How White Women Can Fight For Racial Justice in 2024

Dear White Women,

Before we dive in, let me first start by sharing that I understand the emotional, perhaps visceral response that may be ignited by the headline of this article. It is not meant to provoke offense or be clickbait. It is, however, meant to evoke an understanding within the dense, complex, and ongoing conversation about and pursuit of racial equity in our country.

OK, now that we have that out of the way, let’s start with another admission: I have never watched a full episode of Alex Cooper’s “Call Her Daddy” podcast. Nonetheless, the TikTok algorithm be doing its own thing, and for that I offer some gratitude because it keeps me hip to Gen Z trends, random internet drama, and the current conversations shaping white America’s cultural zeitgeist. So, over the last year, “Call Her Daddy” clips have frequently shown up on my “For You Page,” and the last week I’ve been inundated with multiple stitched videos responding to Cooper’s decision to invite Vice President Kamala Harris as a guest on the show. To me, it seemed a rational decision given the size of her platform, the urgency of this election, and the fact that Harris is running for the highest position in the land. But according to thousands of negative comments and folks who unfollowed and unsubscribed to the podcast, it wasn’t rational. It was “unpatriotic,” “disappointing,” “propaganda,” and even a “betrayal.” The latter was a particularly interesting choice of words by a dedicated listener. Because who did she betray? What did she betray?

We cannot be the harmed and the hero.

It was clear scrolling through the comment sections that the majority of this dissent came from white women listeners and followers who seemingly held opposing political ideologies to Harris. But I hadn’t seen the same response to Jimmy Kimmel, Oprah Winfrey, or even “60 Minutes” (an interview that former President Donald Trump turned down, just as he declined “Call Her Daddy”), who all hosted Harris during her media blitz last week. And so it remains somewhat perplexing, unless the message being delivered to Cooper is in fact that she has betrayed their understanding of white womanhood.

This response raises an age-old question: what is the role of white women in racial justice and community equity? As a racial justice consultant, I work alongside global brands to challenge them to investigate how their organizational ethos aligns with equity, belonging, and justice. And as the co-founder of Rosa Rebellion, I spearhead a program that invites white-identifying women in positions of leadership into a space to learn and unlearn, posturing themselves to move from a place of allyship to co-agitation. As someone who has navigated this country as a Black woman for 36 years, it has become increasingly evident such reconciliation requires not just the acknowledgment, attention, and action of white America, but the specific interrogation and investment from white women — a community that sits at a unique intersection of both privileged and marginalized identities, and who often finds themselves a part of a protected class. Audre Lorde once said it like this: “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own. And I am not free as long as one person of Color remains chained.” In 2024, how will white women participate in such unshackling, in the work of freeing?

After witnessing WNBA leadership fail to condemn racist media coverage of Angel Reese and Caitlin Clark, as well as white women’s unwillingness to divest from brands and spaces that fail to include melanated shades, it’s become clear we’ve entered a time where well-intentioned white allyship is increasingly ineffective — and actually often leads to the protection of white positions and the vilification of Black women.

The rallying cry for white America and specifically white women is clear: it’s time to disrupt, not just show support, in the pursuit of racial justice.

At this moment, it’s apparent that the work of dismantling racism can’t be done in isolation or at the expense of Black and Brown women’s labor, emotional exhaustion, or martyrdom. Black women are mistreated at the hands of police, Indiana Fever Fans, dating apps and dating shows, unqualified podcasters (yeah, I’m talking to you Andrew Shulz), and yet time and time again we are asked to rise to the occasion to undo systemic harm and change the conscience of the nation. We cannot be the harmed and the hero. America’s true racial reckoning, social reparations, and political repairing demand the visible investment of those who have benefitted from such social inequity. It demands the rise of white women willing to cede power, privilege, position, and maybe even a thousand fans in the stadium or a few million followers on TikTok.

So whether you are evoking the energy of soccer star Megan Rapinoe’s now infamous 2020 remark — in which she said, “I’m not going to the fucking White House,” during Trump’s tenure — or the gumption of Cooper to risk popularity to elevate conversations that center intersectional equity, the rallying cry for white America and specifically white women is clear: it’s time to disrupt, not just show support, in the pursuit of racial justice.

While 2020 prompted heightened visibility around racial injustice, the momentum and urgency spurred by those moments has quickly waned. The black boxes disappeared from our Instagrams, the hashtags changed on our X feeds, and the earnestness that perhaps brought new conversations to our dinner tables, boardrooms, and pulpits was short-lived. The truth is, our pursuit of racial justice cannot be episodic, moved only by inflection points, news headlines, or a national presidential election. Because the truth is today, tomorrow, and the year ahead are not for postures of apathy, unfulfilled promises, or performative gestures. The value of Black life, the visibility of Latinx and Indigenous stories, and the protection of APIA voices should innately be seen, known, and connected to our everyday posture, brand positions, social-political practices, and cultural paradigms.

Evoking the tone of Beyoncé’s call to “get in formation,” the question before us as we inch closer to the election is, what will your anthem be to move you to answer the cry for justice, equity, and repair? How will your investment in racial equity show up in your ballot box? How will you champion and elevate the voices of women of color beyond November? How will you thwart hate and harm in the comment section of your favorite podcast or your family’s Thanksgiving table? As you reflect, may these reminders support you in creating new intentions and renewed investment:

Because the truth is, we are tired of your passive allyship. We demand your co-agitation.

— An exhausted, but hopeful Black woman

Virginia A. Cumberbatch is a racial justice educator, writer, and creative activist and the CEO and cofounder of Rosa Rebellion, a production company for creative activism by and for women of color. She’s a graduate of Williams College and the University of Texas at Austin’s Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs and is the author of “As We Saw It: The Story of Integration at the University of Texas at Austin.”