Something White Practitioners Often Miss About Racism

One of the main blocks I see to engaging in anti-oppressive practice is from white practitioners/educators/social workers/therapists who think that because they have some sort of theoretical understanding of racism and oppression, they “get it.” But can we really truly understand what it is like to experience anti-Black racism? Of course not. 

And just because a white practitioner may have an aspect of, or multiple aspects of, their identity that are marginalized, it does not mean that they understand the myriad of ways anti-Black racism affects Black people. They might be able to relate, consider, empathize, yes. But truly understand? No.

I've spent a significant part of my adult life learning about racism, teaching about it, organizing around it. I've studied, had hard conversations, revised curriculum, designed courses, delivered trainings. I’ve taken action by pushing back in situations where it cost me, like being pushed out of a faculty position I once had. I’ve had people I thought were friends turn their back on me, tell me I wasn’t being loyal, because I challenged racism within our organization. I’ve been made out to be like I’m the problem, and even asked: “Is everything okay at home?” I’ve had to confront aspects of myself that were uncomfortable. I’ve grown, and continue to grow, through this process. I take this work seriously and I have for a long time.

But I don't know what it's like to experience racism.

I can understand structural oppression. I can understand bias. I can challenge the deeply entrenched whiteness I’ve been socialized with.

But I miss so much.

What's helped me understand that distinction more clearly has come from people I'm close to in my personal life. I won't share details that aren't mine to share, but I will say that watching people I love navigate a world that treats them differently than it treats me has been one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life. It is painful, and infuriating, but nothing like what it’s like to be the one experiencing it.

One thing it's taught me is that white people often struggle to believe certain experiences actually happen to Black people and people of color, because those things don't happen to us as white people. We go somewhere and get treated well, and it takes someone we love pointing out that they were nice to YOU specifically. That their experience with the person was not a nice experience. In fact, it was a mix of emotions like anger, annoyance, frustration, and exhaustion due to—once again—racism. It's not that white people are necessarily hostile to the truth. It's that our daily experience doesn't give us the evidence. Because we sure do like our evidence! And without that, there's a pull, often unconscious, toward skepticism. Toward thinking maybe it wasn't that bad, or maybe there's another explanation.

This is where positionality becomes much more than an academic concept. In anti-oppressive practice, understanding our positionality means understanding how our own social location shapes what we see, what we believe, and what we're even capable of noticing. For white practitioners, that means honestly reckoning with the fact that our daily experience of moving through the world without facing racism shapes how we receive what clients bring into the room.

That pull toward skepticism shows up in practice. In how we assess. In what we name and what we leave unnamed. In whether we can hold a client's experience of racism as a real and present force in their life, or whether we move too quickly toward coping and individual solutions because that's more familiar territory. Sometimes we're not even aware it's happening. We think we're being clinically neutral when we're actually filtering a client's reality through our own.

It also shows up in ignoring when white clients say things that are racist. We may alternate between letting it go and policing out of purity.

Anti-oppressive practice asks us to interrupt that. It asks us to listen differently, to take seriously what clients are telling us about their lives, and to stay curious about the ways our own experience might be getting in the way. This doesn't mean white practitioners can't do this work well. It means we have to do it honestly, with ongoing self-reflection about what we bring into the room and what we might be missing because of who we are. It also means learning how to talk about racism with white clients in ways that they can relate to, so they can see how these views actually are affecting their lives, their relationships, how they react, what they carry.

I'm not writing this from a place of guilt. Guilt tends to center white discomfort more than it produces change. I'm writing it because I think white practitioners need to be honest with ourselves about what we know and what we don't, what we've lived and what we've only studied. Being honest does not mean to step back (though, sometimes that’s probably the best move). Being honest makes it possible to show up with integrity, humility, clarity, and intentionality in how we act.

Learning about racism is important. Analysis is important. Commitment is important. And none of it is the same as living inside it. The gap is real. Sitting with that, rather than explaining it away, is part of the work.