From White Panthers to White Privilege: How White Allyship Got Lost in Algorithmic Translation

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In an era where 'allyship' is more often flaunted as a hashtag than lived as a responsibility, it's imperative we look back at what solidarity used to mean. Enter the White Panthers—a group that emerged in the volatile socio-political landscape of the late 1960s, not merely as allies but as comrades in the struggle against white supremacy and systemic injustice. Unlike the performative gestures that pass for 'allyship' today, the White Panthers put their livelihoods, and sometimes their lives, on the line in the fight for a more just society. Their radical activism wasn't a social media campaign but a lifeline to the Black Panthers, an organization targeted and terrorized by the U.S. government.

As we examine the disquieting devolution of what constitutes 'support' today, we must ask: What has happened to white allyship since the time of the White Panthers? This article aims to dissect this very evolution—or should we say devolution?—from true comradeship to a form of 'support' often hollow, tokenized, and safely distanced from the daily risks that Black people and other marginalized communities face. If you think tweeting a hashtag or posting a black square makes you an ally, you're about to get schooled on what allyship used to look like and what it needs to be again.

The White Panthers: Allies or Comrades?

Let's get one thing straight: the White Panthers weren't around to play sidekick to the Black Panthers. They emerged in a period of immense civil unrest, a time when activism wasn't just a 'trending topic' but a matter of life and death. The White Panthers, founded in 1968 by John Sinclair and Pun Plamondon, didn't tiptoe around the issues; they plunged headfirst into the fire, aligning themselves not just ideologically but practically with the Black Panther Party. Operating primarily in Michigan, their commitment went far beyond performative stances; it was about shared struggle and goals.

Unlike the Starbucks-sipping, hashtag-tweeting 'allies' we see today, the White Panthers risked their own safety to support the Black Panthers. They offered legal assistance, got involved in protests, and even went to the extent of providing firearms for self-defense. This wasn't about charity; it was about equality and justice. It was about recognizing that the fight against systemic oppression was their fight, too, even if their skin color gave them the privilege of ignoring it.

Comradeship means shared risk. It means understanding that you don't get to cherry-pick which aspects of the struggle you support while conveniently sidestepping the rest. The White Panthers got that. Their participation in the movement wasn't conditional; they were all-in, willing to face the same risks and brutalities as the Black Panthers.

Quoting Assata Shakur, "Nobody in the world, nobody in history, has ever gotten their freedom by appealing to the moral sense of the people who were oppressing them." The White Panthers comprehended this and committed themselves to the struggle in a way that could teach today's performative allies a lesson or ten about what solidarity means.

Beyond Black Panther Allyship: A Legacy of Tactical Solidarity

Let's set the record straight: The White Panthers emerged as a revolutionary entity in their own right—born in a crucible of racial unrest, directly inspired by the activism of the Black Panther Party. In 1968, while Detroit was still smoldering from the riots of the previous year—a vehement public outcry against police brutality targeting Black communities—John and Leni Sinclair, along with Lawrence "Pun" Plamondon, seized Huey P. Newton’s call for white allyship to create their own organization, the White Panther Party.

For context, the 1967 "Detroit Riots" left 43 people dead and numerous buildings in ashes. The White Panthers themselves faced relentless harassment and intimidation, including John Sinclair being sentenced to 10 years in prison for having two joints of marijuana. But even under the draconian weight of state-sanctioned suppression, they persisted. Their mission was never a sideshow; it was a unified front against systemic inequity on multiple fronts—capitalism, militarism, imperialism, and racism.

A powerful figure in the White Panther Party, Lawrence "Pun" Plamondon was more than just a foot soldier. He was an embodiment of the audacity that the movement represented. A founding member alongside John and Leni Sinclair, Plamondon was unflinchingly vocal about systemic injustices, especially police brutality. Not one to back down, he, too, found himself on the FBI's radar and became the first white man to be listed on the agency's Ten Most Wanted Fugitives for alleged conspiracy. His militant activism and alliance with the Black Panther Party made him an ally and a comrade in the struggle for justice. Plamondon's life and work serve as a stark reminder that true allyship goes beyond lip service; it demands action, sacrifice, and an unflinching dedication to dismantling systems of oppression

Angela Davis once said, "You have to act as if it were possible to transform the world radically. And you have to do it all the time." The White Panthers internalized this ethos. They were not just woke performative activists but co-conspirators in a radical struggle. They were educators, holding political education classes alongside the Black Panthers. They were communicators, leveraging the music of the Motor City 5 (MC5) to amplify their anti-establishment rhetoric. And they were direct actors involved in legal aid, fundraising, and even providing arms for self-defense.

They navigated the treacherous terrains of COINTELPRO and widespread vilification, embracing the risks inherent in authentic allyship. Assata Shakur succinctly says, “It’s not about charity, it’s about solidarity.” The White Panthers embodied this; they were willing to face whatever came their way, recognizing the interconnectivity of all forms of systemic oppression.

Today, we've got folks who hesitate even to retweet an anti-racist hashtag. Let’s not mince words: if your allyship doesn't risk discomfort, you're part of the problem. The White Panthers set a precedent that goes beyond symbolic gestures. Their brand of allyship is a roadmap for the current generation—a tactical solidarity we desperately need to reclaim.

So, don't mistake the White Panthers for mere allies or even just comrades. They were visionaries who understood the necessity of an expansive, inclusive struggle for justice. Their legacy shouldn't be diluted but studied, amplified, and, most importantly, acted upon.

Incorporating this history reminds us that the struggle against systemic oppression is a multifaceted war that the White Panthers fought tooth and nail. And so should we.

Critical Lens: Mistakes Were Made

While we've been applauding the White Panthers for their authentic allyship, let's not don rose-colored glasses. They weren't infallible. The road to hell is often paved with good intentions; even the most well-meaning allies can make mistakes that need to be called out. No movement is above scrutiny, and no allyship is above accountability.

For instance, it would be misleading to gloss over instances where the White Panthers may have overstepped, inadvertently centering themselves in a struggle that wasn't theirs to lead. While their intent was to be comrades, the execution wasn't always flawless. The danger lies in usurping voice and agency from the very people you're claiming to support. Audre Lorde cautioned us about this when she said, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." Even allies can fall into the trap of using oppressive tactics they're fighting against, often unconsciously.

Moreover, their anti-establishment ethos, while revolutionary, sometimes veered into territories that could be read as anarchic or nihilistic, which wasn't always in alignment with the Black Panther Party's calculated and community-focused approach. While the Black Panthers had programs like Free Breakfast for Children, the White Panthers' initiatives were not always as grounded in immediate community needs.

The point isn't to cancel the White Panthers but to understand that allyship is a continuous learning, unlearning, and relearning process. As Malcolm X put it, "Don't be in a hurry to condemn because he doesn't do what you do or think as you think or as fast. There was a time when you didn't know what you know today." Recognizing flaws isn't about dismissal; it's about growth. It's about ensuring the fight for justice doesn't inadvertently perpetuate the injustices it seeks to abolish.

To be allies—or better yet, comrades—we must be willing to face the uncomfortable truth that we can be both the oppressed and the oppressor, often simultaneously. That requires humility, self-examination, and the unyielding willingness to do better. We need to scrutinize the system and our roles within that system continuously.

The Devolution of White Allyship

The Commercialization of Allyship

First off, let's talk about how allyship got commodified and turned into a brand that could be sold, bought, and flaunted like a designer logo. Allies now wear their titles like badges on a scout's sash, more concerned with accumulating social capital than affecting real change. Companies even exploit social justice language during Pride Month or Black History Month, cashing in on the struggle without contributing to the cause. It's capitalism masked as activism and as insidious as it is pervasive. In the words of Angela Davis, "In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist, we must be anti-racist." Slapping a rainbow logo on a product during Pride Month doesn't make a company an ally; it makes them a profiteer.

"Woke" Culture vs. Actual Understanding

Let's get real about "wokeness." Too often, this term has been co-opted as a performative shield, devoid of the grit and commitment exemplified by the White Panthers. People act like wokeness is a box to tick off on their anti-racist journey, but it's not a catch-all. It's not a term you can appropriate for your enlightenment when it's rooted in the specific, complex struggles against systemic oppression from a specific culture and community. Your anti-racist journey isn't worth a damn if you're just parroting social justice jargon without rolling up your sleeves to dismantle the very systems you claim to oppose.

Social Media Activism: A Double-Edged Sword

Social media has its merits, don't get me wrong, but when your activism is limited to hashtagging, something needs to be fixed. Hashtags can spread awareness, yes, but they can also spread complacency. Too often, people mistake tweeting for doing, turning vital social justice movements into trending topics that quickly fade away. As the Black Panther Party’s Fred Hampton once said, "We're not gonna fight fire with fire; we're gonna fight fire with water. We're not gonna fight capitalism with Black capitalism; we're gonna fight it with socialism." Real change requires substantive action, not just digital chatter.

The Shift from Comradeship to Patronization

Here's the ugly truth: The genuine spirit of allyship has eroded and turned into something barely recognizable. Nowadays, too many so-called allies operate as philanthropists, treating justice like a charity case rather than a human right. They throw money at the struggle and think their job is done, but let's be clear: economic investment in Black-led movements isn't optional; it's imperative. The White Panthers understood solidarity as shared risk, fight, and destiny. They knew that part of that "sharing" involved redirecting resources to frontline communities. So if you consider yourself an ally, step up. Don't just toss some change into the metaphorical collection plate and walk away; fund and raise funds for Black-led movements. And not as a bystander but as an active participant in a collective fight against systemic oppression.

The Danger of the White Savior Complex

Finally, let’s call out the most destructive element poisoning the well of genuine allyship: the White Savior Complex. This is where white allies make themselves the heroes of a story that was never theirs to tell. It’s not just harmful; it’s a reinforcement of the same systemic imbalance we’re trying to dismantle. As Audre Lorde pointed out, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." The White Savior Complex is just another master’s tool disguised as support.

Conclusion:

Our dissection of the White Panthers juxtaposed against today's flimsy notion of allyship paints a grim picture: we've lost our way. This is no time for complacency, for passive allyship, or for allowing the commodification of struggle. Today's watered-down, commercialized version of allyship is a slap in the face to those who have risked life and limb in the fight against systemic oppression.

Angela Davis once declared, "Radical simply means 'grasping things at the root.'" So, grasp the root and act as if it's possible to radically transform the world—because it is. You owe it to yourself and to the generations that follow to discard the safety of armchair activism for the tumultuous road of true allyship. That means more than superficial education; it demands a reeducation of one's role in the matrix of oppression. Fund Black-led movements. Engage deeply, risk more, and reorient your life around the collective fight against white supremacy and systemic inequality.

You have your mandate: It's time to turn Angela Davis's transformative education into transformative action. There's no room for bystanders; we need co-conspirators in this fight.

References:

1. Davis, Angela. "Freedom Is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement." Haymarket Books, 2016.
2. Hampton, Fred. Selected Speeches and Interviews. The Black Panther Party Research Project. Various Dates.
3. Lorde, Audre. "The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House." In Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Crossing Press, 1984.
4. White Panther Party. Official Statements and Ideological Documents. Archival Sources.

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