By Kamye Hugley
Nowadays, political rhetoric is increasingly portraying civil rights protections as overcorrection and even unnecessary. But the legacy of civil rights leader Jesse Jackson, who died Feb. 17, is a reminder to the nation of a different understanding of justice—one that insisted that expanding equity strengthens democracy rather than diminishes it.
Jackson spent decades challenging systems that treated Black progress as White regress. Through Operation PUSH, he successfully pressured major corporations in Black communities to expand opportunities for Black and minority leaders, directly countering fears that racial equity required White loss and instead demonstrating how broader participation makes us stronger. Jackson’s legacy underscores how these narratives operate in both national politics and within institutions that claim to prioritize equity.
Alarmingly, we are retreating to a time when centering White grievance is threatening to distort history. Comments by individuals who occupy the highest positions of government are attempting to make Whiteness synonymous with injury and victimhood and recklessly reframing civil rights in an effort to prop up White supremacy culture. And it’s a slippery slope towards institutionalizing harm. We’ve seen it before.
Narratives that prioritize White comfort over historical truth inevitably suppress or sanitize Black history and erase its centrality in American history. Myths like the Lost Cause recast White supremacist causes as noble and gloss over the brutality of slavery. And venerating historical figures like Christopher Columbus as “the original American hero” minimizes the violence and dispossession inflicted on Indigenous peoples.
When these narratives take hold, it shapes decisions, policies, and whose experiences are deemed credible and valuable. And I’ve experienced firsthand how this ideology operates in practice, serving as a tool to shrink and dehumanize.
At a former workplace, I recall receiving an all-staff email with the subject line: Whiteness History Month.
Myself and seven other colleagues, all members of the BIPOC affinity group, met with leadership about our concerns of this initiative. We raised questions about why BIPOC employees were neither consulted nor informed in advance, why participation appeared mandatory while engagement opportunities tied to Black History Month and other identity-based observances were optional, and why the initiative was introduced during a period of heightened racial trauma without consideration for its impact. When we asked why the subject line was chosen, leadership acknowledged it was meant to capture attention, likening it to clickbait. A member of the leadership team, however, countered that some colleagues felt “empowered” by the initiative, adding that White fragility had been prioritized during its planning.
Hearing this was both stunning and very painful, especially as it became clear that the voices of people of color were overlooked entirely. Worse yet, our concerns were met with skepticism and deflection. Despite articulating how the initiative left us feeling unseen, unheard, and devalued, the equity team ultimately stood firm in their decision to create the initiative, although additional planning quietly fizzled out.
What became clear was that when Whiteness is framed as something needing protection, harm is reframed as misunderstanding and accountability becomes optional, maybe even nonexistent. The result was a profound disregard for our lived experiences—and ultimately, half of the BIPOC affinity group, including myself, left the organization altogether.
This disregard reflects documented White supremacy patterns of denial and defensiveness that prioritize protecting comfort and avoiding critique over acknowledging harm and addressing it.
And when this same ideology comes from our government—the repercussions go even further and take the form of public policy that tears down democratic freedoms, infringes on human rights, and stifles dissent.
Current federal actions make it easier for employers to discriminate, which stifles equity and undermines economic growth. Policy decisions impacting reproductive health and immigration protections illustrate how denial and defensiveness at the highest levels can institutionalize inequity and amplify harm on a national scale.
In Los Angeles, the family of Keith Porter Jr., a Black man killed by an off-duty ICE agent this past New Year’s Eve, has publicly demanded accountability, describing an “ache that will never go away.” Yet public authorities have offered little transparency or accountability, reinforcing an all too familiar pattern in which state violence is met with deflection and victim-blaming. Thanks to Project 2025, we are witnessing in real time how unchecked denial and defensiveness at the highest levels can institutionalize inequity.
To be sure, discomfort can be uncomfortable. But it is not harm. And dismantling these patterns requires both individual courage and systemic accountability.
As we observe Black History Month, highlighting A Century of Black History Commemorations, Jesse Jackson’s passing should prompt reckoning instead of remembrance. And we must hold our leaders accountable—at every level—to create environments where progress is real and not tantamount to resentment.