Donald Trump, president of the United States, shared a meme. You know the one.
Despite the fact Trump is somewhat of a memelord who posts on social media an average of 18 times per day, if you’re reading this article at any time close to its publication date — and possibly even after that — you know the one. I won’t get any more specific other than to say it was a blatantly racist, dehumanizing caricature of Barack and Michelle Obama utilizing imagery historically rooted in racist expression.
White House spokesperson Karoline Leavitt denied the meme held any racial overtones whatsoever and defended the clip, telling news media to “stop the fake outrage.” Later, the White House claimed the clip was posted “erroneously” by an unnamed staffer. Trump himself said he was not aware of the imagery, which appeared at the end of a minute-long video on a separate topic.
The meme prompted immediate backlash, with even Republicans speaking out. Republican Sen. Tim Scott, who is Black, said he was “praying it was fake. … It’s the most racist thing I’ve seen out of this White House.” Despite the criticism, Trump refused to apologize, insisting to reporters he “didn’t make a mistake.” Nonetheless, following a day of criticism, Trump and his team relented and deleted the post.
However, that post lives on as a screenshot, spread throughout the Internet fueled by the outrage against it. Which then begs the question: If sharing a racist meme is racist and harmful, does resharing that meme — even to point out that it is racist and harmful — still perpetuate and further racist harm?
Vicarious racism
My personal initial exposure to the meme occurred when a friend condemned it on social media. My second exposure happened when a prominent white progressive social activist condemned it. Exposures three through six weren’t even from folks I’m friends with or follow, but from the “outrage machine” that identified the type of content garnering response and littering the algorithm with it.
In the name of outrage and condemnation, Trump’s racist imagery received a much larger audience than it ever would have received on its own.
In the name of outrage and condemnation, Trump’s racist imagery received a much larger audience than it ever would have received on its own — even when directly amplified by the president.
Vicarious racism — sometimes called “vicarious racial discrimination” — is defined as “the secondhand exposure to the racial discrimination and/or prejudice directed at another individual.” Any time someone is indirectly affected by a racist act, they have been affected by vicarious racism.
Think of it like second-hand smoke. You’re not inhaling the cigarette. It’s not on your lips. But the very act of being in proximity to the smoke can have devastating, long-lasting effects. Exposure to racist imagery — even when it is not directed toward us or folks who look like us — still has negative consequences.
First, vicarious racism harms people of color. A recent academic literature review examining vicarious racism showed exposure to vicarious racism resulted in “a range of mental health problems impacting ethno-racial minoritized populations.” Exposure to discrimination increases stress hormone reactivity. Individuals respond to indirect racism just as if they had been directly attacked. By reminding victims of racism that racism is pervasive and persistent even when it is not happening to them, vicarious racism creates vicarious trauma.
Josh Olds
The study found this can lead to changes in individuals’ view of the world. They may feel less control over their lives, be compelled to hypervigilance or have increased levels of worry. Worse, they may even begin to believe the lies. “Vicarious racial discrimination may impact one’s sense of ethno-racial identity and racial group attitudes, specifically how people see their own ethno-racial group and perceptions of how society regards their ethno-racial group,” the study explained. In layman’s terms, if you hear it enough, you begin to wonder if it’s true.
Second, vicarious racism harms majority culture by normalizing racist actions. Repeated exposure to harmful imagery desensitizes viewers to the harm. Studies suggest the normalization of racist caricatures via exposure will create implicit biases that reinforce racist thinking.
“When the mind is immersed in an environment of systemic racism, it tends to form biased associations and inferences about marginalized social groups,” psychologists Manuel Galvan and B. Keith Payne write.
Implicit bias isn’t about one’s aspirational intents or explicit beliefs but a cognitive record of what you have been exposed to over time. If you are repeatedly exposed to racist imagery, your mind is likely to internalize some of those associations at an implicit level, even if you reject them consciously — even if your goal or the goal of the individual who made you aware of the imagery was to condemn it.
A responsible awareness
Let’s say — hypothetically — that, in reviewing the Epstein files, someone found an unredacted video of Donald Trump sexually abusing minors. Would it be OK for that person to then share that video publicly to prove the claims Trump has raped children? Of course not. We instinctively understand sharing that type of imagery, even for the purpose of demanding justice or expressing outrage, would be trauma-inflicting for anyone who saw it.
That does not mean we would then never discuss it. Being silent in the face of evil is just as bad as platforming it. Racism is a more accepted and palatably viewed evil than sexual abuse. Racist images or videos of racial violence are culturally accepted visuals to fuel our outrage.
And it turns out that’s what it is really about. Our outrage. Because this isn’t about revealing that Donald Trump is racist.
We know who he is because he has told us, and there’s no meme he could share that could move the dial on what we already know.
That meme doesn’t even crack the top 10 most racist things he’s ever done. It is who he has been from the beginning. The Justice Department sued him more than 50 years ago for his racist discrimination against Black people. He began his presidential campaign in 2015 by racially attacking President Obama and calling Mexicans rapists. We know who he is because he has told us, and there’s no meme he could share that could move the dial on what we already know.
White liberal outrage
Instead, I fear response to this meme is mostly about white liberal outrage. And, yes, I have seen some Black social activists share the image. I am not here to adjudicate that. If a Black person makes a conscious choice to do so, grounded in the shared trauma of Blackness, that is their prerogative. They can share it because it is their pain to share. But for those of us who are not — who represent, I would surmise, the majority of those amplifying the image — we must understand this type of imagery causes harm.
In his book The World Made Meme, Internet culture expert Ryan Milner explores the popularization of racist memes and grapples with the fact “even when done in the service of critical assessment, reproducing these discourses continues their circulation and therefore may continue to normalize their antagonisms and marginalizations.”
We often say evil is exposed by dragging it into the light. That’s true, but we must be cognizant of how viewing evil and exposing it to the masses will affect us and others.
Exposing racism matters. How we expose it matters just as much. If our outrage feeds the evil we condemn, then we have confused spectacle for justice.
Josh Olds is a public theologian and pastor for those disillusioned with institutional church. He is the creator of the small-group video series “Year on the Mountaintop” and a featured contributor to Fostering Hope: A Prayerbook for Fostering and Adoptive Parents. Follow his work on Facebook or at JoshOlds.com.
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