The Construction and Consequences of Whiteness as a System
Whiteness, as a construct, was never intended to coexist in a world brimming with diverse cultures, traditions, and ways of life. It is a relatively recent invention, born out of colonialism and the need to justify the exploitation and domination of non-European peoples. The concept emerged primarily during the 16th to 18th centuries as European powers expanded their colonial reach across the globe, requiring an ideological framework that could rationalize their violent conquests and establish hierarchies of human value. Before this period, people identified primarily by regional, religious, or cultural affiliations rather than by a monolithic racial category called “white.” The invention of whiteness coincided with the rise of racial pseudo-science, which claimed to provide biological justifications for social and political arrangements that were, in reality, designed to concentrate power and resources among European colonizers.
Whiteness serves as a barrier to truth, a facade that conceals the myths of supremacy, intelligence, and courage—myths that have been wielded to justify centuries of violence, exploitation, and dehumanization. These myths have been carefully cultivated through educational systems, cultural narratives, and institutional practices that selectively highlight certain achievements while obscuring the contributions of others. The supposed inherent superiority of whiteness has been reinforced through everything from biased intelligence testing to skewed historical accounts that minimize or erase non-European accomplishments in science, philosophy, mathematics, and the arts. Even today, curricula around the world often present a Eurocentric view of human development, suggesting that civilization itself is primarily a Western gift to humanity, rather than acknowledging the complex global exchanges and parallel developments that have shaped our shared history.
It embodies a spirituality of death and destruction, a way of life that thrives on the subjugation of others.
It is not merely an identity; it is a system—a system erected on the foundations of murder, plunder, and enslavement. From the transatlantic slave trade to the genocide of indigenous peoples across the Americas to the brutal colonization of Africa and Asia, whiteness has operated as an organizing principle for determining whose lives matter and whose do not. This system has evolved, adapting its methods but maintaining its essential function of preserving power imbalances. It has transitioned from explicit racial hierarchies to more subtle forms of discrimination embedded within supposedly neutral institutions and policies. Housing segregation, environmental racism, mass incarceration, and unequal educational opportunities represent modern manifestations of this systemic approach to maintaining racial stratification.
It embodies a spirituality of death and destruction, a way of life that thrives on the subjugation of others. This spirituality is reflected in philosophies that prioritize dominion over stewardship, extraction over sustainability, and individualism over community. It can be seen in the relentless exploitation of natural resources without regard for ecological consequences, in economic systems that treat human beings as disposable labor units, and in military doctrines that normalize endless war and occupation. This approach stands in stark contrast to indigenous worldviews that emphasize reciprocity, balance, and interconnectedness with all living things. The spirituality of whiteness has contributed significantly to our current climate crisis, biodiversity loss, and social fragmentation—crises that threaten the future of humanity itself.
Whiteness is a global phenomenon, a force that has shaped the modern world through its relentless pursuit of power and control, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. Its influence extends far beyond the borders of majority-white nations, affecting societies across every continent through economic policies, cultural imperialism, and geopolitical arrangements that continue to privilege certain nations and populations over others. International financial institutions, trade agreements, and military alliances often reinforce these dynamics, creating structures that make it difficult for formerly colonized nations to achieve true independence and self-determination. Meanwhile, global media and entertainment industries perpetuate harmful stereotypes and Eurocentric beauty standards that impact self-perception and social hierarchies worldwide.
The Carving of Africa: The Berlin Conference and Colonial Boundaries
The Berlin Conference of 1884-1885 stands as one of the most egregious examples of whiteness operating as a global system of power. In a meeting where not a single African was present, European powers gathered to formalize the “rules” for colonizing Africa, effectively dividing an entire continent among themselves like a cake at a birthday party. This “Scramble for Africa” represented the culmination of centuries of European intervention on the continent, from the slave trade to missionary activities to commercial exploitation. The conference established the principle of “effective occupation,” which required European powers to demonstrate actual control over territories they claimed—leading to increased military campaigns against African peoples who had inhabited these lands for millennia.
The Brazilian elite, heavily influenced by European racial theories, believed that through selective immigration and racial mixing, the Black population would gradually disappear, and Brazil would become a “whiter” nation.
The arbitrary boundaries drawn by European colonizers during and after the Berlin Conference sliced through existing ethnic groups, kingdoms, and cultural regions with complete disregard for African social and political realities. The nation of Nigeria, for example, was cobbled together from hundreds of distinct ethnic and linguistic groups, including the Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa-Fulani peoples, who had their sophisticated systems of governance. By forcing these diverse peoples into a single colonial entity, the British created the conditions for post-independence conflicts that continue to this day. Similar patterns unfolded across the continent, from the Democratic Republic of Congo—created largely to satisfy King Leopold II’s greed—to the artificial division between French and British spheres in West Africa.
Colonial rule in Africa was maintained through systems of extraordinary violence and extraction. In the Belgian Congo, failure to meet rubber quotas was punished by the severing of hands—including children’s hands, which were collected in baskets as proof of enforcement. In German Southwest Africa (now Namibia), the Herero and Nama peoples experienced what historians recognize as the first genocide of the 20th century, with up to 80% of the Herero population exterminated between 1904 and 1908. In Kenya, the British established concentration camps and used systematic torture during the Mau Mau uprising of the 1950s. These atrocities were justified through the lens of whiteness, which cast Africans as inherently inferior beings whose suffering mattered less than European profit and power.
The legacy of this colonial carving extends into the present, with post-colonial African nations still struggling to overcome the artificial boundaries, extractive economic relationships, and divided cultural identities imposed by European colonizers. The continued exploitation of African resources by multinational corporations, the maintenance of neo-colonial economic relationships through international financial institutions, and the military interventions that protect Western interests all demonstrate the enduring impact of whiteness as a global system. Meanwhile, educational systems across the continent often still center on European knowledge and history, reinforcing the psychological dimensions of colonial domination even decades after formal independence was achieved.
Whiteness in Brazil: Branqueamento and the Myth of Racial Democracy
Brazil represents one of the most sophisticated and insidious manifestations of whiteness as a global system. Having imported more enslaved Africans than any other nation—nearly 5 million people—Brazil’s national identity was shaped through policies explicitly designed to “whiten” its population. Following the abolition of slavery in 1888 (the last country in the Western Hemisphere to do so), Brazil implemented a formal policy of branqueamento (whitening), actively encouraging European immigration while creating conditions that marginalized its Black population. Between 1890 and 1914, Brazil welcomed over 2.5 million European immigrants, offering them land, subsidies, and opportunities denied to the formerly enslaved and their descendants.
The Brazilian elite, heavily influenced by European racial theories, believed that through selective immigration and racial mixing, the Black population would gradually disappear, and Brazil would become a “whiter” nation. This was not merely a cultural preference but official state policy, with government documents explicitly discussing strategies to reduce the Black population through dilution. Brazilian scientist João Baptista de Lacerda famously predicted at the Universal Races Congress of 1911 that by 2012, Black Brazilians would be eliminated through this process of “whitening.” While this genocidal vision was not fully realized, it shaped immigration policies, resource allocation, and social hierarchies throughout Brazilian society.
Particularly pernicious was Brazil’s development of the “myth of racial democracy,” which claimed that Brazil had escaped the racial problems that plagued other post-slavery societies like the United States. This myth, promoted internationally by scholars like Gilberto Freyre, suggested that Brazil’s history of racial mixing had created a harmonious society free from discrimination. In reality, this narrative served to silence discussions of racism and prevented the development of civil rights movements like those in the United States. By denying the existence of racism while maintaining profound racial inequalities, Brazilian whiteness operated through a form of gaslighting on a national scale.
Whiteness cannot confront the truth of its past because to do so would be to dismantle the very foundations of its identity. If Columbus is recognized as a perpetrator of genocide rather than a brave explorer, if the Founding Fathers are acknowledged as enslavers rather than freedom fighters, if Western wealth is understood as the product of theft rather than innovation—then the moral legitimacy of the entire system collapses. This explains the fierce resistance to more accurate historical education, to repatriation of stolen artifacts, to reparations for historical injustices, and other efforts at historical reckoning. What appears as a culture war often represents a desperate attempt to preserve mythologies essential to maintaining current power arrangements.
The effects of these policies are visible in contemporary Brazil, where racial inequality persists in virtually every sphere of life. Afro-Brazilians experience higher rates of poverty, lower educational attainment, greater exposure to police violence, and systematic exclusion from positions of power in media, business, and government. The darker one’s skin, the lower one’s social position is likely to be—a pattern described by Brazilian scholars as a “pigmentocracy.” Even today, many Brazilians with evident African ancestry identify as white or mixed rather than Black, reflecting the powerful incentives created by a system that rewards proximity to whiteness while punishing Blackness. Meanwhile, Brazilian media continues to center on white or light-skinned actors and models, reinforcing Eurocentric beauty standards despite the country’s predominantly African-descended population.
Argentina’s Black Erasure: Genocide Through War, Disease, and Historical Amnesia
Perhaps no nation demonstrates the capacity of whiteness to erase Black populations more clearly than Argentina. At the beginning of the 19th century, approximately one-third of Buenos Aires’ population was of African descent. Today, less than 1% of Argentinians identify as Afro-descended. This dramatic demographic transformation was no accident but the result of deliberate policies designed to eliminate the Black presence from the national fabric. Unlike Brazil’s strategy of gradual “whitening” through immigration and racial mixing, Argentina pursued a more direct approach, combining physical elimination with historical erasure.
The decimation of Argentina’s Black population began with the wars of independence and continued through subsequent regional conflicts. Black men were conscripted at disproportionate rates into the Argentinian army, often placed in the most dangerous front-line positions. During the War of the Triple Alliance against Paraguay (1864-1870), Black battalions faced casualty rates approaching 90%. Meanwhile, a yellow fever epidemic in Buenos Aires in 1871 devastated the predominantly Black neighborhoods of Monserrat and San Telmo, where poor sanitation and overcrowded conditions facilitated the spread of disease. This was no natural disaster but the predictable outcome of systematic neglect and marginalization of Black communities by the Argentinian government.
Whiteness leverages its media, education systems, and cultural institutions to glorify figures like Christopher Columbus, a genocidal conqueror, and Thomas Jefferson, a slave-owning rapist. These individuals are celebrated as heroes, their atrocities sanitized and their legacies whitewashed.
While these events significantly reduced the Black population, the completion of Argentina’s “whitening” project came through massive European immigration and the deliberate erasure of Black contributions from national history. Between 1880 and 1910, Argentina received over 4 million European immigrants, primarily from Italy and Spain, fundamentally reshaping its demographic profile. Simultaneously, educational systems, official histories, and cultural narratives were reconstructed to portray Argentina as an essentially European nation in South America. The contributions of Afro-Argentinians to the country’s independence, culture, and development were systematically omitted from textbooks and national commemorations.
The myth of Argentina as a “white nation” became so entrenched that many Argentinians today express surprise or disbelief when confronted with evidence of their country’s African heritage. Popular expressions like “there are no Black people in Argentina” reveal how completely the erasure has been internalized. This erasure represents a form of historical violence that compounds the physical violence inflicted on Black Argentinians through war, disease, and displacement. By eliminating Black Argentinians not only physically but from historical memory, whiteness demonstrated its capacity to rewrite reality itself—to create a national identity founded on a fundamental falsehood that continues to shape how Argentina sees itself and is perceived by others.
The Eradication of Aboriginal Peoples in Australia: Terra Nullius and the Stolen Generations
The imposition of whiteness in Australia represents one of history’s most comprehensive attempts to eliminate an indigenous population and replace it with European settlers. When British colonizers arrived in 1788, they declared the continent terra nullius—”nobody’s land”—despite the presence of Aboriginal peoples who had inhabited the continent for over 65,000 years with complex social structures, sophisticated knowledge systems, and deep spiritual connections to the land. This legal fiction provided the foundation for dispossession on a massive scale, as Aboriginal lands were seized without treaties, compensation, or recognition of prior ownership.
The violence of Australian colonization was both immediate and sustained. From the 1790s through the 1920s, frontier massacres claimed the lives of tens of thousands of Aboriginal people. In Tasmania, the Black War (1824-1831) and subsequent policies reduced the indigenous population from several thousand to just a few hundred individuals. Disease, displacement, and starvation compounded the direct violence, with some Aboriginal groups experiencing population declines of up to 90%. These were not accidental outcomes but the results of deliberate policies designed to clear valuable land for European settlement and eliminate populations viewed as obstacles to “progress.”
Particularly sinister was Australia’s policy of child removal, which continued well into the 20th century. Between 1910 and 1970, between one-tenth and one-third of all Aboriginal children were forcibly removed from their families and placed with white families or in institutions. This “Stolen Generations” policy was explicitly designed to “breed out the color” and eliminate Aboriginal identity through assimilation. Children were forbidden to speak their languages, practice their cultures, or maintain connections with their communities. The intergenerational trauma resulting from these policies continues to affect Aboriginal communities today, manifesting in higher rates of substance abuse, suicide, and family breakdown.
The ideology of whiteness also shaped how Aboriginal people were categorized and treated within Australian society. Those with lighter skin (often the product of sexual violence by white men against Aboriginal women) were considered more capable of assimilation and sometimes removed from their communities, while those with darker skin were treated as a “dying race” whose extinction was viewed as inevitable and even desirable. Even today, Aboriginal Australians face systemic discrimination across all sectors of society—from education and employment to healthcare and criminal justice. Despite representing about 3% of the population, they account for nearly 30% of the prison population. Meanwhile, sacred Aboriginal sites continue to be destroyed for mining operations and development projects, reflecting the ongoing prioritization of white economic interests over indigenous spiritual and cultural rights.
Haiti’s Revolution and Punishment: The Price of Defeating Whiteness
Haiti stands as the most powerful example of successful resistance against whiteness as a system and the severe price exacted for that resistance. The Haitian Revolution (1791-1804) represents the only successful slave revolt in history that led to the establishment of a nation—an unprecedented challenge to the entire global system of white supremacy. Led by visionaries like Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines, enslaved Africans in the French colony of Saint-Domingue defeated the armies of France, Britain, and Spain to establish an independent Black republic. In doing so, they disproved fundamental assumptions of white supremacist ideology—demonstrating not only the capacity for self-liberation but for sophisticated military strategy, political organization, and nation-building.
The response from white-controlled nations was swift and merciless. France, under Napoleon Bonaparte, refused to recognize Haiti’s independence unless compensated for its “lost property”—including the human beings it had enslaved. In 1825, with French warships threatening to bombard Port-au-Prince, Haiti was forced to agree to pay 150 million francs (later reduced to 90 million) as “reparations” to former slave owners. This crushing debt, equivalent to approximately $21 billion in today’s currency, required Haiti to borrow from French banks at extortionate interest rates. Haiti did not finish paying this debt until 1947, with the financial burden crippling the nation’s development for generations. Meanwhile, the United States refused to recognize Haiti’s independence until 1862, fearing the example it might set for enslaved people in America.
The international isolation and economic strangulation of Haiti revealed the global nature of whiteness as a system. A Black nation that had successfully overthrown white domination could not be allowed to thrive, as its success would undermine the fundamental premise of white supremacy. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, Haiti endured multiple foreign interventions, including a 19-year American military occupation (1915-1934) that rewrote the Haitian constitution to allow foreign ownership of land. France, the United States, and other powers repeatedly interfered in Haitian politics to install governments favorable to their economic interests, undermining Haitian sovereignty and self-determination.
The deliberate impoverishment and destabilization of Haiti continue to shape its reality today. When a devastating earthquake struck in 2010, killing over 200,000 people, the fragile infrastructure and inadequate resources for emergency response reflected not some inherent Haitian deficiency but the long-term consequences of imperial punishment. International aid following the disaster often bypassed Haitian institutions entirely, further undermining national capacity and sovereignty. The treatment of Haiti over more than two centuries demonstrates how whiteness operates as a global system that punishes challenges to its dominance and uses those punishments as evidence for racist narratives about Black capacity for self-governance.
South African Apartheid: Whiteness Codified into Law
South Africa’s apartheid system represents perhaps the most explicitly codified manifestation of whiteness as a legal and social structure in the 20th century. Building on centuries of Dutch and British colonization, the National Party institutionalized white supremacy through a comprehensive legal framework after coming to power in 1948. Apartheid—literally “apartness” in Afrikaans—created a rigid racial classification system that determined where people could live, work, and travel; whom they could marry; what education they could receive; and whether they could vote or own property. Despite comprising less than 20% of the population, whites controlled over 80% of the land and virtually all economic and political power.
The geographic segregation imposed by apartheid reflected the spatial logic of whiteness as a system. The Group Areas Act of 1950 forcibly relocated millions of Black South Africans from urban areas to impoverished “townships” and rural “homelands” (Bantustans). These Bantustans, comprising just 13% of the country’s land, were presented internationally as “independent states” where Black South Africans could exercise self-governance—a fiction designed to strip them of South African citizenship while maintaining their availability as cheap labor. Daily life under apartheid involved constant humiliation, with pass laws requiring Black South Africans to carry identification documents at all times and segregated facilities marked with “Whites Only” and “Non-Whites” signs.
What made South African apartheid particularly significant was its timing—emerging at precisely the moment when much of the world was formally rejecting explicit colonialism and racial segregation. As Asian and African nations gained independence from European powers, and as the United States Supreme Court ruled against school segregation in Brown v. Board of Education, South Africa moved in the opposite direction, codifying white supremacy with a new legal sophistication. This defiance represented a particularly pure expression of whiteness as an ideology—the belief that white minority rule was not merely expedient but morally justified, that racial separation was not just politically advantageous but divinely ordained.
The global response to apartheid revealed both the international dimensions of whiteness and the power of transnational solidarity in challenging it. Western powers like the United States, Britain, and Israel maintained economic and military relationships with the apartheid regime well into the 1980s, providing crucial support despite rhetorical opposition to racial discrimination. Meanwhile, newly independent African nations, socialist countries, and global civil society mobilized sanctions, boycotts, and divestment campaigns to isolate the regime. The anti-apartheid movement became one of history’s most successful examples of international solidarity, demonstrating how pressure could be exerted against even the most entrenched systems of racial domination.
The eventual dismantling of formal apartheid in the early 1990s, while representing a profound victory, also demonstrated the adaptability of whiteness as a system. Despite political enfranchisement and the election of Nelson Mandela as president in 1994, economic structures remained largely unchanged. Today, South Africa has one of the world’s highest levels of income inequality, with wealth still concentrated predominantly in white hands. Land ownership patterns established during colonialism and apartheid persist largely intact. Meanwhile, the “rainbow nation” narrative promoted during the transition has sometimes functioned to silence discussions of continuing racial inequality, much like Brazil’s “racial democracy” myth. South Africa thus illustrates both the possibility of challenging whiteness through organized resistance and the system’s capacity to preserve its material advantages while surrendering formal political control.
The Caribbean: Laboratories of Whiteness
Throughout the Caribbean, whiteness operated as a totalizing system that transformed diverse islands into laboratories for the most extreme forms of racial capitalism. Islands like Jamaica, Barbados, Cuba, and Hispaniola were remade through the mass importation of enslaved Africans, the genocide of indigenous peoples, and the establishment of plantation economies designed to extract maximum profit through minimum investment in human life. Mortality rates on sugar plantations were so high that planters often calculated it was more profitable to work enslaved people to death and purchase replacements rather than maintain conditions compatible with survival and reproduction. This calculation—this reduction of human beings to disposable inputs in a profit equation—represents whiteness in its most naked form.
The racial hierarchies established during slavery continued after emancipation through systems of indenture, tenant farming, and wage labor that maintained white economic control while offering minimal improvements in living conditions for the formerly enslaved. In islands like Jamaica, the 1865 Morant Bay Rebellion—in which Black Jamaicans protested continuing inequality and injustice—was met with brutal repression by British colonial authorities. Over 400 people were executed, 600 were flogged, and 1,000 homes were burned in retaliation. This disproportionate violence reflected the determination to maintain white control regardless of the human cost. Similar patterns of protest and repression unfolded across the region as Black Caribbean people continued to demand the full freedom and equality that emancipation had promised but failed to deliver.
The United States played a particularly significant role in maintaining whiteness as a system throughout the Caribbean in the 20th century. American military occupations of Haiti (1915-1934), the Dominican Republic (1916-1924), and other islands established economic and political arrangements that privileged American corporate interests while limiting local sovereignty. In Cuba, American support for the Batista dictatorship, followed by decades of economic embargo after the 1959 revolution, demonstrated the punishment inflicted on Caribbean societies that challenged American dominance. In Puerto Rico, colonial status has been maintained into the 21st century, with the island’s residents denied full political representation while subject to economic policies determined in Washington.
Particularly disturbing was the American and European support for the Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo, who orchestrated the 1937 Parsley Massacre, in which an estimated 20,000 Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent were murdered based on their darker skin and linguistic differences. This genocidal event, named for the shibboleth (“perejil”—parsley) used to identify Haitian victims through their pronunciation, reflected the internalization of anti-Blackness within Caribbean societies themselves. Trujillo, who was of partial Haitian descent, promoted “blanqueamiento” (whitening) through European immigration while demonizing Haiti as representing Blackness and “backwardness.” Despite this atrocity, Trujillo continued to receive support from the United States as a bulwark against communism, demonstrating how geopolitical interests consistently outweighed human rights considerations in Western policy toward the region.
The Internal Contradictions of Whiteness
When those who benefit from this system face hardship, they often turn their violence inward, reaching for weapons like AR-15s and unleashing their rage on their communities, even targeting children. The epidemic of mass shootings in the United States, predominantly perpetrated by white males, can be understood as a manifestation of this inward-directed violence. These acts often stem from a profound sense of entitlement thwarted—a belief that the world owes them power, status, and dominance, combined with rage when these expectations are not met. The shooters frequently express white supremacist ideologies or anxieties about demographic change, revealing the connection between their violence and the broader system of whiteness.
This is not an anomaly but a reflection of the system’s inherent contradictions. The promise of supremacy cannot be fulfilled for all who identify with whiteness; the hierarchies within this system ensure that many white people, particularly those from working-class backgrounds, will experience economic insecurity, social alienation, and a sense of betrayal. Rather than recognizing the system itself as the source of their suffering, many direct their resentment toward marginalized groups who serve as convenient scapegoats. Politicians and media figures exploit this dynamic, channeling legitimate economic grievances into racial animosity and cultural grievance.
They demand the freedom to express their anger without consequence, to act without accountability, all while cloaking themselves in the rhetoric of liberty and individualism. This selective invocation of freedom—freedom from responsibility rather than freedom to participate fully in a just society—reveals the fundamental hypocrisy at the heart of whiteness as a system. The same voices that champion individual liberty often oppose collective efforts to address historical injustices or create more equitable systems. Their concept of freedom is deeply rooted in property rights and minimal government intervention in certain spheres while simultaneously demanding that state power be used to control and constrain marginalized communities through aggressive policing, immigration enforcement, and restrictions on protest.
They are barbarians masquerading as civilized beings, hiding behind layers of justification for the harm they perpetuate. The term “barbarian” is deliberately inverted here, reclaiming and redirecting a label historically used by European powers to dehumanize those they colonized. In reality, the supposedly “civilized” societies of Europe and their descendants engaged in practices—genocide, systematic torture, human trafficking, and resource theft—that violated the most basic principles of human dignity. Yet these societies constructed elaborate ideological frameworks to portray their actions as necessary, beneficial, or divinely sanctioned. From the Doctrine of Discovery to Manifest Destiny to the “White Man’s Burden,” these justifications have served to obscure the fundamental brutality of colonial and imperial projects.
Their high rates of suicide and substance abuse are not random; they are symptoms of a society built on emptiness, severed from humanity and nature. The spiritual and psychological toll of maintaining whiteness as a system affects even those who ostensibly benefit from it. Communities across America’s “heartland” face epidemics of drug addiction, alcoholism, and despair—what researchers have termed “deaths of despair.” These crises reflect the profound alienation that results from participating in a system that reduces human value to economic productivity, severs people from traditional communities and meaning-making institutions, and replaces genuine connection with consumerism and competition. The American dream of individual achievement and material accumulation has proven insufficient to provide genuine fulfillment or purpose.
Whiteness, as a system, creates a void within those who uphold it, a spiritual and moral bankruptcy that manifests in self-destruction and collective despair. This void stems from the cognitive dissonance required to maintain faith in one’s inherent superiority while confronting evidence of shared humanity, from the emotional labor of constantly policing racial boundaries, and from the isolation that results from prioritizing dominance over solidarity. Many white Americans find themselves disconnected from ancestral cultures and traditions that were sacrificed on the altar of assimilation into whiteness—a bargain that offered material and social privileges at the cost of cultural depth and communal bonds. This emptiness drives the desperate search for identity through consumption, through extremist ideologies, or romanticized appropriations of other cultures.
The Mythology of Whiteness
Whiteness leverages its media, education systems, and cultural institutions to glorify figures like Christopher Columbus, a genocidal conqueror, and Thomas Jefferson, a slave-owning rapist. These individuals are celebrated as heroes, their atrocities sanitized and their legacies whitewashed. Public monuments, national holidays, and standardized curricula continue to present these figures as visionary leaders and moral exemplars, downplaying or justifying their participation in systems of oppression. This selective remembering represents not merely historical oversight but an active process of mythmaking designed to legitimize the foundations of white supremacy. Even when critiques emerge, they are often framed as “balanced perspectives” that ask us to weigh human rights violations against supposed contributions to “civilization” or “progress.”
Whiteness clings to these false idols because it lacks genuine heroes. Its so-called moral leaders exist only in its imagination, while its history is drenched in the blood of the oppressed. The elevated status of figures like George Washington, Andrew Jackson, Winston Churchill, Cecil Rhodes, and King Leopold II requires the deliberate minimization of their roles in slavery, indigenous genocide, colonial violence, and resource extraction. When their actions are examined without the protective lens of white supremacist ideology, these figures cannot be sustained as moral exemplars. Their supposed greatness depends on accepting the premise that some lives—typically non-white lives—matter less than others, that some suffering is necessary or acceptable in service of “progress.”
The stories it tells itself are riddled with omissions and distortions, designed to perpetuate the myth of its superiority and benevolence. From the erasure of African civilizations from world history to the romanticization of the frontier myth, from the downplaying of imperial atrocities to the exaggeration of Western scientific and cultural achievements, these narratives serve to maintain the illusion that white dominance represents the natural order rather than a violently imposed system. “Discovery” replaces invasion; “civilization” masks exploitation; “development” obscures extraction. Such linguistic sleight-of-hand permeates historical accounts, shaping collective memory and political discourse in ways that naturalize inequality.
Whiteness cannot confront the truth of its past because to do so would be to dismantle the very foundations of its identity. If Columbus is recognized as a perpetrator of genocide rather than a brave explorer, if the Founding Fathers are acknowledged as enslavers rather than freedom fighters, if Western wealth is understood as the product of theft rather than innovation—then the moral legitimacy of the entire system collapses. This explains the fierce resistance to more accurate historical education, to repatriation of stolen artifacts, to reparations for historical injustices, and other efforts at historical reckoning. What appears as a culture war often represents a desperate attempt to preserve mythologies essential to maintaining current power arrangements.
Contrasting Legacies
In contrast, our heroes are real. We come from a lineage of freedom fighters and moral leaders—men and women of integrity who resisted oppression and fought for justice. These figures did not require historical sanitization or mythological enhancement; their moral courage speaks for itself through documented actions and sacrifices. They fought not for abstract principles or national glory but for concrete human dignity and collective liberation. Many gave their lives in these struggles, facing violence, imprisonment, exile, and assassination rather than abandoning their commitment to justice. Their legacies survive not through state-sponsored commemoration but through the living memories and continued resistance of communities that honor their examples.
From Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass to Malcolm X and Angela Davis, our history is filled with individuals who stood against tyranny and sacrificed for the collective good. Harriet Tubman not only escaped enslavement herself but returned repeatedly to dangerous territory to lead others to freedom. Douglass used his powerful voice and pen to expose the hypocrisy of American democracy and demand true equality. Malcolm X evolved from advocating separation to building international solidarity against global systems of oppression. Angela Davis connected the struggles against racism, capitalism, and patriarchy, demonstrating the intersectional nature of both oppression and liberation. These figures represent just a fraction of the countless individuals who have contributed to movements for justice across generations.
Whiteness cannot claim such a legacy. Its icons are frauds like Thomas Edison, who stole inventions and exploited others, or rubber barons who ravaged nations like the Congo in their insatiable quest for wealth. Edison’s reputation as America’s greatest inventor rests largely on his skill at claiming credit for innovations developed by employees in his workshop and on his ruthless business tactics rather than on genuine scientific brilliance. Similarly, figures like King Leopold II of Belgium, whose brutal exploitation of the Congo led to the deaths of millions, or Cecil Rhodes, who laid the groundwork for apartheid in southern Africa, represent the true face of imperial whiteness. Their legacies of extraction, exploitation, and ecological devastation continue to shape global inequalities today.
These are the figures Whiteness venerates, even as it apologizes for their crimes and pleads with the world to overlook their atrocities. When confronted with evidence of these figures’ misdeeds, defenders often resort to arguments about historical context (“It was a different time”), moral relativism (“Everyone behaved that way”), or utilitarian calculations (“But look at what they achieved”). Such defenses reveal the ethical bankruptcy at the heart of whiteness as a system—its inability to establish moral principles that do not collapse under the weight of historical evidence. The desperate attempts to preserve these tarnished legacies reflect a deeper anxiety about the legitimacy of the entire system they represent.
The hollowness of its heroes reflects the hollowness of its values. The veneration of conquest, accumulation, and dominance—values embodied by figures like Columbus, Jefferson, and Edison—has produced a society characterized by profound alienation, environmental degradation, and social fragmentation. When wealth extraction is celebrated as the highest achievement, when violence is glorified as strength, and when exploitation is recast as entrepreneurship, the result is a culture incapable of addressing the existential challenges facing humanity. Climate change, biodiversity loss, pandemic threats, and nuclear proliferation all require cooperative approaches and shared sacrifice—precisely the values that whiteness as a system has systematically undermined.
The Role of Struggle in Social Progress
Every positive shift in this society has been the result of our struggle. We imposed morality upon a system that resisted it at every turn. From the abolition of slavery to women’s suffrage, from labor rights to civil rights, from environmental protections to disability accommodations, progress has come not through the benevolence of those in power but through the organized resistance of those subjected to oppression. These movements faced fierce opposition, including state violence, legal persecution, media vilification, and economic retaliation. Yet they persisted, building coalitions, developing innovative tactics, and articulating moral visions compelling enough to overcome entrenched interests.
From the abolition of slavery to the civil rights movement, progress was achieved through our advocacy, our demands, and our sacrifices. The end of legal slavery required not only the Civil War but decades of abolitionist organizing beforehand—much of it led by Black activists and their allies who faced violence and social ostracism for their stance. Similarly, the civil rights victories of the mid-20th century built upon generations of Black resistance, from legal challenges to economic boycotts to direct action protests. These movements succeeded not because they appealed to the conscience of the powerful but because they created conditions that made maintaining the status quo untenable, forcing concessions through strategic pressure rather than moral persuasion alone.
Whiteness opposed these changes, waging wars and perpetuating violence to maintain its grip on power. This opposition took many forms, from the formation of the Ku Klux Klan after the Civil War to the massive resistance to school desegregation, from the assassination of civil rights leaders to the incarceration of anti-war activists. It included not only explicit hatred but also the “moderate” position that demanded patience, gradualism, and respect for order over justice. As Martin Luther King Jr. noted in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” this moderate stance often presented a greater obstacle to progress than outright hostility, as it counseled waiting for a more convenient season that never arrived of its own accord.
Even the Union in the Civil War was led by a figure like Abraham Lincoln, whose vision of freedom was limited and conditional, reflecting the contradictions of a system built on inequality. Lincoln’s evolving position on slavery and race reveals the limitations of even the most celebrated white political figures. He initially opposed the expansion of slavery rather than advocating for its immediate abolition, prioritizing the preservation of the Union over emancipation.
In his debates with Stephen Douglas, Lincoln made clear: “I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races.” While he considered slavery morally wrong, his early political positions accommodated its continued existence where already established, and he supported colonization schemes to resettle freed Black people outside the United States.
Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation itself was strategically limited, freeing only enslaved people in Confederate-controlled territories where the proclamation couldn’t be immediately enforced, while leaving slavery intact in Border States loyal to the Union. Even as he moved toward more progressive positions during the war, his approach was pragmatic and incremental rather than revolutionary.
This complicated legacy illustrates how even those on the “right side” of history were shaped by and often complicit in the racial ideologies of their time, making compromises that delayed full freedom and equality for generations. The historical veneration of Lincoln often obscures these contradictions, presenting a simplified narrative that fails to acknowledge how deeply embedded racial hierarchy was—and remains—in American institutions and leadership.
The myths of whiteness refer to the false narratives and beliefs that have been constructed to justify and maintain the system of white supremacy. Here are some key myths:
Myth of Superiority: This myth suggests that white people are inherently superior to people of other races in terms of intelligence, morality, and capability. This belief has been used to justify colonialism, slavery, and segregation and continues to influence social and institutional practices.
Myth of Meritocracy: This myth claims that success is solely the result of individual effort and merit, ignoring the systemic advantages that whiteness provides. It overlooks the historical and ongoing discrimination that creates unequal opportunities for people of color.
Myth of Innocence: This myth portrays white people as innocent and benevolent, often framing historical and contemporary acts of violence and exploitation as necessary or justified. It minimizes the harm caused by white supremacy and shifts blame onto the victims.
Myth of Colorblindness: This myth asserts that race no longer matters and that society has moved beyond racism. It ignores the persistent racial inequalities and how race continues to shape experiences and opportunities.
Myth of Cultural Supremacy: This myth elevates Western culture as the pinnacle of human achievement, often at the expense of other cultures. It erases or diminishes the contributions of non-European peoples in fields like science, philosophy, and the arts.
Myth of Historical Progress: This myth suggests that history is a linear progression toward greater freedom and equality, often highlighting the achievements of white individuals while downplaying or ignoring the struggles and contributions of people of color.
These myths are perpetuated through various means, including education, media, and cultural narratives. They serve to maintain the status quo by obscuring the realities of systemic racism and reinforcing the idea that whiteness is the norm or standard against which all other identities are measured.
The media plays a significant role in perpetuating the myths of whiteness. Here are some examples:
Whitewashing in Casting: This occurs when white actors are cast in roles that are historically or culturally non-white. For instance, movies like Gods of Egypt and The Last Airbender” have faced criticism for casting white actors in roles that actors of color should have played.
Historical Erasure: Many historical films and TV shows focus predominantly on white perspectives, often ignoring or minimizing the contributions and experiences of people of color. For example, the film “The Help” centers on a white protagonist while sidelining the stories of Black maids during the Civil Rights Movement.
Eurocentric Beauty Standards: Media often promotes Eurocentric beauty standards, portraying white features as the ideal. This can be seen in the predominance of white models in fashion magazines and advertisements, as well as the portrayal of beauty in films and TV shows.
Religious Whitewashing: Religious figures from the Middle East, such as Jesus and Moses, are often depicted as white in Western art and media. This not only distorts historical accuracy but also reinforces the idea of whiteness as the norm.
Educational Content: School curricula and educational media often present a Eurocentric view of history and culture, emphasizing the achievements of white individuals while neglecting the contributions of people of color. This can lead to a skewed understanding of history and reinforce the myth of white superiority.’
Article by Joe Bodego