Nice white people can still prop up racism

If being “nice” is where our anti-racism ends, it’s time to look at the systems we tolerate—and the ones we benefit from.

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

If you’re white and don’t shout racial epithets at the Black family that moved in next door, good for you.

If you didn’t picket your child’s school when it got a new Black principal, good for you.

If you didn’t melt down when your granddaughter brought her Hispanic boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, good for you.

But here’s a hard truth: your decision not to behave like a heathen in these and similar moments doesn’t make you—or me—a civil rights activist.

Behaving like civilized people in our daily interactions is important. As a person of faith, I try—and, if I’m being honest, often fail—to treat others the way I would wish to be treated. We should all aspire to that every day.

But none of that means you and I aren’t racists—in the legal sense.

I find it relatively easy not to be a jerk in my daily interactions with people who are different from me.

What is far more challenging is stopping to ask myself, “What legal and cultural systems and norms am I still supporting, accepting as normal, or failing to oppose that make life harder for minorities in my city and state?”

Being nice to your Black neighbor is wonderful, but it can also become a cop-out. It can lure you and me into believing that we’ve already done the work necessary to make our society just and free of racism and oppression.

If you believe your work is done, I’m afraid to tell you that you’re living a lie.

We may not be bigots. We may not be foaming-at-the-mouth haters like some people we know.

But if we support or accept systems that oppress people because of their race—if we are content with our lives and soothe our consciences with the belief that kindness to our Black neighbors is all that’s required of us—then we still have lots of work to do.

Just because I don’t hate all Black people or treat them like second-class citizens when I encounter them doesn’t mean I’m not complicit in racism.

Racism, which is different from bigotry, may be best understood as systematic/official hatred or discrimination. It includes the legal and cultural barriers our society erects in our cities, states, and nation that make life harder and more unjust for racial minorities.

Here’s how Merriam-Webster defines systemic racism: “The oppression of a racial group to the advantage of another as perpetuated by inequity within interconnected systems (such as political, economic, and social systems).”

If we’re not doing anything to challenge those oppressive, unjust systems—or if we’re actively supporting and benefiting from them—we might be complicit in racism.

We are swimming in it

There’s a story about two fish who meet one day at the bottom of a lake. One fish says to the other, “The water’s a little warmer today, huh?”

The other fish responds, “What’s water?”

For many white people, a society shaped by racist systems is like water to a fish. We’ve swum in it our whole lives. It’s the air we breathe. And often, we don’t notice it or even realize it exists.

The first step toward becoming anti-racist is not changing our hearts (although that’s important); it’s opening our eyes.

It means asking ourselves: What privileges and advantages do I enjoy as a white person that a Black or brown person in my community does not?

It means asking what legal frameworks exist that don’t harm or inconvenience me, but that make life harder for the Black neighbor I claim to like.

It means becoming educated and learning to recognize the systems, laws, regulations, and norms that create a society that advantages one race over another.

We say we’re not bigots? Good for us. Let’s keep it up. But . . .

Do we accept policies that reduce Black voter turnout while claiming to protect “election integrity”?

Do we oppose school-funding reforms that would equalize resources across districts because they might affect our property values?

Do we defend or tolerate policing practices that disproportionately target Black communities while resisting data transparency and accountability?

Do we dismiss the legacy of redlining and resist fair-housing enforcement that would change who lives in our neighborhoods?

Do we accept strict sentencing laws that fall hardest on Black defendants while ignoring disparities in charging and plea bargaining?

Do we oppose Medicaid expansion or hospital access in predominantly Black regions while accepting worse health outcomes as inevitable?

Do we accept zoning rules that effectively exclude lower-income—and disproportionately Black—families from our areas?

Do we treat “merit” as neutral while ignoring unequal starting conditions in education, wealth, and social networks?

Do we reject efforts to address environmental burdens concentrated in Black communities because they would raise our costs?

Do we believe that disparities are purely the result of individual choices while resisting policy changes that would reduce them?

Do we defend school-discipline policies that remove Black students at higher rates without supporting reform?

Do we accept highway or infrastructure plans that repeatedly cut through Black neighborhoods while opposing mitigation or rerouting?

Do we accept large racial gaps in maternal mortality while opposing investments aimed at reducing those disparities?

Do we accept “school choice” while ignoring its segregation effects and the drain on public schools serving Black communities?

Do we oppose restoring voting rights after felony convictions despite racially disparate enforcement?

And, for those of us in East Baton Rouge Parish: Do we accept the breakaway of St. George from Baton Rouge while ignoring how carving out a wealthier, whiter tax base can deepen racial and educational inequality in the parish?

If we take comfort in not harboring personal animus toward Black people but refuse to challenge policies and practices that produce unequal outcomes—in voting access, housing, schools, policing, or health care—we might be complicit in racism.

Now, what are you and I going to do about it?

Here are some thoughts for taking action:

Support legal defense and policy work with money or time: Donate monthly (even $10–$25) or volunteer our skills (admin, translation, design) to organizations doing civil rights litigation, public defender support, bail/bond assistance, or legislative advocacy in Louisiana.

Do one concrete civic action per month: Pick an issue tied to racial equity (voting access, fair housing, school discipline, policing transparency, environmental justice) and do a measurable action: call your state lawmakers, submit written testimony, attend a city/parish meeting, or join a letter-writing night.

Show up locally consistently: Find a Louisiana-based racial justice group and commit to a recurring role (e.g., court-watching, mutual aid distribution, voter outreach, jail support), rather than one-off events.

Shift your spending toward Black-led Louisiana businesses and professionals: Move at least one recurring purchase/service to Black-owned providers (banking, contractors, therapy, catering, bookstores, coffee, etc.), and recommend them in your neighborhood/work circles.

Join (or start) a small accountability group: Form a three-to-six-person group that meets monthly to (a) learn Louisiana-specific history and current disparities, (b) pick one local goal, and (c) track actions taken, so it stays practical, not performative.

Now, what are your suggestions for action?

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