I’m A White Person Trying To Be Accountable. But, What Do I Know Of Accountability?

I’m starting to question my grasp of it. I hear a lot of folks saying that white people need to be accountable for addressing racism and opposing whiteness. And I wholeheartedly agree. But when it comes to accountability, race, and injustice, I don’t really know what I’m doing.

Photo by StellrWeb on Unsplash

I hear it often—maybe you’ve heard it too—white people need to be accountable in the work of addressing racism and resisting whiteness. I believe that deeply. But if I’m honest? When it comes to accountability, race, and injustice, I don’t always know what I’m doing.

Even my understanding of accountability feels tangled up with whiteness.

When I hear the word “accountability,” my mind jumps straight to accounting. And accounting, for me, is about numbers, oversight, and measurement. It feels like performance — like someone is checking over my shoulder to see if I’ve “done enough.” That image of tallying worth, of trying to make the cut? It mirrors how whiteness has shaped me, too.

Whiteness operates like a measuring stick.

Do the right things. Say the right words. Don’t question too much. Don’t step outside the rules — or risk being cast out, like so many communities whiteness has already devalued and rejected.

And yet, I know accountability has to be more than just hitting the right marks.

There is an outward dimension to it — my choices, my words, my actions matter, and they impact others. Especially those harmed by racism. But if I just repackage whiteness — all its obsession with performance, control, and “getting it right” — and call it accountability, then I’m not really being accountable at all.

Because here’s the truth—whiteness trained me to think I’m an expert, to stay in control, to set the standards for others. Those instincts don’t serve accountability; they get in the way of it.

So I’m learning to approach accountability differently. Not as a spreadsheet. Not as a performance review. But as a relationship.

When I talked this through with some friends recently, they reminded me that “account” can also mean story. To account for something is to give a description, to tell what happened. To set the record straight.

That reframing stuck with me.

Because that’s part of why I write about race, racism, and whiteness. It’s my way of being accountable — by offering an honest account of my experience. By unearthing the fears, mistakes, and blind spots whiteness has planted in me. By sharing my story with others who might also be on this path, longing for more honesty and connection.

For me, accountability has to be about quality, not quantity. About relationships, not checklists. About shared humanity, not just “good performance.”

Do I have it all figured out? Not at all. But I know I don’t have to be perfect. And I know I can’t do it alone.

This is my account — and I share it in hopes of changing, even a little bit, the story of what it means to be white in the U.S.