What If There's More Than One Way to Solve Racism?
It's Really Not That Hard When You Think On It
Adamo Scultori (Ghisi), Deliberatio Omnium Difficillima (The Most Difficult of All Decisions), 1547–87. Hercules at the crossroads with female personifications of Virtue and Vice. Metz Collection, open gallery.
Let's start with some joyous news: my novel Coddled Children is nearly here. The translation is complete, and I'm just waiting for the perfect cover to wrap this work of art. While I wait, I want to share a fragment from what I consider my most important chapter, along with the reasoning behind it.
But first, I need to tell you something about myself and why I'm writing this.
As someone who navigates the world with severe disabilities, I know intimately what it's like when systems work against you. I know the sting of being underestimated, not taken seriously, or treated as less intelligent or capable. I also know the weight of carrying the prejudices that others have placed on you. But through my own journey, I've learned something crucial: when facing injustice and inequality, you have two fundamental choices. You can spend your energy blaming the world and demand retribution, or you can focus on building what's better. I choose the second.
This perspective has shaped how I view one of the most pressing issues of our time: racism and how we address it. I believe we're at a crossroads, and the path we're currently on—however well-intentioned—is keeping us stuck in cycles of conflict rather than moving us toward genuine progress.
What if there’s another way?
The current approach seems to focus on managing guilt, enforcing demographic quotas, and ensuring that historical injustices remain vividly present in every generation's consciousness. But I believe this keeps us trapped in cycles of resentment, division, and backward-looking anger. Instead, I want to explore three key areas where I think we can do better: moving beyond inherited guilt, prioritizing individual merit over group identity, and teaching history without burdening children with trauma that isn't theirs to carry.
I believe there's another way, and it can be captured in one word: respect.
Before I continue, let me acknowledge that I'm not the only voice questioning today's approaches to racism. I've had enlightening conversations with great thinkers like
from New Outlook, who challenges groupthink and identity-driven narratives in his own authentic way. I'd also recommend and for their thoughtful perspectives on these issues.Here's what I think we need to consider:
1. Moving Beyond Inherited Guilt
When we focus on building a better future, one of the biggest obstacles we face is the weight of inherited guilt. I understand why this concept exists - the injustices of slavery were real and devastating. But I believe we need to examine whether carrying this guilt forward actually helps us progress, or keeps us stuck in the past.
There's no dispute about what happened during four centuries of slavery: the massive forced relocation of people, the abuse, starvation, beatings, rapes, and countless killings. It was a monumental injustice inflicted on millions, and proper restoration has never occurred. These are facts we can all acknowledge.
But here's where I think we've taken a wrong turn. The absence of restoration doesn't automatically create what some call a 'white debt.' For such a debt to exist, there must be individual accountability. This assumes two things: first, that all white people were involved in slavery, and second, that moral responsibility can be transferred across generations. I believe both assumptions are flawed and counterproductive.
Yes, some nobility, wealthy merchants, and plantation owners were heavily involved in slavery. But they represented a small part of the population. Most ordinary people had no involvement and gained no financial benefit from slavery. You might argue they should have spoken out, but does silence alone create debt? If so, how guilty are we today for not fighting against every injustice around us? The answer reveals the essence of something we all struggle with: we can only control a small part of life—our words, our beliefs, our thoughts and our actions. Everything else, however well-intentioned we may be, changes nothing.
Even more problematic is what I call the 'inherited sin' approach—the idea that guilt passes through generations like inherited property. Should grandchildren pay because their grandfathers were wrong? This reasoning has no legal standing, but more importantly, it fails morally. When you judge someone by their ancestors' actions rather than their own character, you're not seeing the individual—you're projecting your grievances onto them based on their background. Ironically, this is exactly what racism does: judging people by characteristics they were born with rather than who they are as individuals. This backward focus divides us instead of bringing us together. We cannot change the past or deliver justice to people long dead. We can only learn and move forward.
Here's what I believe: for most of us, regardless of color, life today presents enough challenges as it is. Our responsibilities lie in how we face those challenges and the opportunities before us. Taking responsibility for events before our time won't bring solutions. Taking responsibility for our actions today will. Because, in the end, now is all we have.
2. Building Success Through Merit
If we want to build a society where everyone can thrive regardless of background, I believe we need to focus on what actually creates opportunity and success. This means looking beyond demographics to what really matters: talent, effort, and character.
I understand the intention behind diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. They emerged from a genuine desire to address real inequalities. But I've come to believe that when we make race the primary factor in decision-making—whether to exclude or include—we're using the very logic we're trying to overcome.
The essence of racism is judging someone by the color of their skin rather than the content of their character. It doesn't matter what noble intentions we have or what we call ourselves—when we make decisions based on what's on the outside instead of what's on the inside, we're employing racist thinking. And yes, that means we all do this sometimes. We all generalize, we all have preferences, we all discriminate in our personal choices. For the most part, that's human nature.
The problem arises when institutions start making these decisions systematically. Whether it's exclusion or inclusion, both approaches see individuals the same way: as representatives of their demographic group rather than as unique people with their own capabilities. The first assumes you're not good enough because of your race; the second assumes you need help because of your race. Either way, it was never about you.
This is why I believe meritocracy offers a better path forward. It means abandoning the focus on skin color altogether and simply choosing the best person for the job. Focus on excellence and value intelligence and capability above all else. Treat everyone as an individual, not as a representative of their demographic group. Judge people by their character, talent, skills, and work ethic instead of characteristics they were born with and have no control over.
Critics often argue that meritocracy won't produce equal outcomes. But what kind of equality are we really after? Equal representation of talent, or equal representation of demographics? The first creates prosperity for everyone. The second often leads to mediocrity.
When you cast a wide net and choose the best candidates without bias in any direction, you naturally get genuine diversity of backgrounds and perspectives. No group has a monopoly on excellence. True diversity comes from merit-based selection, not from artificial demographic quotas.
3. Learning from History Without Living in It
When we choose to truly live together rather than letting the past divide us, we must ask ourselves: how do we remember the lessons history taught us without becoming its prisoners?
There's wisdom in the words of novelist Robin Hobb that I think captures something crucial about where we stand today:
"The problem is not that we forget the past. It is that we recall it too well. Children recall wrongs that enemies did to their grandfathers, and blame the granddaughters of the old enemies. Children are not born with memories of who insulted their mother or slew their grandfather or stole their land. Those hates are bequeathed to them, taught them, breathed into them. If adults didn't tell children of their hereditary hates, perhaps we would do better."
This reveals something we rarely discuss: the difference between remembering history and actively keeping the wounds open. Many Black children, especially in Europe and the United States, grow up saturated with slavery narratives from birth. They inherit not just knowledge of their ancestors' suffering, but also its crushing emotional weight. They walk around with trauma that isn't theirs to carry, with no one to release them from burdens that were never meant to be theirs.
Let's reconsider white privilege in this context. While some wealthy white families may live without significant adversity, for most of us, life is as challenging as it is for anyone else. Perhaps the real white privilege is simply that white children are more often raised without this inherited burden of historical trauma. What would happen if we stopped burdening black children this way?
I'm not advocating that we should forget. If we forget, history will only repeat itself. But if we remember too intensely, if we institutionalize trauma and pass it down like inheritance, history transforms victims into perpetrators. Look at how trauma shaped Israel's treatment of its neighbors after the Holocaust. Look at how apartheid's legacy influences the ANC's policies toward white farmers in South Africa today. Trauma, when institutionalized and passed down generations, doesn't heal—it metastasizes.
This creates a tragic irony that I believe we must acknowledge: the most effective barriers to black progress today often come from within black communities themselves. There are many highly successful black individuals—and I don't mean just entertainers or athletes. Look at Thomas Sowell or Colin Powell, brilliant men respected by all, who achieved success because they refused to see themselves as victims. But how are they celebrated? From what I've observed, black individuals who try to move beyond victimization face their harshest criticism from their own communities. They're called sellouts, Uncle Toms, Bounties, or Oreos. They're "not black enough" or "white on the inside." Even here on Substack, I see how courageous black individuals who speak out against victimhood are met with hateful comments about their origins from their own community, accompanied by old photos of lynchings. But here's the thing: if you cannot forget, if you cannot forgive, you cannot move forward either.
This policing creates a double-edged sword: the very people that anti-racism efforts claim to help, become prisoners of identities built around historical grievance. Individual success becomes betrayal. Personal responsibility becomes "acting white." As long as communities police their own people this way, all the DEI policies and guilt in the world won't matter. You can't lift people up who hold themselves back.
But there's hope: slavery belongs to the past. The time has come to release the mental chains as well.
Please enjoy the following fragment of Chapter 15 of Coddled Children:
"Much of it is true, you know. White men have committed many atrocities in the past. What they did is unforgivable. But the people who committed these crimes have long since died. They can no longer apologize or face punishment. And even if they could, would that undo their actions? Is that a reason to still cling desperately to past wrongdoings today?"
Kitty sits in silence, perched on her hands and leaning forward. A tear falls onto her legs.
"I don't know," she whispers.
"Neither do I," Joshua says softly. "And revenge apparently hasn't solved anything either, because even after twenty-three years, everyone in the Free Nations still hates us. When will it be enough?"
A heavy silence descends between them. Kitty shuffles her feet.
"Never," she whispers. "It will never be enough. And whatever the Free Nations do in the name of justice will only give you reasons to hate us and seek revenge."
Joshua's shoulders relax. A warm smile spreads across his face.
"That's how I see it too. No matter how far back you go, someone has always dominated someone else. Before white men shipped slaves from Africa to the Americas, Africans had kept their own slaves for centuries. Before that slavery, white men waged crusades against Islamic rulers throughout North Africa. Before those crusades, Moors controlled Southern Europe for centuries while Vikings and Huns devastated the northern lands. Before them, Rome gripped most of Europe and North Africa in its fist. And before Rome, the Greeks dominated the Romans."
Joshua spreads his arms wide, a raw intensity in his gesture.
"And before that? I have no idea, but I doubt it was any more peaceful. We'll never move forward by endlessly battling over who committed the worst atrocities. If you ask me, the solution isn't buried in the past—it's waiting to be built in the future."
Now, there's another reason why this chapter means so much to me. But I will let you find that one out for yourself!
If you find this valuable, please punch the like button! It helps me get a little more visibility in this endless sea of publications!
I absolutely love and align with your way of thinking . Your writing is brilliant and I be burly you book