White Saviorism and My White Savior Complex

I tell the story often of my first experience volunteering in a prison. The inmate that I was assigned to work with was a 6’7, 360 pound African-American. When I tell the story, I joke that he was the total opposite of me, a 5’7, 150 pound Caucasian. I’ve always enjoyed finding the humor in the juxtaposition of the two of us. What I since realize is that, with that story, I was supporting a dangerous mindset of “white saviorism”.

I found myself willing to go into situations, like prison, where I was hoping to do good and help others, but I would only showcase the moments that included me interacting with someone of color. Almost every picture I posted was of me helping a person who didn’t look like me. I likely would not have found myself in that situation outside of prison, but inside the walls where I was in the position of power and authority, I was willing to interact with them. Because I felt like I could “save” them.

Volunteering in prison was my first experience engaging with incarcerated men and women on a regular basis. And the stories I shared of my service at the beginning were focused around how I was helping someone change their life and avoid spending a lifetime traveling in and out of prison. It was always about me.

I often would enter those prison gates with the sole intention of saving someone, rather than getting to know them and learning from them.

My attitude towards these individuals would often be predicated by my desire to save them from the situation, or even themselves. I now realize that subconsciously I believed that if this person of color would just assimilate to my experiences and expectations, they would be better off and I would have saved them from themselves.

White saviorism is the idea where a white person rescues people of color from a situation that they cannot save themselves from. This theory is all about the journey of the white individual, who is always at the center of the journey. And throughout that journey, he or she is presented as the “savior”. They come away believing they have taught the person of color something of value — thus saving them.

As I learned more about this idea of white saviorism, I began to see its prevalence throughout my life and our American culture.

Let me begin with its presence in popular movies.

In the film “Hidden Figures”, Katherine Johnson (played by Taraji P. Henson) is consistently aided and saved by Kevin Costner’s character. Despite the movie being based on a true story, Costner’s character never even existed in real life — and yet Hollywood felt it necessary to portray this savior mentality in the movie.

How about “Gran Torino”? Despite being overly racist, it takes Clint Eastwood’s character to come along and save the people of color in the movie. The same people of color he was racist towards.

Then there’s this year’s Oscar winner for Best Picture — ”Green Book”. Despite Mahershala Ali’s character, Don Shirley, being an African-American musical genius, the story is told through the perspective of his Caucasian driver (played by Viggo Mortensen). Shirley’s family even went public to expose that the true story itself was changed to portray Mortensen’s character as something other than who he really was.

Shirley’s family said to the USA Today,”The thing that bothers our family is that the focus of the film is all about a white man who is an extreme racist and who was still a racist at the end.”

Those are just three of the numerous examples of white saviorism in Hollywood — something that has been a constant in the industry since the Civil Rights era.

However, the notion of white saviorism doesn’t end in Hollywood. It is also incredibly evident in our churches and nonprofits. While often the intent is honorable, our desires to document our good works feed into this damaging idea.

Think about it — how often do we see white volunteers posting photos of themselves serving people of color on missions trips in foreign countries, serving dinner at the local homeless shelter, mentoring inner-city children, or, in my case, working with inmates in prison?

Consciously or not, the intent is so often the same as mine was — to save the people who don’t look like me.

I remember the day this idea of white saviorism hit home for me. I was sitting in a small group with three incarcerated men at a local high-security prison. One of the men in the group had been attending our program for about three months but never spoke during our time together. However, this week, he had a lot to say.

“I trust the other inmates in here more than I trust you volunteers.”

Initially, I just blew off his statement. I acknowledged him and then tried to move the conversation forward, but he jumped back in.

“All you white people come in here and try to fix us. But where were you when we was out in the streets needing someone to help us? You weren’t there. You’re never there. You wait until we are chained up to care about us. This is a damn zoo for you — you get satisfaction saying you come in here to fix us but you don’t really care about us. Otherwise you’d be there with us on the streets before we go to prison.”

I remember sitting there stunned. He was so incredibly right. At that time, the only people of color I was engaging with were people locked up in prison. It convicted me to my core.

He was right. He wasn’t asking me to walk inner city streets to find people needing help, he was asking me why I didn’t take action against a system that continually oppresses, or speak out against gentrification, or vote in a way that brought diversity into our government.

I sat there with no answer.

Three weeks later, my journey to understanding racial reconciliation began as I signed up to be a part of a program called Undivided — a journey that would radically alter my life and bring diversity into some of my most intimate life relationships.

My journey with white saviorism has taught me that the intent behind our actions are so incredibly important. Even while I was doing something I thought was kind and selfless, I was feeding into a dangerous mentality because I valued superficial conversation over transformational relationships.

I learned that avoiding white saviorism meant being intentional about diversity in my life. However, it went even deeper than that. It meant engaging with individuals who don’t think the way I think or live the way I do.

It meant seeking to learn empathy and putting that into action. Meaning that instead of offering solutions to every problem, sometimes I just needed to shut up and listen.

It also meant humbling myself and setting aside my pride. In a world that is all about superficial recognition, we are designed to want to brag about the good we do. And for me, it meant spending a few years never sharing about what I was doing to help others. Instead, it became about me sharing the stories of those who I met and allowing their heartbreak and success impact lives on their own.

Through all of this, I learned a massive lesson — it isn’t my job to “save” anyone. And, quite frankly, God is the only one who can do that. Instead, I am called to learn from others and give them a voice and place to be heard, even when society tries to shut them up.

If while reading this article and you felt uncomfortable or wondered if you’ve ever sat in a place of saviorism, you are not alone. Going forward, be sure to walk into these types of situations with the goal of leaving and challenging yourself to walk through your daily life differently because of what you have experienced.