Don’t Compare Hard.
There’s a troubling pattern I’ve noticed—one that’s become louder in recent years, and almost
impossible to ignore in 2025.
It’s the tendency of some white Americans, especially those in power or proximity to power, to
compare their discomfort to oppression. To use phrases like “reverse racism,
” or to claim they’re
being silenced, targeted, or persecuted—sometimes even comparing themselves to victims of
historical atrocities. These aren’t harmless exaggerations. They reflect a deep misunderstanding
of what white supremacy actually is—and a dangerous distortion of the truth.
White supremacy is not a feeling.
It is not discomfort.
It is not being disagreed with online.
It is not being asked to unlearn language or acknowledge privilege.
White supremacy is a system. One designed—and reinforced—for centuries to place whiteness
at the center of power, culture, law, and opportunity. It began with colonization and slavery. It
was codified in law through Jim Crow, redlining, and immigration quotas. It continues in subtler
but no less harmful ways today—in education, healthcare, housing, policing, and media
representation.
It is not hypothetical. It is historical. It is current. And it is measurable.
When we talk about white supremacy, we’re not just talking about overt acts of hate. We’re
talking about patterns of dominance:
• Who gets believed.
• Who gets hired.
• Who gets deported.
• Who gets followed in a store.
• Who dies in police custody.
• Who gets a second chance—and who doesn’t.
This is not about blame. It’s about honesty.
Because what’s happening now—especially in political rhetoric—is not honesty. It’s inversion.
It’s erasure. It’s the claim that white people, particularly white Christians, are somehow now the
ones under attack. That diversity is discrimination. That equality is exclusion. That accountability
is persecution.
But you cannot compare losing unearned privilege to losing your freedom.
You cannot compare being uncomfortable to being unsafe.
And you cannot compare your resistance to change with someone else’s generations-long fight
to survive.
It is offensive. It is inaccurate. And it is deeply harmful—not just to those being erased in theprocess, but to the people making the comparison. Because it keeps them from doing the one
thing that actually moves us forward: listening.
White supremacy thrives in silence and denial. It survives when people believe they are the real
victims. And it’s been remarkably effective at preserving itself through narratives of grievance.
But what we need now is not more defensiveness.
We need humility. We need curiosity. We need people willing to say: I didn’t know. And now that
I do, I want to do better.
And we need to stop pretending that white supremacy is a relic of the past. It is embedded in
our systems, and it adapts. It doesn’t need a hood or a flag to operate. It just needs
complacency.
Before we go any further, let’s talk about the two most common deflections that come up in
these conversations:
“I’m not racist—I have Black friends.
”
And: “I’ve struggled too.
”
Here’s the hard truth:
Having Black or Brown friends doesn’t exempt you from participating in systems that harm them.
Relationships don’t erase bias. In fact, sometimes those relationships make it harder to see.
Because it’s easier to believe you couldn’t possibly be upholding something unjust if you love
someone who’s impacted by it.
But proximity isn’t the same as understanding.
And affection isn’t the same as action.
Real solidarity means being willing to name the systems, even when it’s uncomfortable. It
means believing your friends when they describe what they face—not explaining it away or
centering your own feelings in the conversation.
The second deflection is even more layered: comparing hardship.
“I grew up poor.
”
“My family struggled too.
”
“I’ve worked for everything I have.
”
None of that is in question. Struggle is real. Class struggle, trauma, abuse, and generational
pain—those things cross racial lines. But we’re not all navigating the same system. When race
and class intersect, the outcomes are different. The consequences are different. The benefit of
the doubt is distributed unequally.
Acknowledging white supremacy doesn’t deny anyone’s personal struggle. What it does is
contextualize how that struggle operates within a larger system. One where race has historically
determined whose pain is seen, whose voice is heard, and whose life is protected.
You can be hurting—and still have privilege.You can work hard—and still benefit from a system designed to favor you.
These things are not mutually exclusive. And pretending they are keeps us stuck.
Defensiveness is human. But it’s not useful. What’s useful is reflection.
What’s useful is asking, What am I missing? Who is impacted? And how can I be part of
something more honest than this?
Because the goal here isn’t guilt.
It’s growth.
And growth doesn’t come from comparison. It comes from listening, learning, and choosing to
see the whole picture—even when it’s uncomfortable.
At Grunge Luxe, we don’t treat resistance as a trend. We honor truth. We center lived
experience. And we reject the notion that justice is zero-sum. Dismantling white supremacy is
not about tearing anyone down. It’s about telling the truth. It’s about rebuilding something more
honest, more humane, and more just.
And that starts with recognizing that oppression is not up for comparison.
———————
I write this as someone raised in whiteness, with all the comfort and protection that came with it.
I also write this as someone who is no longer willing to distort the story, or to protect the illusion
that we’ve moved past this. We haven’t.
White supremacy is still active. Still violent. Still shaping policy, culture, and public safety.
If you’re feeling called out, pause. Ask yourself whether what you’re defending is truly worth
defending—or whether it’s time to let some things go, even if they once felt familiar.
Truth isn’t always easy. But it is necessary.
And we don’t get to rewrite history just because it makes us uncomfortable.