White Folks, We’ve Had So Many Chances…

There’s a pattern in our story that’s hard to unsee once you start noticing it. Over and over, we’ve been handed chances to tell the truth—about who we are, what we’ve done, and what we could become. Chances to stop pretending that justice in the U.S. has ever been equally available, when it’s always been unevenly rationed.

And yet… again and again, we chose whiteness.

Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash

I think about this a lot — how many moments in our history were crossroads. Places where we could have chosen dignity for everyone, where we could have loosened the grip whiteness has had on us. Choices that could have made us more whole, more aligned with the values we say we believe in. Choices that could have saved lives.

But instead, we protected comfort. We protected advantage. We protected a story about ourselves that wasn’t true.

That’s probably part of why so many people of color might be frustrated with us. They’ve watched us have power, and choices, and opportunities to do the right thing — and still choose the same thing over and over. They’re living with consequences of our choices. And we often struggle to see the pattern.

When I started seriously looking at my own relationship to race, I began to notice it in the story of this country too — a repeated decision to stick with whiteness instead of choosing equity or shared humanity.

And the more I saw, the more I recognized myself in it. How my own beliefs were shaped. How my people got here. Why so many of our stated values don’t line up with our actions.

I also saw something I hadn’t named before — choosing whiteness hasn’t only harmed people of color — it’s hurt us too. On the surface it might look like whiteness gives us stability, safety, or success. But underneath, it keeps us trapped in a system of lies. It keeps us fearful. Disconnected. And a whole lot less free than we could be.

Here’s just a few moments where this pattern shows up:

Whiteness as a Shield From the Beginning

After Bacon’s Rebellion in 1676, Virginia’s white elite didn’t just punish rebels. They rewrote the rules — creating new privileges for white laborers while tightening slavery for black people. The strategy was clear — keep poorer white folks aligned with the powerful white people by giving them racial advantages, and prevent cross-racial solidarity from forming again. It’s a strategy still used by the powerful in the U.S. today.

Fast forward to the end of the Civil War. Instead of holding Confederate leaders accountable, many were restored to land and political power in the name of “healing.” But what kind of healing ignores harm? What kind of unity protects injustice?

We had a chance to confront truth. We Looked away.

Rolling Back Reconstruction

Reconstruction could have been a new beginning — a real attempt at equality and repair. White lawmakers could have honored black political gains and protected civil rights.

Instead, federal troop withdrew, white supremacist violence surged, and Jim Crow took root. We rebuilt whiteness — perhaps even more aggressively than before.

Resisting School Integration

After Brown v. Board, white families had a choice — support integration, or fight it. Private segregation academies, white flight, new district lines — it was all engineered to keep schools white.

We chose preservation of lies over courage and truth. And we passed that lesson on to our kids.

Fighting Civil Rights (1960s)

Yes, some white people marched. But far more stood in the way — voting to maintain the racial hierarchy. “Law and order” became a coded demand to keep the old system intact. White political leaders tapped into fear, and white voters rewarded them for it.

Again, we chose whiteness over shared humanity — letting fear of losing power silence the call for justice.

Opposing Affirmative Action

Zoning laws, HOA restrictions, NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) organizing — white communities used policy and fear to keep neighborhoods exclusive. Fought to keep them white.

We could’ve chose belonging and true community. Instead, we chose control and fear.

Supporting Punitive Policing and Mass Incarceration

The war on drugs devastated black and brown communities. The data was there — and still is. Yet white voters continued to support harsher laws, more policing, longer sentences. We believed it would keep us “safe,” even though safety built on injustice isn’t safety at all.

We had power to choose differently. We chose whiteness.

Protecting Unequal School Funding

We know that tying school funding to property taxes guarantees that wealthier (and mostly white) districts stay well-resourced as others are neglected. Still, reforms are resisted. Loudly.

We keep protecting what’s “ours,” even when it means other kids have less and failing all of our kids.

Resisting Truth in Education

Backlash to racial equity has gone mainstream — restrictions on discussing race, DEI being dismantled, books pulled off shelves. All so white people don’t have to feel uncomfortable.

But protecting our feelings at the expense of truth? That’s not integrity. That’s not real learning and growth. It’s whiteness working hard to keep us disconnected — from history, from each other, from who we could become.

Dismantling Voting Rights

The Voting Rights Act was created to counter the racial barriers built into our electoral system. After major protections were gutted in 2013, several states quickly enacted laws and district maps that weakened the voting power of black and brown communities.

And the push to end oversight continues — threatening to further entrench white political control.

The Through-Line

I’m not saying that white people are the only ones who’ve ever caused harm or made bad decisions. Or that this is the whole picture. But this is part of our story in the U.S. It’s part of the history that shapes us, whether we acknowledge it or not.

And if we want to become something different — something better — we have to look at where we’ve been.

Different decades. Different policies. Similar decision point. Again and again, white people — in power and in everyday life — have chosen whiteness over equity, over justice, over our own liberation.

And that choice has cost us.It’s cost us trust.It’s cost us courage. It’s cost us possibility and imagination.It’s cost us the chance to live in a country that is truly as great as it could be.

The good news?We don’t have to keep making the same choice.We can choose to show up differently. We can choose truth over comfort. Connection over fear. Wholeness over whiteness. And yes — it might be uncomfortable. But discomfort is a small price for the freedom, solidarity, and wholeness we’ve been missing out on all along.