may not understand the privilege of being able to listen. But, when everyone can realize the inner work of anti-racism, we will initiate a journey that will bring us closer to an equitable, unified nation.