Am I Racist?

Someone I love once asked me, “Am I racist?” I didn’t have the words then. I do now.

A few years ago, someone I love asked me a question that made my stomach drop.

“Honestly,” they said, voice cracking just a little, “do you think I’m racist?”

We were sharing a bottle of wine at the end of a long day—the kind of evening where the lighting is low, your guard is down, and things that have been sitting unspoken finally find their way out. It wasn’t an accusation or a joke. It wasn’t defensive. It was scared. Honest. Raw. They were asking me to see them—and to tell them something they weren’t sure they wanted to hear.

And in that moment, I didn’t say what I wanted to say.

Not because I didn’t have an answer. I did.

This person had caused me harm—more than once. Over the years, I had quietly collected moments: microaggressions, loaded comments, silences that screamed. Some small, some sharp. None of them ever really addressed. I had wanted to be honest. I had tried to be, once or twice. But I’d been met with resistance. With deflection. With the kind of defence that turns vulnerability into a dead end.

So when they asked “Am I racist?”, I froze.

I didn’t want to rehash every moment just to be let down again. I didn’t want to offer up my pain to be debated. I didn’t have the energy to navigate their fear and my fatigue. I didn’t have the language or emotional capacity to hold the tenderness of that moment. I didn’t know how to untangle the fear in their eyes from the truth they were circling around.

So I changed the subject. Made a joke. Lightened the mood.

And I’ve thought about that moment a lot since then—about what I wish I’d said. About what that question was really asking.

If I could go back, this is what I’d say now.

When someone asks, “Am I racist?” it’s rarely about the dictionary definition. It’s not even always about a specific incident. It’s usually a stand-in for a deeper, more tangled fear:

• “Did I hurt someone?”

• “Did I fail to show up?”

• “Am I a bad person?”

• “Have I absorbed something I don’t know how to name?”

It’s a question that often shows up after something. A rupture. A calling-in. A moment that didn’t go how they imagined. And beneath it is almost always shame. Because if the answer is yes… what then?

Let’s be honest: asking “Am I racist?” is a little like asking “Am I a bad person?” It centers the feeler, not the impacted. It's self-protective. It seeks relief. It’s hoping to be let off the hook.

But growth doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from accountability.

Here’s the thing: racism isn’t just about slurs or hate. It’s about hierarchy. It’s not always loud or violent. Sometimes it’s casual. Polite. Even well-intentioned.

Racism lives in systems and stories. It lives in how you move through the world, whose pain you notice, who you interrupt, who you believe. It lives in what’s normalized and what’s ignored.

So the question isn’t if you’ve absorbed racism. The question is how it shows up—and what you do once you see it.

“Am I racist?” Isn’t the Right Question. It’s a plea to be comforted, to be let off the hook. It seeks reassurance, not responsibility.

So instead of asking “Am I racist?”, ask:

“When have I been complicit in racism—and what will I do about it now?”

That question invites depth. It creates space for reflection. It moves us beyond binaries and into something more honest.

If you’re alive in this system, you’ve participated in it—knowingly or not. That includes me. That includes you.

You don’t have to wear a white hood or scream slurs to participate in racism. You don’t even have to think you’re racist. You just have to keep choosing what feels easy—comfort, silence, plausible deniability. That’s it. That’s the bar. Low, but still somehow missed. But racism isn’t just about personal identity or intent—it’s about impact, power, and participation.

A lot of us were taught that racism is a character flaw, like being rude to waitstaff or not texting back. So when someone says, “Hey, that thing you said was racist,” the instinct is to shout “But I’m a good person!” louder than your internal shame spiral.

So no, “Am I racist?” isn’t actually the most useful question. It’s a trapdoor to nowhere. If your actions or beliefs uphold racial hierarchies, you are participating in racism—whether or not you see yourself that way. This is why asking “Am I racist?” isn’t really the most useful question. The goal isn’t to avoid being seen as “a racist,” but to commit to the work of anti-racism, even when it has nothi

Let’s be honest: the question “Am I racist?” isn’t doing what you think it’s doing.

Here’s the thing about asking “Am I racist?”—it’s not a real question. It’s a performance review, and you're both the manager and the employee, nervously scanning for signs that you're still a “good person.” It’s less inquiry and more identity crisis, the kind that spirals into Google searches like “can I be racist if I have a Black friend?” or “is it racist to ask someone where they’re really from?” (Spoiler: yes, still yes.)

But when you make it about your feelings—your guilt, your discomfort, your desperate need to not be “one of the bad ones”—you miss the actual point: how your behaviour shows up in the world. You can reject the label all you want, but if your choices uphold racism, the impact doesn’t magically vanish because you cried after reading Me and White Supremacy.

This isn’t about chasing moral perfection or collecting allyship points like Pokémon cards. This is about the choices you make when nobody’s clapping. It’s about facing your own stuff without curling into a shame burrito or rage-commenting under someone’s post.

It looks like:

• Being curious without needing to be right

• Listening without jumping in to defend yourself

• Taking responsibility without falling apart

• Making things right without making it about you

• Learning without demanding free labour from the people already holding the most

It’s noticing when you’ve caused harm—yes, even when your intentions were good—and making a different choice next time. A less comfortable one. A more human one.

Not because you’re dying to prove you’re not racist, but because you care more about what happens to people than how your ego feels in the aftermath.

That’s not perfection. That’s growth. And it’s way more interesting.

To the person over wine:

No, I don’t think you’re a racist.
But you’ve said and done racist things. You’ve caused harm. That matters.

“Am I racist?” isn’t the right question. It’s about comfort, not accountability.

If I could go back, I’d look you in the eye and say: “When have you been complicit in racism—and if so, where would you like to go from here?”

Because the identity that matters isn’t the one obsessed with being not racist.
It’s the one committed to becoming actively anti-racist.
Not the one who asks “Am I?”—but the one who asks “What am I doing?”

Made it this far? Nice to know I’m not yelling into the void (today). Thank you for being here and for your energy.

If you liked it, send it to someone else to… well, read this later.