Taking responsibility vs. accepting blame

Recently, on some message boards and elsewhere, I’ve seen several people advance the argument that “white people as a whole shouldn’t apologize to people of color for what happened in the past” or even express any kind of guilt for what’s happening at present. Upon contemplating this argument, a couple things stood out to me.

First, I think it’s a misrepresentation to say that most (or even many) people of color are asking white people to “apologize” for slavery, or segregation, or the continuing spate of police brutality. I’m sure there are some voices out there who are asking for such a thing, but I think they are remarkably few—I can’t readily identify any black intellectuals or media figures, and certainly not any of my black friends and acquaintances, who have actually asked for such an apology or insisted that white people atone for the sins of their ancestors or the police. I think what most people or color are asking for is far more reasonable, and simply includes 1) acknowledging the dark side of American history instead of whitewashing it; 2) recognizing the systemic nature of the problems that still exist as a legacy of our past; and 3) committing to help root out that lingering corruption and prejudice and replace it with something fairer—a system that genuinely lives up the professed American ideal of “liberty and justice for all.”

I have a sneaking suspicion that, among those white people who promote this narrative of a demanded apology, there’s some psychological projection going on. In the face of the obvious racial discrimination that still plagues our country—as evidenced by the ever-growing tidal wave of stories and videos depicting how our justice system is weaponized against people with darker skin—it’s hard for white people not to feel some degree of discomfort, some nagging worry that we might be contributing (even unintentionally) to this oppressive system. No one likes the idea that they might be a “bad guy,” and often the easiest thing to do to relieve such worry is to make someone else responsible for those unpleasant feelings. (E.g., “I’m not guilty of anything. Other people are just trying to make me feel that way.”) I saw a lot of this only a few years ago during the #metoo movement: plenty of men, feeling uncomfortable amidst the deluge of women opening up about rampant sexism and chronic harassment, felt compelled to pitifully declare #notallmen in an attempt to free themselves from any guilty association. As Shakespeare famously put it, “[Thou] doth protest too much, methinks.” I think plenty of women recognize the truth in the old rule of thumb that says “men are never more offended than when they’re accused of something they did.” By the same token, I think it’s often true that white people who vehemently profess their innocence (“I am the least racist person you’ve ever met” or “I simply don’t see color”) are probably seeking to deflect a subliminal sense of guilt. The fact that someone readily interprets a call for racial or gender equality as targeting them suggests that maybe there’s a reason for that guilt after all…

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Second, I think accepting responsibility is different from accepting blame. Take the example of littering. I never intentionally litter or dispose of trash in a careless way. But unfortunately many other people do. So when I volunteer with Keep Pensacola Beautiful or Ocean Hour for their group clean-ups, or when I just pick up trash while walking downtown or on the beach, am I expressing some kind of guilt? Am I “apologizing” somehow for the actions of my fellow citizens? It certainly doesn’t feel that way. It instead feels like I am saying that I have a sense of pride in my community, and I want it to be clean and beautiful and safe. Just because I am not directly responsible for the littering doesn’t mean I should simply ignore its presence and allow it to accumulate.

Also, by cleaning up individually or with a group, I/we are setting an example for the rest of the community. We are sending a message that littering is wrong and should be discouraged. We are establishing a “social proof” that littering is not what good citizens do. The concept of social proof, developed by Robert Cialdini, recognizes that humans—no matter how much we may celebrate our individuality—are in fact very inclined to conformity and herd behavior. People regularly look to others for clues concerning correct behavior, and as the Wikipedia article notes, “Social proof often leads not only to public compliance (conforming to the behavior of others publicly without necessarily believing it is correct) but also private acceptance (conforming out of a genuine belief that others are correct).”

So when I acknowledge racism and recognize that I have a role to play in eradicating it, I am not necessarily admitting personal guilt or condemning all white people; rather, I am expressing love for my community through my desire to see it become a more fair and just society, and I am trying to encourage others by modeling (always imperfectly, I know) a more caring and equitable mindset. I am willingly taking responsibility for the betterment of my community and country, not reluctantly accepting blame for the sins of the past. There’s a huge difference—the difference between me doing something (active) and something being done to me (passive). We should all strive to seek righteousness, not from the fear of being punished or criticized if we don’t, but with the hope of bettering ourselves and others if we do.

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There is an individualistic streak in American society and especially politics (more noticeable on the right and among libertarians) that argues that a person is responsible only for themselves and their own actions, and bears no significant responsibility for the broader community. It’s a mentality that might say, “Racism exists, but I don’t think that I’m racist, and therefore I don’t bear any responsibility for the actions of others.” Or similarly, “I don’t litter, so I’m not directly contributing to the problem; if there’s trash in parks and along roadways, that’s not my doing and therefore not my responsibility.” There’s certainly a narrowly-defined validity to this argument. But I think a healthy, flourishing society requires a very different mindset.

In the Bible, Jesus teaches us to “love your neighbor as yourself.” For a nation that often claims (quite noisily in many instances) to possess Christian values, America frequently seems to forget this directive, instead embracing the derisive attitude of Cain who, when asked the location of his murdered sibling, retorts “Am I my brother’s keeper?” In communities throughout our country, we seem increasingly unable to view our fellow citizens as our brothers and sisters, or even our neighbors, particularly if they differ from us in wealth, skin color, or religion. As such, when a group different from ours cries out in pain, asking for succor in the face of violence and oppression, we can casually dismiss our responsibility to help them, especially when righting the wrongs they face might entail sacrifices on our own end.

But a better, stronger society is one in which we see everyone in our community, whatever their income or gender or skin color, as our neighbors. We should try to love them as we love ourselves, which means that when we see them in pain, or witness their rights being trampled on, we help them or defend them with the same courage and commitment that we would call upon to defend ourselves. Even if our words and actions are not directly causing a problem, we should strive with our words and actions to be part of a solution. For while we can easily identify and condemn the sins of commission in others, it is imperative that we also recognize and repair the sins of omission in ourselves.