There’s been much conversation based on values deeply entrenched in American culture, that real equity—the kind that eliminates bias and eradicates racism—requires the dismantling of centuries-old systems.
The idea is that by tracing our more problematic beliefs to their origins, we can start the process of recognizing and shedding their indoctrination. The concept suggests that through individual efforts to dismantle these issues, we will eventually achieve a critical mass that leads to collective action and, ultimately, societal and systemic change.
However, while deconstructing the ideas and cultural norms that sustain systems of supremacy is a worthy endeavor, the belief systems embedded into the very fabric of society are difficult to unlearn.
Consider the founding document that classified Black men as three-fifths of a person—not as a measure of their humanity but as a calculation to determine political power in favor of white men in slaveholding states. Even a cursory examination of this framework reveals the undeniable link between systemic oppression and privilege. Similarly, the historical practice of binding a woman’s legal identity first to her father and then to her husband upon marriage may have shaped current perceptions of women’s worth as being tied to their marital status. Examining this history might reveal that the perceived increased value of women within a patriarchal structure is more a result of societal conditioning than any inherent truth.
But if the perpetuation of oppressive systems serves your interests, and if your identity is deeply invested in the widespread acceptance of such indoctrination, their dismantling can feel like an existential threat. Acknowledging your position of privilege—rather than viewing it as inherent, manifest, or a result of meritocracy—might trigger insecurity, anger, and rebellion (maybe even insurrection). You might long for a time when America felt great for you, when merely showing up earned credibility and your so-called exceptionalism went largely unquestioned.
This is why efforts to address deep-seated systemic imbalances often fall short and why the mere mention of privilege or attempts to address societal issues are frequently met with backlash and mischaracterized as reverse discrimination.
It’s incredibly frustrating to face such vitriol for simply trying to correct a system so clearly broken. Yet, the very opposition is a testament to the impact being made. It’s proof that progress is occurring and that the effort of dismantling is striking at the heart of long-standing issues. While exhausting, it is nonetheless necessary work. Achieving meaningful change requires a realistic perspective on what activism can truly accomplish, an acknowledgment—and sometimes guilt—about the need to step back when necessary, and a commitment to working within a supportive community. Preserving your energy is vital to sustaining your efforts.
Shame the Devil: The Truth, Limits, and Realities of Activism and Allyship
The struggle is necessary, but the path of activism is fraught with setbacks and fatigue. Raising awareness can be grueling, and without recognizing the inherent limitations and challenges in our efforts, we risk investing in solutions that look promising in theory but fall short in practice. While phrases like “erasing racism” and “eradicating prejudice” are compelling, the realities of the challenge are often far less idyllic.
The reality is, short of complete demolition—which would ensure our collective downfall—chipping away at the outer coating of existing structures is cosmetic work. Cosmetic changes are not without value, but cannot uproot a foundation rotted at its core. Which is to say: Behavior can be adjusted, but it cannot be entirely unlearned. Thus, changing policies, advancing laws, and incentivizing tolerance are where our effort realistically resides. Yet, as the social contract of civility grows more fragile, it can feel hopeless—and hopelessness breeds fatigue.
Constantly confronting pain and suffering can be overwhelming, especially for those who have the privilege to look away. The most earnest, well-intentioned allies may default to avoidance, which is understandable. Even for those of us directly affected by oppression, the need to disconnect and protect one’s well-being is real and necessary.
Take a Nap, Sis: Coping with Fatigue and Sharing Shifts in Community
For Black women who, like me, find themselves emotionally exhausted—caught in a cycle of doom scrolling, obsessive productivity, or indulging in comforting reruns—you’re not alone. For those who, while avoiding troubling headlines and accumulating unread texts, can find the capacity to celebrate Kamala’s candidacy but struggle to face the reality of Sonya Massey’s execution—know that you’re not alone.
For those whose empathy feels both like a blessing and a curse; whose compulsion to understand the pathology behind people’s often hurtful actions prevents them from reacting one-dimensionally, who struggle with an inability to process solely from a self-centered view, and who are chronically unable to return hate with hate—if you’re feeling drained and incapable of processing any more trauma, you’re not alone. While I wish I could offer something more tangible than solidarity, sometimes being seen and understood is enough.
Remember this: Disconnecting from the constant influx of distress does not mean abandoning the cause. Protecting your mental and emotional well-being is, in itself, a form of resistance. If that means sitting this one out, it’s okay. Being woke and aware is exhausting. Take a nap, sis—just don’t hibernate.
Instead, we take turns staying vigilant. By sharing the load and recognizing the necessity of stepping back, we navigate this journey not in isolation but in solidarity and shared purpose. The tension and struggles you feel are signs of progress, and we’ve come too far to retreat.