How to Apologize for Being White When Encountering a Black Person

Being white is a cross all white people must bear. As a white person, you're constantly burdened by the legacy of colonization, systemic oppression, and centuries of bad hair styles. You didn’t ask for this, but now that you’re here, it’s important to acknowledge and, most crucially, apologize for your existence every time you encounter a Black person.

This guide will help you navigate the murky waters of white guilt in social interactions with Black people, ensuring that you not only apologize just the right amount, but also leave them fully aware of how sorry you are for being born white.

1. The Pre-Encounter Preparation

Before leaving your house, it’s vital to mentally prepare for any potential Black encounters. You never know when one might happen. Are you heading to the grocery store? A park? A Starbucks? Your car? Stay vigilant. There could be a Black person anywhere, and when you encounter them, you need to be ready.

Practice in front of the mirror. Repeat phrases like “I’m sorry for my privilege” or “I acknowledge the centuries of pain my skin tone represents” while holding direct eye contact with yourself. Bonus points if you can muster a single tear of white guilt.

2. The Sidewalk Sighting

It’s a beautiful day, and you’re walking down the street. Suddenly, you see a Black person approaching from the opposite direction. Oh no—it’s time to apologize for your entire racial existence.

Here’s what you do:

• Step 1: Slow your pace. You don’t want to appear like you’re avoiding them, but you also don’t want to rush into the apology. That would seem too eager, and we don’t want that.
• Step 2: As they come closer, start looking at the ground in a very ashamed manner. Your face should say, “I don’t even deserve this sidewalk. My ancestors probably paved it with oppression.”
• Step 3: As they pass, nod solemnly and say, “I’m so, so sorry for everything. Truly. Every thing.”

If they don’t respond, don’t worry—it’s not because they’re tired of hearing your endless guilt monologue. It’s probably because they’re moved to silence by your overwhelming self-awareness. You did great.

3. The Coffee Shop Confessional

You’re at a coffee shop, and a Black person is in line behind you. You could just order your coffee like a regular person, but that would be ignoring the centuries of injustice your skin represents. Here’s how to handle it:

• Step 1: Order your coffee in the most apologetic tone you can muster. Something like, “I’ll have a latte, but honestly, I probably don’t deserve it considering, you know… all of this.” Gesture vaguely at your skin.
• Step 2: When you finish, turn to the Black person behind you and offer to pay for their coffee as a tiny, inadequate token of your eternal apology for systemic racism. Do not give them a chance to say no. You need this.
• Step 3: Whisper, “I’m doing this to atone for the sins of my people” as you hand over your credit card. It’s essential that they understand the coffee is not just coffee—it’s an offering of penitence.

If they accept your gesture without much fanfare, immediately say, “No, no, you don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you for enduring everything you’ve been through because of people like me.”

4. Elevated Opportunity

You step into an elevator and a Black person gets on. There’s no escape—from your own whiteness, that is. This is prime apologizing real estate. Let’s break it down:

• Step 1: As soon as the doors close, visibly tense up as if the weight of your ancestral crimes is suffocating you. This will show them that you’re aware of the emotional burden your presence brings into any space.
• Step 2: Turn to them, eyes wide with regret, and say, “I’m really sorry you have to share this elevator with me. I mean, not me specifically, but, you know, my whole lineage.”
• Step 3: If the silence gets awkward, double down. “I just want you to know I’m trying to learn. I’m reading so many books about this.”

If the ride lasts long enough, mention your favorite Black authors, but make sure to apologize for it: “I’m really into James Baldwin’s work—oh, but I know it’s not my place to say that.”

5. Aisle of Atonement

It’s a regular day at the grocery store, but wait—there’s a Black person in the same aisle as you, reaching for the same box of cereal. This isn’t just a mundane coincidence. It’s a chance for redemption.

• Step 1: Before reaching for your item, pause. Let them know with your body language that they, and all Black people, deserve to go first from now on. Stand there awkwardly and gesture at the shelf, saying, “Please, after you. I think it’s only fair after... well, you know... centuries of exploitation.”
• Step 2: If they laugh or seem confused, that’s your cue to look even more earnest. Say, “No, really. I just think it’s important for me to acknowledge the power dynamics at play in cereal aisles across America.”

At checkout, apologize to the Black cashier for the racial wealth gap, even if they’re 19 and work part-time while attending college.

6. Apologizing for Your Existence at Social Gatherings

You’re at a party, and you notice a Black person standing by the bar. You could just make small talk about the weather, but why miss an opportunity to unpack your racial privilege in front of strangers?

• Step 1: Approach them cautiously, as though your mere presence is a reminder of colonial oppression.
• Step 2: Say, “I just want to acknowledge that I’m standing here, in this shared social space, on the shoulders of systemic inequality. And I’m deeply sorry for taking up this emotional and physical space.”
• Step 3: Don’t let the conversation become casual. This is a teachable moment for you to reflect on all the microaggressions you’ve probably committed without realizing it. Share that: “I’m working really hard to be better. I promise.”

End by saying, “I didn’t come here to make it about me, but it’s just so important to... acknowledge.” Then walk away before they can respond, leaving them with the weight of your sincere, unasked-for apology.

Final Thoughts

Remember, your job as a white person is to turn every single encounter with a Black person into a performative display of guilt and self-flagellation. There is no moment too small, no space too sacred, and no context inappropriate for you to awkwardly remind Black people of your whiteness and the associated baggage it carries.