Opinion: A Sign of Change, or Just a Sign? The Limits of Performative Apologies for Racism

The internet is full of surprises—some inspiring, others infuriating, many just bewildering. On a recent scroll through YouTube and found a video titled “He lived as a racist for 35 years. Here’s his apology.” It was inexplicably promoted to the top of my algorithm feed, even though i don’t typically watch this type of content. The video was a black woman reacting to a video featuring a white man standing on a sidewalk, holding a handwritten sign confessing to decades of racism, apologizing to strangers with a camera filming the entire moment.

To be clear: self-reflection is important. Public acknowledgment of wrongdoing is a necessary step toward accountability. But in an era where virality is currency and the line between vulnerability and performance is blurred beyond recognition, a white man’s apology for his racist past—broadcast to the world via TikTok or YouTube Shorts—demands more scrutiny than applause.

Let’s begin with the format. A street-side apology, with a sign and a camera, has become something of a genre on social media. A person admits to a serious moral failing. There’s crying, humble language, vague descriptions of growth, and more often than not, a monetized video. These spectacles tend to raise more questions than they answer: Why now? Who is this really for? Is it healing—or just content?

In this particular case, the man, who claims to have lived as an “outstanding racist” for 35 years, offered little detail about what that meant. No specifics, no personal stories, no named communities harmed, no actual restitution mentioned. He spoke of being “taught” racism and of trying to be a “better human being.” But what, exactly, has he done? Has he confronted the people who instilled those ideas in him? Has he reached out to individuals he may have harmed directly? Has he supported anti-racist education, organizations, or reparative efforts beyond holding a sign?

These are fair questions—ones the video, and too often our public conversations, fail to ask.

I would say “doing everything you can” cannot mean simply standing outside with a sign. Racism, especially when practiced or tolerated over decades, causes real harm to real people. The consequences are often personal, material, and ongoing. Without concrete acts of accountability—private and public—apologies risk becoming little more than performances for clout.

Moreover, there is a troubling dynamic at play when white individuals seek absolution in such public ways. The very structures of media and public sympathy often reward white confession with admiration and forgiveness. The same attention is rarely, if ever, extended to Black voices who have lived through and fought against that racism their entire lives.

There is also a moral question about proximity and complicity. If the man grew up surrounded by racism, as he says, is he still surrounded by it? Has he confronted those people? Is he using his position—his insight, his voice, his whiteness—to challenge the family members, friends, and communities who shaped him? Because true allyship, true transformation, doesn’t end with a sign—it starts there.

White people who wish to be part of dismantling racism have an enormous role to play—but it is not to center themselves in the narrative. It’s to do the quiet, often invisible work. This includes listening and unlearning. It also involves intervening in the spaces where racism is protected by silence. To consistently show up in ways that aren’t broadcast to the world.

We live in a time when public accountability is often performed through “content.” Apology videos, social justice-themed reels, emotional captions—they all attempt to convert personal growth into public redemption. But change is not a performance. And forgiveness—true forgiveness—must be earned, not clicked.

The man in the video may very well be sincere. But sincerity without substance is not enough. And in the absence of a clear effort to repair what has been broken, the question lingers:

Is this a sign of change—or just a sign?