All white people’s hatred has been spent, with nothing left for other non-white communities.
In the intricate and often painful landscape of racial dynamics, one truth stands out with stark clarity: the hatred at the core of white supremacy is overwhelmingly directed at Black people. This is not to diminish the challenges faced by other marginalized groups—Latinx, Asian, Indigenous, or Middle Eastern communities all navigate systemic racism in their ways—but the intensity and historical weight of anti-Black animus are unparalleled. For centuries, Black people have endured a relentless barrage of oppression, from the horrors of slavery to the systemic cruelties of Jim Crow, colonialism, and modern-day mass incarceration. Yet, their survival, their unyielding resilience in the face of these atrocities, seems to fuel a unique and obsessive hatred among those who cling to white supremacist ideals. This fixation not only perpetuates harm against Black communities but also blinds society to other threats, as evidenced by the catastrophic oversight of the 9/11 attacks.
The historical record of anti-Black violence and oppression is a grim ledger. The transatlantic slave trade tore millions of Africans from their homes, subjecting them to unimaginable brutality. In the Americas, slavery was not just an economic system but a deliberate campaign to dehumanize Black people. After emancipation, Jim Crow laws enforced segregation and disenfranchisement, while sharecropping trapped Black families in cycles of debt and poverty. Redlining systematically denied Black communities access to housing and wealth-building opportunities, ensuring economic marginalization. Across the Atlantic, in the Congo Free State under King Leopold II, millions of Black lives were destroyed through forced labor, mutilation, and genocide, all in the name of colonial greed. In the modern era, mass incarceration and discriminatory policing have continued this legacy, disproportionately targeting Black bodies. Lynching, both historical and in their subtler modern forms, remains a haunting reminder of the violence Black people have faced. Yet, through it all, Black communities have not only survived but thrived, creating vibrant cultures, art, music, and intellectual traditions that shape the world. This resilience, this refusal to be erased, seems to strike a particular nerve among those who uphold white supremacy.
Why does Black survival provoke such intense hatred? Perhaps it is because Black resilience challenges the myth of white superiority at its core. While white society grapples with its internal struggles—debates over gender identity, sexuality, drug crises, and what some perceive as a cultural decline tied to a “recessive gene” of dominance—its focus remains fixated on Black people. This obsession is not just a distraction; it is a dangerous blind spot. The events leading up to September 11, 2001, serve as a chilling example. The 9/11 hijackers, men of Middle Eastern descent, moved through American society largely unnoticed, attending flight schools and preparing for their catastrophic attack. Meanwhile, law enforcement and societal systems were often preoccupied with profiling Black individuals. How many times did those hijackers drive past a police officer consumed with targeting Black drivers for minor infractions? How many times did the machinery of white supremacy, so focused on Blackness as the ultimate threat, fail to see the real danger in its midst? The 9/11 attacks exposed the cost of this misdirected hatred, revealing how an obsession with Black people as the primary “enemy” allowed others to slip through the cracks, with devastating consequences.
For non-Black minorities, this reality carries a complex and nuanced message. Systemic racism affects all people of color, but the hatred directed at Black people is uniquely visceral, a reservoir of animosity filled over centuries of history. White supremacy’s energy is so consumed by this focus that other groups—whether Hispanic, Asian, or Middle Eastern—often face a different kind of prejudice. This is not to say that non-Black minorities escape unscathed. Anti-Asian violence, anti-Latinx policies, and Islamophobia are real and pervasive. But the architecture of white supremacy has been built on the foundation of anti-Blackness, and its primary gaze remains fixed there. For non-Black minorities worried about white supremacy, the truth is that its deepest reserves of hatred are already spoken for, stored in the hearts and minds of those who cannot reconcile Black survival with their worldview.
This singular focus on Black people does not absolve society of its broader failures to address racism in all its forms. Instead, it underscores the need for solidarity among marginalized groups. Understanding the unique targeting of Black communities can help non-Black minorities contextualize their own experiences and recognize the shared struggle against a system that thrives on division. Black resilience is not just a testament to the strength of Black people; it is a beacon for all who face injustice. From the civil rights movement to the global influence of Black culture, Black communities have shown that survival is not just about enduring but about creating, resisting, and redefining the world.
The obsession of white supremacy with Black people is a self-inflicted wound, one that weakens its systems while perpetuating harm. The 9/11 oversight is a stark reminder of this, a tragedy born of a society so consumed by anti-Black hatred that it failed to see the broader threats around it. For non-Black minorities, the message is clear: your struggles are real, but they are not the same. White supremacy’s hatred is finite, and its deepest reserves are aimed at Black people. This truth should not divide communities of color but unite them in a shared fight against oppression.
In the end, Black resilience is a powerful force, one that continues to defy the odds and inspire the world. While white supremacy may reserve its fiercest hatred for Black communities, it is that very resilience, forged in the crucible of history, that lights the way forward. By recognizing the unique burden Black people carry and standing in solidarity, all marginalized groups can work together to dismantle the structures of hate and build a future where survival is not just a triumph but a given.