From Comfort to Accountability: A Call to Action for White People

Dec 3, 2025

Lukas Brennan #36.3

Before reading this op-ed, I want to make two points clear. First, this text serves as a living document through which my perceptions change and grow across time. Because of this, the writing is by no means complete and should be consumed with this understanding. Secondly, while the writing is directed to white people concerning race, this struggle expands across all systems of oppression and can be applied to different forms of oppression, as one sees fit. Lastly, I would like to give credit to Ibram Kendi’s book, “How to Be an Antiracist,” which inspired this op-ed.

Dear my white brothers, sisters, and elders: this is a call to action. Injustice doesn’t need our hatred; it only needs our inaction.

Many of us have been conditioned to see oppression as something external, believing that as long as we avoid overtly racist behavior, we are innocent. But if racism remains invisible to white eyes, it’s easy to believe we’ve done enough. Like fish in water, we move through a world shaped by whiteness so seamlessly we rarely recognize it.

Consider the white college student who shakes off responsibility by claiming to treat everyone equally by holding space for all experiences. The question is, can we truly hold space for different experiences through equal treatment when the white spaces we exist in–ones of racial power dynamics, historically relevant contexts, internalized racism, and systemic inequality–fail to acknowledge the unique challenges faced by marginalized communities? This is not disengaging from race–it’s reinforcing it. Ignoring these realities can perpetuate discrimination and invalidate the lived experiences of people of color, as it overlooks the historical injustices that continue to impact their lives. Lastly, a color-blind approach can undermine efforts to address systemic inequalities and reinforce existing power imbalances, ultimately hindering meaningful dialogue and progress toward social justice. Claiming to treat everyone equally does not protect anyone–it protects the status quo, allowing implicit biases and oppressive structures to persist unchecked.

Moments like these reveal that we are not passive bystanders; we are shaped by and complicit in the systems around us. If this reading brings up feelings of discomfort, that is a sign that you’re beginning to see the water we swim in. We must lean into the discomfort and learn how this fear of discomfort maintains the status quo. A reckoning has come, and we must acknowledge our role in racism not because of what we fear people see in us, but what we fail to see in ourselves.

Anti-Racism Defined

Anti-racism is not just about being “not racist”; it is an active process of identifying, challenging, and changing the systems, policies, and beliefs that sustain racial inequality.

Ibram Kendi defines racism as the combination of racist ideas and racist policies, which work together to legitimize and maintain these inequalities. For example, racist narratives often blame poverty on individual laziness or personal failure, ignoring the systemic barriers that produce inequality–barriers like redlining, which restricted Black families’ ability to own homes and build generational wealth. These narratives don’t just misrepresent reality; they shift blame away from the oppressive systems onto the very people harmed by them. Anti-racism as an ideology seeks to combat and replace these harmful narratives and the structures of inequality they uphold.

When we allow our ignorance to persist, we allow racist ideas to thrive. When we fail to confront racist structures, we uphold them with our inaction. Becoming an antiracist is not about perfecting a set of beliefs or arriving at a single destination. It is about taking up a lifelong responsibility to resist systems of oppression in every space we occupy, from our external environments to our own minds.

In the pages that follow, I will explore how education broadens our vision, how decentralization reshapes our engagement, and how action becomes a bridge between our values and the world we seek to build. These practices are not isolated steps but interwoven responsibilities that call us to live differently, think differently, and, most importantly, act together.

Education

The more we indulge ourselves in critical education, the more pluralistic our perspectives become. Ignorance breeds fear, and fear breeds hatred. These seeds of hatred are dangerous, and our job as white people is to follow our hatred, fear, and ignorance to its roots, and pull them out–replacing the ignorance with diverse perspectives that are more inclusive, equitable, and reflective of humanity’s similarities and beautiful complexities.

As proposed by Italian Marxist philosopher Antonio Gramsci, our imagination is limited to the information we have access to. Knowledge is what gives people power and makes them dangerous. It provides us with definitions and frameworks of thought–tools that expand our autonomy of mind and grant us a greater number of lenses through which to view the world.

Kendi states, “If we do not do the work of defining the people we want to be in language that is stable and consistent, we can’t work towards stable and consistent goals.” Some of the most transformative moments in dismantling racism come from arriving at foundational definitions and understanding what we are truly working toward.

White people, and all of humanity for that matter, must commit to the lifelong practice of engaging critically with our learning, as well as with both internal and external frameworks of thought. As Angela Davis reminds us, we cannot accept “what is” simply because it’s “what is”. Reimagining entire systems requires an ongoing, intentional process of challenging our own perceptions, dismantling harmful norms, and reconstructing the world one step at a time. It is a slow crawl, but we do not move alone. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, learning from their struggles and insights. Our duty is not just to inherit their knowledge but to push it further–to become even more radical, more fearless, and more dangerous.

Decentralization

To establish a shared understanding, decentralization involves actively shifting power from a single central authority to multiple, more distributed entities.

As mentioned earlier, racist ideas exist to help protect and legitimize systems of unequal power. These ideas often become social norms–unwritten rules about what is acceptable or expected in society. Those who hold power have the most influence over these norms–and, in turn, help maintain their own positions of authority.

For white people, this means we often benefit from and help maintain a system where our position is dominant. Because norms shape how society functions, having the power to influence them means having the power to shape society itself. Our positions of power establish beauty standards based on whiteness and communication norms centered on “Standard American English,” reinforcing a system where white norms are seen as the default and superior, marginalizing non-white identities.

This is why social movements reclaim harmful words and push against conventional norms that limit autonomy, like gender. If movements can reclaim things like slurs, they can rehumanize their identities and combat marginalization.

Our responsibility as white people is to use our power to actively break down these hierarchies. Because we hold privilege in a system built around whiteness, we often exist in a world that reflects and affirms our experiences. This alignment can make it easy to remain unaware of the white-centered lens through which we view the world–a lens we often mistake as neutral. But this narrow perspective not only renders the experiences of others invisible; it also drowns out their voices. By assuming our view is the default, we erase the realities of those who are marginalized by the very systems we benefit from. This is where the concept of positionality becomes critical. As white people, we lack the lived experience that comes from being on the receiving end of structural oppression. Without this lived experience, we should not be at the head of the fight involved in combatting these structures. We need to seek out POC voices and perspectives to support and guide us in this fight. As allies, it’s crucial to remain aware of the power dynamics within our society and recognize how our actions may inadvertently reinforce them.

That means our role is not to lead, but to follow–to take a supporting position and walk behind the leadership of marginalized communities, respecting the paths they carve. When we use our privilege to amplify their voices, we shift away from reinforcing hierarchies. The goal is not to raise ourselves or any one group above another, but to help dismantle the hierarchy itself–replacing dominance with equity and control with collective power.

This last part is crucial. Many white people turn away from anti-racist ideology because they think it vilifies whiteness–that decentrilization means an erasure of white voices and a demand for constant self-loathing and guilt around their identity. When I read my first book about white privilege, Between the World and Me by Tanasi Coates, I was hit by the heavy feeling of guilt and self-hatred that stemmed from the depth of suffering and injustice that has taken place by white hands. As a white person, I can speak to the deep self-hatred that stems from my whiteness, but I can also speak to the feelings that come from taking action.

I am not suggesting that white people should take up the struggle in search of atonement or relief from their guilt. Performative allyship centers the struggle on whiteness and is in bad faith. Instead, I am making the distinction that anti-racist ideology calls on white individuals to embrace accountability, not shame. The feelings of self-loathing and ostracization from the struggle generally arise when white people feel othered from the struggle due to complacency. When we engage in education and decentralization in an honest and sincere way, we begin to find our place as allies. Through action, I began to understand that my whiteness in itself is not what is to be hated, but instead, the aspects of it that uphold oppressive structures.

It is important to remember that anti-racism is a fight against the systems of racism, not individuals. Racists uphold the structures of racism; they are not in themselves the root of racism. Taking control of how we choose to engage with these structures is a deeply empowering experience; it enables us to begin reshaping what whiteness can represent. There are very distinct gaps between the values we believe in and the roles that we play in upholding inequalities.

The irony of centering the white perspective in this section about decentralization is not lost on me. I speak to white people now because this moment—this step—is critical. Too often, anti-racism is misinterpreted as anti-white, when in truth, it is anti-oppression. My intention here is to challenge that misconception and call white people into a deeper sense of responsibility. Privilege can be an intoxicating comfort, one that dulls our urgency and delays our action. I fear that privilege is too strong for many white people to take the crucial step of earning a place in the struggle.

Again, anti-racism does not ask us to hate ourselves, but to hold ourselves accountable. It asks us to confront the systems we uphold and reshape what whiteness means by aligning it with liberation, not dominance. The work is not to erase ourselves, but to remake ourselves. And I pray we have the courage, the compassion, and the moral clarity to begin.

Action

Action, as I see it, comes in two forms: immediate action and structural action. Earlier, I spoke to how we are responsible for dismantling the norms that create hierarchy, but this in itself does not address structural racism–nor do the practices of demonstrating, self-educating, and educating others. You can teach someone about systemic racism, but unless power and resources are redistributed and unless institutions are structurally transformed, the root causes remain untouched. Ibram Kendi reminds us that when we seek to change individuals without changing the structure itself, we are essentially treating the symptoms without treating the disease.

With all that being said, dismissing the importance of immediate action is ignorant. In Pathologies of Power, Paul Farmer laments how many in the human rights community hesitate to move from principle-based activism to direct aid, failing to address the urgent needs of those they defend. Getting in the mud and doing the immediate work is better than getting caught up in how we can best serve communities. In fact, immediate action is how we listen to and work with the communities in the first place, giving us the insights to do the systemic work. If we make policy changes that we think will help communities without engaging directly with them, that systemic change will not be rooted in anti-racist ideology. More applicably, if we do not do the immediate work of educating ourselves through POC voices, we cannot begin to effectively push up against the racist structures in our schools and work environments.

Thus, the work we do must be both independent and collective, both immediate and long-term. We as a society must demand redistributions of power, work toward policy changes, and engage in anti-racist research, while also doing the immediate work of taking action in our daily lives to challenge racist ideas, support anti-racist perspectives, and transform our immediate environments.

You don’t need to wait to be at a certain place in your understanding of anti-racism to take action. Action and learning go hand in hand to help create better allyship. Taking action to create structural change can happen in any place and time in your life. Structures of inequality seep into all aspects of our lives, and once we begin to identify them, we can combat them. Create a small coalition to push for DEI programs in your schools, clubs, and jobs; start a book club centered on POC voices with your white friends; commit to diversifying what you consume, like podcasts and films; and speak up in everyday situations. Most importantly, try to consistently evaluate the spaces you occupy through an anti-racist lens. Once your perceptions begin to shift, the need to take action will ultimately arise. Change starts painfully slowly, but the longer you stick to it, the more momentum it carries.

Reimagination

A butterfly’s metamorphosis is a powerful metaphor for change. During this process, the body completely breaks down, and the digestive system, airway, and brain are restructured and recycled. For it to fly, entire systems must be replaced. In a similar way, shifting away from oppressive systems like capitalism, racism, sexism, and classism requires a fundamental reimagining of our world. This reimagination demands that we reconsider core concepts such as justice, ownership, safety, intelligence, health, and the very structure of the nation-state. It’s about reimagining a world without the systems of thought and language that maintain oppression. As I’ve mentioned before, our understanding of the world is shaped by the words and definitions we have available to us. When those words have oppressive roots, our reality becomes limited by those same oppressive structures. Real change, therefore, starts with replacing these concepts.

Take gender, for example. Gender diversity has existed across cultures for centuries, but the movement to reimagine gender beyond a rigid binary has gained significant momentum in the past century. These changes show us that challenging and dismantling oppressive systems is not as theoretical as we may think. It’s happening. It’s possible. But the act of reimagining should not and cannot end in our minds. While reimagination begins with our awareness, it must eventually be embodied through our communities. Just like the butterfly’s transformation, this change can’t be a fleeting idea but a reshaping of the foundation itself.

This transformation is a struggle needed for all of humanity. Antiracism is not just about racial justice but justice for all. Bell hooks advocated for a justice that existed beyond borders: we cannot isolate fights like gender equality and racial equality because of the interconnected nature of different forms of oppression. These systems of oppression work by concentrating power and resources in the hands of the few by denying them to others. By isolating movements like the feminist movement and the Black Power movement of the 1960s, they deny the intersectionality of oppression and perpetuate the system by elevating themselves through the dehumanization of Black women. To resist effectively, we must reject fragmentation and embrace solidarity. We need to lock arms across differences, recognize our shared struggle, and name the true enemy. This fight cannot be won without the collective commitment of the people.

Some may question if love is radical enough to catalyze change, but I believe that if we want to build something collective and lasting, love is not only essential, but revolutionary. This love is not sentimental or passive; it’s the kind of love that bell hooks called a practice of freedom, and what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. referred to as agape–a selfless, unconditional love rooted in justice and the recognition of shared humanity. This love is intertwined with power, much like maternal or communal care. I see radical love as a transformative, active force that refuses to ignore injustice and instead confronts it with truth, solidarity, and deep care.

When I think of radical love, I think of mutual aid, abolition, liberation theology, and global liberation struggles–from the Zapatistas to the Black Panthers, from emergency response rooms in Sudan to Indigenous land defense. These movements teach us that love is not a distinction from the struggle; it is the struggle. Love in this context is what nourishes collective survival and builds the world beyond prisons, beyond borders, beyond capitalism.

We must remember that the struggle is not simply against individuals; it is against systems that organize life through domination. While individuals and institutions enact immense harm, abolitionist thinkers remind us that focusing on punishment and revenge only reproduces the same violence we seek to dismantle. At its core, those harming often do so within systems designed to dehumanize. This is not about excusing violence, but about refusing to build a future on the same logic of disposability. We must strive toward the well-being of both the oppressed and the oppressor. Not by centering the comfort of the powerful, but by dismantling the systems that corrupt us all.

Hatred may feel like clarity, but it binds us to the same punitive structures we’re trying to undo. When we lead with love, we disrupt cycles of domination and invite healing. Love doesn’t mean neutrality–it means committing to justice without losing our humanity. It means refusing the false choice between accountability and compassion.

Radical love fuels collective action. It clarifies our purpose–not only to resist the violence around us but to build new, liberatory alternatives. Much like how love is active, Ruth Wilson Gilmore reminds us, abolition is about presence, not absence. It’s about building life-affirming institutions that make prisons, policing, and exploitation obsolete. Choosing love is choosing to build that presence. Every act of solidarity, care, resistance, and refusal is a step closer to the world we deserve–a world not built on punishment and profit, but on dignity, interdependence, and freedom.