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In the United States, the presidential administration is actively working to erase past gains in civil rights and environmental justice. This tendency is manifesting in many ways, including curtailing voting rights, whitewashing U.S. history teaching materials, and rolling back social services that disproportionately affect people of color. In this context, one of the most important books I’ve read from the last decade is George Yancy’s Backlash: What Happens When We Talk Honestly About Racism in America. I strongly believe that every white person needs to read and reckon with the ideas in Yancy’s book. Backlash is a tougher but more necessary book than most popular books on race, especially in the context of 2026 being the 250th anniversary of the United States’ independence. At a time when many cling to the myth of this nation as fair and equal while white supremacy continues to dominate national and global politics, Backlash is a stern yet compassionate reminder of the importance of defining racism in terms of power. Within this context, I conducted this exclusive interview with George Yancy, who is the Samuel Candler Dobbs professor of philosophy at Emory University, a frequent contributor to Truthout, and the author, editor, and coeditor of over 25 books.
This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.
Josh Friedberg: Let’s start with the letter you wrote in 2015, “Dear White America.” What motivated you to write it?
George Yancy: In terms of context, the letter itself was my essay contribution to a series of popular interviews that I conducted with philosophers on race for The New York Times philosophy series, “The Stone.” The motivation had to do with the desire to find a critical discursive format for addressing the issue of whiteness. How does one speak to white people about something that is so familiar to them, like water is to fish, so normative and yet opaque, and thereby invisible? Indeed, how does one deploy a mode of address that attempts to speak the truth about their whiteness without resulting in forms of irrational defensiveness on their part? I wanted to communicate something about whiteness that critiqued its normative structure and how it falsely equates itself with humanity per se.
In his book Performing Purity (2003), whiteness scholar John T. Warren argues that “like layers of sand constituting a rock, the repeated enactments of [white] identity become sedimented and seemingly fixed, as if they had always been there.” I wanted to communicate to white people that their identity as white — along with the tropes of whiteness as “superior,” “virtuous,” and “pure” — was historically constructed, and that it is through their complicity that whiteness is sustained as a process of racial privilege, domination, and oppression. And I wanted them to own this hard truth. I thought that through my own show of vulnerability — where I talk honestly about my own sexism — I could perhaps touch the souls of white readers. I wanted to get them to use my capacity to expose my own complicity with sexism as a bridge that encouraged their own capacity to be honest about their whiteness and its link to anti-Blackness.
I saw the letter as one grounded in love. Like James Baldwin, I wanted to demonstrate a form of love “not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.” I was asking for nothing short of self-confrontation. As you know, the invitation was met with hatred and denial. I was called by the n-word more times than I would like to remember. Being called that word, and so many other despicable words, lends credence to my pessimism vis-à-vis white America’s honesty with itself and its history of anti-Black violence. Like W. E. B. Du Bois, I possess “a hope not hopeless, but unhopeful.”
You later wrote a booktitled Backlash about the responses you received to your letter. In my blog, I related your book to America 250 and our current incarnation of white supremacy in the U.S. Do you think Donald Trump’s presidency has affected the presence of racism in the U.S.? In other words, is racism worse with him in office or is it more of the “same old, same old?”
Writing Backlash was cathartic for me. I’ve been told that the book is hard to read — not because of its philosophical jargon, but because I don’t withhold sharing the raw vitriol that was directed at me by so many white readers. The responses were vile projections spewed from the historical formation of the white imagination — an imagination imbued with myths of “white purity.” Racialized xenophobia and white fear and resentment were unambiguous:
“He should f*** off to Africa if he doesn’t like living in a white country.”
“You’re going back to Africaaaaaa!”
“Deport him to Africa to ponder racism there.”
The irony is that I never asked white people to bring me here, to take me from Africa, to enslave me, to brutalize me, to lynch me, to make me the object of white anti-Black fantasies and desires. It was never about me, about Black people. It was about whiteness and the historical fact that white people created a fictionalized conception of Blackness to conceal their own lack. Whiteness is a structural lie that underwrites and perpetuates its delusions of ontological supremacy.
Linking Backlash to the U.S.’s 250th birthday and to Donald Trump’s presidency (2.0) is important as neither one speaks to the eradication of the toxicity of whiteness. This country’s founding is predicated on the genocide of Indigenous peoples and the denigration of Black people. Those realities speak to the ontological binary structure of whiteness. In short, whiteness creates conditions of ontological apartheid.
For me, whiteness is not anti-Black or racially xenophobic because it has gone awry; whiteness is anti-Black because its very being is anti-Black; this is how it thrives. Racism is not “worse” because of Trump. He is just its latest manifestation, the latest conduit through which the ugliness of white supremacy expresses itself shamelessly. The U.S. is either a white supremacist state, or it isn’t. There is no in-between.
For Black people, this doesn’t mean that juridically there has not been any progress. But what is juridical progress when one remains part of a white state — that reinforces collective white psychic life — that needs you to remain abject? Let’s face it. Trump’s white nationalist xenophobia and anti-Blackness — from his discourse about Black “shithole countries,” to his expressed desire for the U.S. to accept more immigrants from Norway, to his false claim that there is genocide against white South Africans, and to his claim that Haitian immigrants are eating the cats and dogs of their neighbors — is unashamed. I can easily imagine Trump saying to me: If Yancy doesn’t like America, which is the greatest country the likes of which we’ve never seen before, then he should take his woke and radical left ideas to one of those shithole countries. In short, for me, contemporary white supremacy is more of the same old, same old.
Something that struck me in your book was your compassion and empathy, as well as tough-mindedness, for whites, as you acknowledged your own sexism as a man. You see racism as being about power and privilege, not value — your approach is not,“This person is a racist and is therefore a bad person.” Can you expand on that, addressing the tension between the compassion and the toughness in your writing?
Sure. My position is grounded in the prophetic love of James Baldwin when it comes to critiquing whiteness. This doesn’t mean that I love white people because of their whiteness. That is part of the lie and seduction of whiteness, that somehow BIPOC people are expected to love whiteness, its symbolism, its aesthetics, its tropes of “greatness.” I refuse to be a consumer of that poison, to wear a white mask and forget the fact that I’m seen as a “problem” by the white state. That seduction — that act of mask-wearing — can cost me my life.
Baldwin didn’t forget that he was Black. Rather, he resisted the derogatory definitions that white people imposed upon him. So, I would say that the compassion or empathy that you’re talking about is, for me, a manifestation of Baldwinian love that will, as he says in The Fire Next Time, “force [white people] to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it.” That is Socratic to the core. When white people begin to truly interrogate their whiteness, this will place them within a state of danger. Why danger? Because this will or should generate a powerful form of disenchantment with themselves and the world that has come to accept the lie that whiteness is innocent.
I have had BIPOC students ask me, “Why do you spend so much time talking to white people about their whiteness, when you should be talking to Black people and people of color?” Well, I can do both. More importantly, I talk to white people — I place the ethical burden upon them — because they must take responsibility for the violence of whiteness and its structural binary, its us-versus-them mentality. To get white people to face the lie of their white innocence is to — perhaps — save the lives of Black people.
Also, I would add that it is too easy to say that to be racist is to be a bad person, but white people must, because of their complicity with white supremacy, carry the weight of how their whiteness denigrates me and how they are thereby positioned within a network of social relations that holds them collectively responsible. In this way, white people don’t escape the unethical dimensions of whiteness.
With the current controversies around ethnic studies and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), how do you think the ideas in Backlash have held up since its publication? Is there anything you would change or add to them now?
I think that Backlash captured the unmitigated aspirations that white people possess when it comes to desiring “white purity” and evading the reality of structural white anti-Blackness. Hence, since its publication, I’m reminded that whiteness will do anything to survive, especially through the deployment of the social, political, and existential chimera of being a target of “anti-white racism.”
In his book Ethnic Studies at the Crossroads (2026), George Lipsitz — writing about the fiction of reverse racism — writes: “Once affirmative action was invalidated by the Supreme Court and [critical race theory] lost its luster as privileged villain, it quickly became supplanted by opposition to DEI programs. Beneath the surface, this succession of moral panics about an imaginary ‘reverse racism’ entails opposition to the project of ethnic studies and indeed to any visible manifestation of larger antiracist social formations.” Lipsitz goes on to mark the difference between what I would call a form of political patchwork vis-à-vis racism as opposed to something far more substantive: “It is not that nothing ever changes in history, but that when it comes to racism the changes are often more cosmetic than substantive. W.E.B. Du Bois compared white supremacy in the U.S. to a crack in a plate that was once broken but had been patched up. Whenever the plate was dropped again, it broke along the lines of the patched-up crack because the weakness was structural, not surface.” If I was to add anything different, I would make explicit the insights of historian Jeanelle K. Hope regarding the historical and contemporary ways in which U.S. whiteness and U.S. fascism are inextricably linked.
Does your work in Backlash relate to any current or upcoming projects you are working on? Are there any parts of it that you’d like to see other thinkers and scholars reckon with?
I am currently editing a book under contract with Temple University Press that explores how Black and white philosophers and public intellectuals interpret James Baldwin’s view that white America invented the N*****. So, I continue to explore and expose what W.E.B. Du Bois, in “The Souls of White Folk,” called the entrails of whiteness. In terms of other scholars, I would especially like to see more white philosophers come to terms with their structural positionality as white and how their whiteness manifests as anti-Black. Perhaps how I write — bringing the pain and suffering close — might inspire that kind of deep psychic work, the work of lived experience, that is courageous and honest without resulting in white “innocence” framing race/racism as a distant conceptual object, buried in arcane philosophical works written by Anglo-American and European philosophers of the past.
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