The Unbearable Witness: “Good White Folk” Can No Longer Look Away

CAMDEN, NJ – I was born in the hold of a slave ship soaked in urine and feces whose name history did not bother to record. I am a Foundational Black American. For more than three hundred years, I have walked this land, a reluctant witness to a relentless paradox: the nation of lofty ideals built upon a foundation of profound, sustained cruelty. The question that haunts my long memory is not for the brutal racist/white supremacist monsters, but for the others—the “good white people” in every era.

How the fuck did you stand by and watch?

This is the essential inquiry of our present. For in understanding the mechanics of that historical complicity, we find a stark blueprint for today’s crisis. Yet something fundamental has shifted. The distance that enabled your ancestors’ silence has been obliterated. Today, the plea is not just for action, but for sight—to finally, fully see our humanity.

The Machinery of Acquiescence, Then and Now

The “good White folk” of any era rarely believes themselves complicit. They operated within a system of convenient distances.

How did you watch us be enslaved? You told yourselves it was an economic necessity. You saw the auction block from afar, heard the wails as a faint echo, and were comforted by sermons claiming we were not fully human. That distance was your insulation.

How did you witness the systematic rape on plantations? You chose not to see the high yellow children running through the fields. The violence was rendered invisible by a conspiracy of silence, the resulting children used as proof of our “depravity” rather than your community’s crime.

Today, the distance is gone. You cannot claim you did not see George Floyd’s life pressed from him for nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds. You cannot say you did not hear the fear in a child’s voice separated from her parents at a border you politicize. The camera phone is the unblinking eye my people never had. It has made the abstract, concrete. The historical buffer is broken.

The Fear Beneath the Silence

I have lived long enough to sense the tremor beneath the surface of this nation’s psyche. I must acknowledge what I believe fuels much of the backlash, the frantic rewriting of history, the cries of “replacement”: a deep-seated, often unspoken fear that Black and brown people, given the levers of power, will treat you as you have treated us.

For three centuries, you have shown us the blueprint of vengeance. The whip, the law, the noose, the gerrymander—all tools of subjugation. It is a terrifying legacy to contemplate. So you must hear this, clearly: We do not seek your destruction. We seek a transformation of the system built for it. We seek a democracy where no group holds permanent dominion, because such dominion inevitably corrupts and always, always visits violence upon the powerless. The multiracial democracy we strive for is not your nightmare of reversed oppression; it is the only possible escape from the nightmare you yourselves created.

The New Witness and the End of Gaslighting

When the Supreme Court ruled we had “no rights,” your ancestors could dismiss it as distant legal theory. When Rosewood and Tulsa burned, they could be framed as “riots.” When Emmett Till’s murderers were acquitted, the lie could be upheld as the law.

Today, the gaslighting fails against the evidence in our hands. We witness, we record, we share, we archive—instantaneously. We can juxtapose the “law and order” rhetoric with the violent repression of a peaceful protest. We can contrast the paeans to “heritage” with the footage of a neo-Nazi march. The dissonance is laid bare. To be a passive spectator now is not a failure of information, but a conscious choice of morality.

A Way Forward: From Spectators to Co-Creators

The path forward is not found in a return to a civility that never included us. It is forged in the active, courageous construction of a true multiracial democracy. This requires more than your guilt; it demands your partnership.

First, you must believe your own eyes and ears. Trust the testimony streaming from our phones, our communities, our lived experience over the sanitized myths of comfort.

Second, you must relinquish the fear that equity is your loss. A democracy where a Latina’s vote counts the same as a white farmer’s, where a Black child’s history is taught as thoroughly as a president’s, where a Native nation’s sovereignty is respected, is a stronger, more just, and ultimately safer country for everyone.

Finally, you must move from sentiment to structure. It is not enough to decry racism; you must defend voting rights, support truthful education, and challenge inequity in your neighborhoods, councils, and boardrooms. The MAGA movement gambles on your eventual acquiescence, your retreat into comfort.

My three centuries whisper that this is the decisive hour. The tools of witness we now possess have shattered the old alibis. You can no longer claim you did not see, did not know. You can only choose what you will do now that you have seen.

See our humanity, not as an abstract concept, but in the terrified face of a man under a knee, in the determined eyes of a child walking into a newly integrated school, in the grief of a mother at a grave. Then, act from that sight. Build with us a democracy worthy of its name, not as spectators, but as co-creators. The silence of your ancestors was permission. Your voice, your vote, your unwavering alliance must now become the foundation of something new.

The American Strain: Trump and the Enduring Creed of White Supremacy

CAMDEN, NJ – To understand Donald Trump, to truly grasp the fervor of the “Make America Great Again” movement, requires a confrontation with a deeply unsettling but irrefutable historical truth: Trump is not an aberration, but an archetype. He is the contemporary embodiment of a classic American figure, whose political power flows directly from the nation’s oldest and most potent strain—a white supremacist ideology that has been intertwined with concepts of democracy and liberty since the nation’s founding. On one hand, the anguish felt by many white Americans today as they witness the MAGA movement’s explicit racism is the anguish of a myth being shattered, the painful awakening from a national narrative that has systematically obscured this foundational reality. Black people, on the other hand, have lived through this movie since 1619.

The Indelible Thread: From Frontier to Empire

The doctrines that birthed the American nation-state were, from their inception, racial in character. Manifest Destiny, the Monroe Doctrine, and the White Man’s Burden are not separate chapters but sequential verses in the same epic poem of Anglo-Saxon supremacy.

Manifest Destiny, framed as a divine mandate to “overspread the continent,” was a theological and racial justification for genocide and land theft, casting Native Americans as “merciless Indian Savages” and Mexicans as obstacles to a providentially-ordained white nation. This was not mere expansion; it was ethnic cleansing codified as national mission. Historical records reveal a staggering decline from an estimated 5-15 million Native Americans prior to 1492 to fewer than 238,000 by the close of the 19th century. This represents a population collapse exceeding 96% over four centuries, driven by a combination of warfare, displacement, and disease, all facilitated by racist/white supremacist government policies.

The Monroe Doctrine established the Western Hemisphere as a U.S. sphere of influence, a policy enforced not through diplomatic parity but through a paternalistic belief in the racial and political superiority of the United States over its non-white neighbors. It transformed Latin America into a backyard where military and economic intervention was naturalized, a logical extension of continental conquest onto a hemispheric stage.

The White Man’s Burden provided the humanitarian gloss for overseas empire, framing the brutal colonization of the Philippines and Puerto Rico as a noble, sacrificial duty to civilize “sullen peoples, half-devil and half-child.” It was the export of a domestic ideology, declaring entire populations unfit for self-rule—the same belief that undergirded slavery at home.

These were not fringe ideas but the central engines of national policy, creating a powerful national identity where whiteness was synonymous with sovereignty, virtue, and the right to dominate.

The Great Mis-Education: A Mythology of Innocence

How, then, does a nation built on such explicit racial hierarchy produce citizens who recoil at the explicit racism of a Trump rally? The answer lies in a profound and intentional mis-education.

The American creed presented in textbooks and national myth is a carefully curated edit. It is a story of democracy and liberty, of Pilgrims and pioneers, that systematically decouples these ideals from the racial tyranny that financed and facilitated them. The genocide of Indigenous peoples is minimized to “conflict” or “westward expansion.” The enslavement of millions is segregated into a single tragic chapter, rather than understood as the engine of early American capital. Imperial conquests are framed as benevolent “foreign policy.”

This creates a duplicitous national consciousness. Americans are taught to venerate the Declaration of Independence’s promise of equality while being insulated from the fact that its principal author and most early beneficiaries envisioned that equality exclusively for white men. We celebrate a “melting pot” culture—shaped by Indigenous, African, Latin American, and Asian influences—while the political power to define the nation has been fiercely guarded as a white prerogative. This selective history is a powerful anesthetic. It allows generations to inherit the privileges of a racial caste system while believing fervently in their own nation’s inherent innocence and moral exceptionalism. It makes racism seem like a deviation, a “sin” we are overcoming, rather than the core organizing principle we have continuously refined.

Trump: The Unvarnished Tradition

Donald Trump’s political genius—and his profound traditionalism—lies in his rejection of the anesthetic. He does not traffic in the coded “dog whistles” of late-20th-century politics; he uses a bullhorn, reactivating the unfiltered language and logic of America’s racial id.

His rhetoric is a direct echo of past doctrines. Labeling Mexican immigrants “rapists” and “animals” and African nations “shithole countries” is the dehumanizing language of Manifest Destiny and the White Man’s Burden, applied to modern migration 

. His central promise of a “big, beautiful wall” is a 21st-century racial frontier, a physical monument to the belief that the national body must be purified of non-white “infestation.”

Table: The Ideological Lineage from Doctrine to Trump

Historical DoctrineCore Racial LogicModern Trump-Era Manifestation
Manifest DestinyDivine right to displace “savage” non-white peoples from desired land.The border wall as a new frontier; rhetoric of immigrant “invasion” and “infestation.”
Monroe DoctrineHemispheric dominance and paternalistic intervention over non-white nations.“America First” isolationism that rejects multilateralism while asserting unilateral military/economic power.
White Man’s BurdenThe “civilizing” mission justifies domination over supposedly inferior peoples.Framing immigration bans and harsh policies as protecting American civilization from “shithole countries.”

His policies operationalize this ideology. The Muslim Ban, the crushing of asylum protocols, and the threat to end birthright citizenship are not simply strict immigration measures; they are efforts to legally redefine who belongs to the American nation along racial and religious lines. His administration’s systematic rollback of civil rights protections, from voting rights to LGBTQ+ safeguards, and its dismantling of diversity, equity, and inclusion programs are a direct assault on the fragile infrastructure of multiracial democracy built since the 1960s.

Most tellingly, his adventurous and aggressive militarism—from threatening “fire and fury” against North Korea to deploying federal troops against predominantly Black cities like Washington D.C. and Chicago under the pretext of crime emergencies—reveals the intrinsic link between white supremacy at home and imperial aggression abroad. As academic research confirms, support for militarized foreign policy among white Americans is strongly correlated with racial resentment, viewing non-white nations and peoples as inherent threats or legitimate targets for domination. Trump’s “America First” bellicosity is not an isolationist retreat but a reassertion of a racialized nationalism that sees the world as a hostile arena of competition against lesser peoples.

The Second Backlash and the Crisis of White Identity

Trumpism is the vehicle for a second great white backlash, a historical bookend to the first backlash that destroyed the multiracial democracy of Reconstruction after the Civil War. That first backlash, powered by the Klan, “Lost Cause” mythology, and Northern complicity, re-established white rule through terror and Jim Crow.

The current backlash, ignited by the Civil Rights Movement and supercharged by the election of Barack Obama, seeks to roll back the democratic gains of the past sixty years. Its fuel is white grievance—a pervasive fear among some white Americans that demographic change and racial equity represent a loss of status, a zero-sum dispossession . Slogans like “Take Our Country Back” and the defensive cry of “All Lives Matter” are the modern lexicon of this backlash, inverting reality to frame the pursuit of equality as an unfair attack on a threatened majority

.This is the source of the anguish for well-intentioned white Americans. They were raised on the edited, duplicitous creed. They believed in a forward-moving arc of progress. To see the naked brutality of racism not only re-emerge but be cheered from the highest podium shatters that narrative. The difficulty is in reconciling their own identity with the realization that the “greatness” many are nostalgic for was, for others, a regime of explicit subjugation. It is the pain of realizing that the comforting national myth is a lie, and that a more honest, more brutal history is demanding reconciliation.

Conclusion: Facing the Unbroken Line

Donald Trump is a classic American figure because he channels the nation’s most enduring political tradition: the mobilization of white racial anxiety to consolidate power and resist the expansion of a truly pluralistic democracy. He has ripped away the veneer of the mis-educating myth, revealing the unbroken line from the Puritan city on a hill to the MAGA rally.

To argue that this is not “real” America is to indulge in the very fantasy that enabled it. Racism and white supremacy are not un-American; they are as American as apple pie, woven into the fabric of our institutions, our geography, and our national story. The democratic ideals we rightly cherish have always coexisted in tension—and often in outright conflict—with this hierarchy. The struggle of the 21st century is not to defeat a foreign intrusion, but to finally sever this entrenched lineage. It begins by abandoning the comforting lie of national innocence and confronting, at last, the difficult truth of who we have been, and therefore, who we risk remaining.

Carrying the Weight of History: Why Black America Sees Itself in Shedeur Sanders

PHILADELPHIA, PA – To watch Shedeur Sanders play quarterback—with his pre-snap poise, his audacious no-look passes, his celebrated, unflappable “Shedeur Face”—is to witness more than a talented athlete. It is to observe a cultural reclamation project. His overwhelming support within the Black community, often chalked up simplistically to his confidence and swagger, is rooted in something far deeper than style. It is a profound, collective recognition. It is the applause of a community that sees in his assured success not just one man’s triumph, but a symbolic redress of a brutal, systemic history—a history whose scars are woven into the very DNA of Black American experience.

The Foundation: American Apartheid on the Playing Field
That history is an American Apartheid, a regime of exclusion not confined to the Deep South but sanctioned at the highest levels of national life, including the playing fields. From its inception in 1906 through the early 1970s, the NCAA operated as a gentlemen’s agreement for segregation, formally barring Black athletes from member institutions, particularly in the powerhouse conferences of the South. For seven decades, the Paul Robesons, Jackie Robinsons, and Jesse Owenses were brilliant, solitary exceptions proving a cruel rule. The Civil Rights Movement forced the gates open, leading to the rapid “tanning” of revenue sports by the 1980s. But the institutional response was not embrace, but a strategic recalibration of exclusion.

The Bureaucratic Barrier: When “Eligibility” Became the New Gate
When blatant segregation became illegal and immoral, the mechanisms of denial became bureaucratic. The NCAA’s evolving “initial eligibility” rules—Proposition 48, the Core Course requirements, sliding GPA scales tied to standardized tests—were weaponized as a more nuanced gate.
Legends like Georgetown’s John Thompson II and Temple’s John Chaney, towering figures who used their platforms without apology, called this what it was: racism. “The NCAA is a racist organization of the highest order,” Chaney declared in 1989, framing the rules as a new punishment for Black kids already punished by poverty. Thompson saw the cynical cycle: athletes were used as integration’s pawns under the guise of benevolence, then discarded with the same paternalistic logic when their numbers grew too great.

The Instinctual Knowledge: A Community Remembers What Was Lost
This is the buried trauma in the collective memory of Black sports fandom. It is the instinctual knowledge that for every Shedeur Sanders lighting up a Power 5 stadium today, there were countless Willie “Satchel” Pages, “Bullet” Bob Hayeses, and Doug Williamses of yesteryear who were denied the stage, their stats relegated to the glory of HBCU lore, their professional careers delayed or diminished. It is the understanding that the path was not cleared, but grudgingly conceded, inch by contested inch.

This brings us back to Shedeur. His journey is a direct rebuke to that entire historical project of exclusion.

Shedeur as Historical Agency, Not Just Athletic Talent
He began not at a traditional blue-blood program, but at Jackson State University, an HBCU, under his father’s tutelage. There, he didn’t just play; he dominated, showcasing a talent so undeniable it forced the mainstream to look to the HBCU, reversing the decades-long drain of talent from them. His subsequent transfer to Colorado and his record-shattering performance—37 touchdowns, 4,134 yards, Big 12 Offensive Player of the Year—wasn’t an assimilation. It was an annexation. He carried the HBCU-developed swagger into Boulder and made it the epicenter of college football.

His confidence, therefore, is read by the Black community as more than personal bravado. It is historical agency. It is the embodiment of a truth: “You could not keep us out forever, and now that we are in, we will not perform with grateful humility. We will excel with the unmistakable flair of those who know the cost of the seat we now occupy.” His much-discussed “swagger” is the posture of liberation from the historical narrative of being the excluded, the regulated, the “problem” to be managed by NCAA legislation.

The Echo in the Draft: A Familiar Story Reinforces the Bond
The fact that his prolific college career culminated in a fifth-round NFL draft pick—seen by many as a slight given his production—only reinforces the narrative. The community, schooled by history, sees the echoes: the subtle devaluation, the search for flaws in the Black quarterback, the institutional reluctance to anoint him the franchise cornerstone his college play warranted. Yet, even in that perceived slight, the support does not waver; it intensifies. Because the story is no longer about what the gatekeepers decide. It’s about what Shedeur, and by extension the community that sees itself in him, has already proven.

An Unfinished Battle, and a Symbol of Its Progress
The contemporary NCAA debate continues, now often couched in the softer language of “unintended consequences” for minority students, as noted by groups like the National Association for Coaching Equity and Development. But the shift from Chaney’s and Thompson’s explicit charges of racism to today’s milder objections itself tells a story of a battle partly won, yet ongoing.

Shedeur Sanders walks onto the field bearing the weight and the defiance of that unfinished battle. The Black community’s embrace is a celebration of his individual talent, yes, but it is also a collective, cathartic affirmation. It is the joy of witnessing a grandson of American Apartheid not just cross the forbidden line, but do so with a dismissive wave, a nod to the crowd, and a perfect spiral into the end zone. His confidence is their vindication. His swagger is their memory, weaponized, and set free.

“Coonish” Behavior: Stephen A. Smith, Jason Whitlock, and the Price of Modern Manumission

By Delgreco K. Wilson, Contributing Opinion Writer

For centuries in America, a grim and paradoxical transaction has shadowed the Black quest for advancement: the exchange of communal fidelity for individual freedom. It is a bargain as old as the nation itself, rooted not in the brutality of the whip, but in the insidious mechanics of psychological and economic leverage. Today, we witness a modern, media-saturated iteration of this dynamic. In the sprawling arena of sports commentary, figures like Stephen A. Smith and Jason Whitlock have built lucrative empires. Their success, however, is shadowed by a persistent and bitter accusation from within the Black community: that they are “coons,” a devastating label of racial betrayal. Their critics are identifying a pattern that feels like a 21st-century performance of meritorious manumission—a striving for personal elevation and favor by servicing narratives that comfort a powerful, predominantly white conservative audience, often at the expense of Black solidarity.

The Historical Bargain: Labor for a Glimmer of Freedom

The foundation of this American transaction is centuries deep. The economic architecture of the early republic was built on Black labor without Black liberty. From the cotton fields that fueled the national economy to the domestic servitude that sustained its households, Black work was the indispensable engine. Yet, the profit from that labor was perpetually alienated. The promise, always dangling, was that exceptional service, superhuman diligence, or unwavering loyalty might be rewarded with a sliver of relief—a less cruel master, a chance to buy one’s family, a mythical pathway to acceptance. This established a corrosive template: advancement could be contingent on reinforcing the system’s logic and calming its conscience. The doctrine of “racial uplift” that followed Emancipation demanded impeccable, respectable conduct to assuage white America’s fears and guilt, proving worthiness for basic citizenship. Diligence became a currency, not just for wages, but for attempting to purchase dignity from a system that withheld it by design.

The Modern Marketplace: From Plantations to Podcasts

The post-Civil Rights era did not erase this template; it digitized and broadcast it. The terrain shifted from physical plantations to cultural and ideological ones. As structural and institutional racism persisted, a new marketplace emerged for Black voices willing to translate Black struggle for white audiences, particularly those eager to believe the work of racial justice is complete. This is where the spectacle of figures like Smith and Whitlock becomes a case study. Their playbook is not one of outright bigotry, but of strategic division and absolution, performed for mass consumption. They operate within a media ecosystem that generously rewards controversy that confirms existing biases, creating a powerful incentive to mine intra-community conflict for content that resonates with a broader, whiter audience.

The Playbook of Modern Manumission

Their performance manifests in several consistent, damaging patterns:

The Dilution of Collective Grievance. When vandals scrawled a racial slur on LeBron James’s home, Jason Whitlock dismissed it as a “disrespectful inconvenience,” arguing racism is “primarily an issue for the poor” and that wealthy Black people should not “embrace victimhood.” This is a classic maneuver. By creating a class hierarchy of pain, he fractures communal empathy and offers a narrative of exception. It tells white audiences that systemic racism is either overstated or a crutch for the unsuccessful, while offering successful Black individuals a ticket out of collective identity—if they renounce it.

The Policing of Black Expression. Stephen A. Smith faced backlash for instructing Black Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett on how she “should talk to the President,” a moment critics saw as enforcing respectability politics. This echoes the historical demand that Black anger be polished into palatable, non-threatening discourse. The transaction here is clear: temper your tone, conform to my comfort, and your voice will be amplified on my platform. It is a modern-day echo of being rewarded for “knowing one’s place” in the conversation.

The Strategic Alliance. Perhaps most revealing is the alignment with architects of racial backlash. Smith’s frequent appearances on Sean Hannity’s show are not incidental. Hannity, who trafficked in the racist “birther” conspiracy against President Barack Obama, represents a media ecosystem invested in denying the very structural racism that defines so much of Black American life. To be a welcomed guest in that house is to perform a powerful act of reassurance. It signals that the analysis will not be too sharp, the history not too inconvenient, the demands not too disruptive. This alliance is the clearest evidence of the transaction: access and platform in exchange for a veneer of ideological diversity that demands little substantive change.

A Spectacle Within the Spectacle: The Smith-Whitlock Feud

The bitter, very public feud between Smith and Whitlock themselves underscores the performative nature of this space. They trade nuclear insults, with Smith calling Whitlock “the devil in the flesh” and “worse than a white supremacist,” while Whitlock labels Smith a “fraud” and a “pathological liar” installed by corporate powers. This is more than personal animus; it is a brutal competition within a narrow lane. They are jousting for the crown of the most compelling Black voice in the conservative-coded spectacle, each accusing the other of the very inauthenticity and opportunism their critics see in them both. It is a meta-commentary on the transaction itself, exposing the ruthless jockeying for position and favor that underlies it. Their conflict dramatizes the ultimate isolation of this path: a solitary pursuit of status that necessitates tearing down the nearest competitor, leaving solidarity in ruins.

The Justification for Disavowal: Preserving Collective Struggle

And so, the community’s fierce condemnation—the label of “coon,” the disavowal—is not a denial of their right to individual opinion. It is a historical and political judgment. It is the recognition that their chosen path to “merit” mirrors the old, soul-crushing bargain. They are seen as seeking manumission from the burdens of racial solidarity by performing a service: managing Black anger, explaining away Black pain, and validating the view that the primary remaining barriers are personal, not systemic.

The justified fury they provoke is born of a deep understanding that true liberation has never been won through these solitary transactions. The March on Washington, the Civil Rights Act, the political power of the Black electorate—these were won through collective struggle, un-bought and un-bossed. To see Black media elites today build personal wealth and brand power by seemingly undermining that collective project feels like a profound betrayal. It is the spectacle of the historically shackled selling a blueprint for lighter chains, and calling it freedom.

Conclusion: The Unfinished Story and the Refusal

In the end, the saga of Smith and Whitlock is a painful reflection of an unfinished American story. It reveals that the marketplace for racial commentary still rewards those who make the complex simple, the systemic personal, and the uncomfortable soothing. Their success is a testament not to their individual genius, but to the enduring demand for a certain kind of Black voice—one that, for a price, helps assuage a nation’s guilt without demanding the fundamental change that true absolution requires. The Black community’s disowning of this model is not an act of censorship, but an act of preservation. It is a refusal to let the transaction of the past define the value of their future. It is a declaration that some forms of meritorious manumission are, in fact, a more sophisticated bondage.

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Delgreco Wilson 

Wilson formerly taught Comparative Politics and International Relations at Lincoln University. He is a leading political analyst, educator, and advocate whose work centers on empowering Black Americans through a deeper understanding of political strategy and its historical roots in the fight against systemic racism and white supremacy. A prominent voice in the Greater Philadelphia Region, Wilson brings a wealth of academic rigor and real-world insight to his analysis of Black political thought and action.

Wilson’s expertise extends beyond the classroom. His incisive columns and articles have been featured in prominent publications such as the Philadelphia Inquirer,  Philadelphia Tribune, Baltimore Afro-American  and Delaware County Daily Times. A sought-after commentator, he regularly contributes to radio programs and podcasts across the Mid-Atlantic region, offering sharp analysis and actionable strategies for advancing racial justice and equity.

F*ck Him! Why Black Athletes Should Shun Auburn’s Bruce Pearl

PHILADELPHIA, PA – In the aftermath of the assassination of far-right commentator Charlie Kirk, a predictable and distressing pattern has emerged. His death has been met with solemn tributes from powerful allies who have chosen to whitewash a legacy defined by racial animus. Among them is Bruce Pearl, the high-profile head coach of Auburn University’s men’s basketball team. In voicing his “unequivocal support” for Kirk and stating that Kirk “was right about everything he said,” Pearl has offered a profound insight into his own worldview.

For the elite Black basketball prospects being relentlessly recruited by Pearl, and for the parents who entrust their sons to him, this endorsement is not a minor political aside. It is a glaring red flag. It reveals an alignment with a ideology that fundamentally devalues their humanity. In the high-stakes world of college athletics, where coaches wield immense power over the young men in their program, aligning with a coach who champions a racist provocateur is not just a risk—it is an unacceptable compromise.

The Unvarnished Racism of Charlie Kirk

To understand the gravity of Pearl’s endorsement, one must first confront the uncontested record of Charlie Kirk’s rhetoric. This was not a man engaged in good-faith political debate; he was a propagandist who built a career on dehumanization and racial stereotyping. His comments, meticulously documented over years on his show, reveal a deeply ingrained pattern of racism and white supremacy.

Kirk’s philosophy was rooted in the “great replacement” conspiracy theory, a white supremacist trope that claims a deliberate plot is underway to diminish the influence of white people. He stated, “The great replacement strategy, which is well under way every single day in our southern border, is a strategy to replace white rural America with something different”. This theory, which has inspired mass shooters in Pittsburgh, El Paso, and Buffalo, was not a fringe element of his commentary but a central pillar.

His views on Black Americans were particularly venomous and relied on the oldest and most harmful stereotypes. He trafficked in the racist notion of Black criminality, asserting without evidence that “prowling Blacks go around for fun to go target white people, that’s a fact”. He repeatedly questioned the intelligence and competence of Black people, especially in positions of authority. Upon seeing a Black pilot, his first thought was, “boy, I hope he’s qualified” . He reduced accomplished Black women to affirmative action tokens, crudely speculating that a Black customer service worker might be a “moronic Black woman” who got her job not through excellence but through quota systems. He went further, claiming that prominent Black women like Michelle Obama and Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson lacked the “brain processing power” to be taken seriously and had to “steal a white person’s slot”.

His revisionist history on race was equally alarming. In a debate, he callously argued that “Black America is worse than it has been in the last 80 years,” downplaying the horrific era of Jim Crow lynching that saw thousands of Black Americans murdered by racist mobs. When confronted with this history, he dismissed it. He even labeled the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964 a “mistake” that was turned into an “anti-white weapon.”

This body of work—a relentless campaign to question, demean, and belittle Black achievement and Black pain—is what Bruce Pearl has deemed “right about everything.”

The Power of a Coach and the Failure of Leadership

The role of a major collegiate basketball coach extends far beyond drawing up plays. For the young athletes who leave their homes to play for them, coaches become surrogate parents, mentors, and the most significant authority figures in their lives. They shape not only athletes but young men. Their influence touches on everything from discipline and work ethic to mental health, social awareness, and personal identity.

A coach’s worldview matters. It permeates the culture of the team. A coach who believes, as Kirk did, that systemic racism is a myth, will be ill-equipped to understand or support a player grappling with the realities of being a Black man on a predominantly white campus or dealing with racial abuse from fans. A coach who tacitly endorses the idea that Black people are prone to criminality will bring that bias to his interactions with his players. A coach who champions a movement that frames their very presence as a “replacement” of white America cannot be a true guardian of their well-being.

Bruce Pearl has voluntarily disqualified himself from this sacred trust. By fully embracing Kirk’s ideology, he has signaled that he operates in a reality where the legitimate fears, struggles, and historical oppression of Black people are either invisible or irrelevant to him. How can a young Black man expect empathy from a coach who applauds a man that called George Floyd a “scumbag”? How can a player trust a mentor who aligns with someone who believes the Civil Rights Act was an “anti-white” mistake?

This is not a partisan issue; it is a human one. It is about basic dignity. As an article in First and Pen argued, Pearl’s support for Kirk is part of a pattern of “racial politics” infused with “niceties” to aid recruitment, a strategy that allows him to benefit from the labor of the very people whose humanity his chosen ideology denigrates.

Auburn’s Troubling Environment and the Viable Alternatives

This is not an abstract concern. Auburn University has recently been grappling with its own serious allegations of racial inequity. A lawsuit filed by Travis Thomas, a former Black athletic academic advisor, alleges a hostile work environment and wrongful termination after he reported being berated by white supervisors and raised concerns about a grade being changed for a football player. While a court dismissed the hostile work environment claim due to the high legal bar for such cases, it allowed his claims of race discrimination and retaliation to proceed, noting a pattern of antagonism that followed his complaints. This case paints a picture of an athletic department where Black employees can feel marginalized and where speaking up carries risk.

Furthermore, the broader environment for Black college athletes is often psychologically taxing. They frequently compete at Predominantly White Institutions (PWIs) where they are a minority, face racial microaggressions, and often feel unsupported by their institutions. They are pushed to their physical and mental limits by a system that has been criticized for profiting from their labor. In this high-pressure context, the need for a coach who is not just a tactical genius but a compassionate leader who understands their experience is paramount.

Prospects have a choice. They are not obligated to subject themselves to a coach who has endorsed a racist worldview. There are countless programs across the country with coaches who not not only excel at winning games but also actively strive to create an inclusive, supportive, and empowering environment for their Black players. These coaches understand that nurturing a player’s mental health and personal growth is just as important as developing his jump shot. They see the whole person, not just the athlete.

A Choice About More Than Basketball

For a top recruit, the decision often seems to be about television exposure, tournament appearances, and pathway to the pros. These are important factors. But the choice of a coach is also a choice about what values will be reinforced during some of the most formative years of a young man’s life.

Playing for Bruce Pearl means playing for a man who has stated that the provocateur who trafficked in the “great replacement” theory and called Black pilots unqualified was “right about everything.” It means accepting that your coach is on record supporting a movement that sees your success as a threat and your presence as a problem.

Black athletic talent is not a commodity to be harvested by those who would deny its full humanity. It is a gift that should be nurtured by leaders who respect it, who understand the context from which it comes, and who are committed to defending the player as fiercely as they coach him. Bruce Pearl, by his own admission, is not that leader. Elite Black prospects and their families would be wise to believe him, and to take their talents to a program where they are valued not for what they can do on the court, but for who they are.

On the Death of a Racist: Mourning, Morality and the Machinery of Hate

PHILADELPHIA, PA – The brutal murder of Charlie Kirk, the polarizing right-wing activist and founder of Turning Point USA, presents a complex moral quandary, particularly for the Black Americans he so frequently targeted. How does a community mourn a man who dedicated his public life to questioning its humanity, intelligence, and rightful place in this nation? The answer lies not in the simplistic binaries of celebration or grief, but in a clear-eyed analysis of the system he served and a reaffirmation of the values he sought to undermine.

First, a necessary human gesture: to his family, friends, and loved ones, we extend sincere condolences. The loss of a son, a partner, a friend is a profound and private sorrow, a pain no one deserves. Our empathy for their personal grief is a measure of our own humanity, a quality that was often absent in the object of their mourning.

But public figures live a public life, and their legacy is rightly subject to public scrutiny. To assess Kirk’s impact, one must move beyond a laundry list of vile comments—though the list is long and telling. His mocking of Black pilots, his demeaning of Black women like Michelle Obama as lacking “the brain processing power” to be taken seriously, his characterization of George Floyd as a “scumbag,” his promotion of the antisemitic “Great Replacement” theory, and his relentless crusade against any effort to teach America’s racial history or promote diversity—these were not gaffes or slips. They were, as Neely Fuller Jr. would frame them in his seminal work, The United Independent Compensatory Code/System/Concept, consistent, functional components of a larger system.

Fuller’s conceptualization of racism/white supremacy is not about individual malice but about a comprehensive, global power structure. He posits that this system operates through established patterns across ten areas of human activity: economics, education, entertainment, labor, law, politics, religion, sex, and war/counter-war. Its goal is the continued domination of white people over non-white people. Through this lens, Charlie Kirk was not an outlier but a highly effective mechanic for this machine.

His activism was a case study in applying Fuller’s framework. In education, he fought to dismantle diversity initiatives and silence teachings on systemic racism, ensuring a curriculum that maintains a white-dominated historical narrative. In economics and labor, his rhetoric casting Black professionals as unqualified “diversity hires” was a direct action to undermine their economic standing and justify their exclusion from opportunity. In law, his dismissals of police brutality victims sought to legitimize state violence against Black bodies. In politics, his organization worked to mobilize a youth base around a platform that explicitly framed racial justice as a threat.

Kirk understood that in the entertainment arena of modern media, outrage is currency. He capitalized on racist activism, monetizing contempt and building a lucrative brand by feeding a hunger for a world where white grievance remains central and unchallenged. He was not a lone wolf howling into the void; he was a prolific supplier for the vast network of what Fuller would call the “system of white supremacy.”

So how do well-intentioned Black people—the primary targets of his project—respond to his death? With a steadfast refusal to be consumed by the very hatred he peddled.

The most powerful response is not to dance on his grave—that would be to engage in the same dehumanization he practiced. Nor is it to perform a forgiveness not yet earned. It is to continue the diligent, unglamorous work of building a world that renders his ideology obsolete. It is to:

1. Mourn the Harm, Not the Man. Grieve for the people his words wounded, for the college student who heard her existence debated as a “slot” stolen from a white peer, for the professional whose achievements were clouded by his toxic narrative. Channel the energy of outrage into shoring up these very communities, supporting Black mental health initiatives, and defending the DEI programs he attacked, which remain critical pathways to equity.

2. Expose the System, Not Just the Symptom. Kirk was a symptom of a enduring disease. His death does not mean the disease is cured. Use his legacy as a teachable moment to explain, using Fuller’s comprehensive model, how such figures are manufactured and rewarded. Analyze how they plug into the areas of economics (fundraising off hate), politics (voter mobilization through fear), and law (shaping judicial nominees). The goal is to dismantle the machinery, not just applaud the breaking of one cog.

3. Reclaim the Narrative with Unassailable Excellence. The ultimate rebuttal to a man who questioned Black capability is to live in defiant brilliance. To fly the planes, lead the corporations, teach the classes, create the art, and write the laws with unwavering excellence. It is to live in the full, complex, and triumphant humanity that his ideology denied.

Charlie Kirk’s death is a footnote. The struggle he exemplified is an ongoing volume. The appropriate response from the Black community is a collective, weary sigh for the unnecessary pain he caused, followed by a deep breath and a renewed commitment to the work. It is the work of affirming life in the face of his death-driven rhetoric. It is the work of building, in Fuller’s terms, a “justice system” to replace the “white supremacy system.” That work—dignified, determined, and unstoppable—is the most profound mourning and the most powerful rebuke imaginable.