They seems small. Three simple, yet powerful phrases:
Excuse me.
Please.
Thank you.
Social hierarchies are maintained through small rituals (i.e., who yields; who acknowledges; who defers).
For instance, under Jim Crow, Black people (not the dehumanizing word ‘blacks’) were required to step off sidewalks to allow white people to pass. They were required to use honorifics for white adults, while white adults addressed black adults by their first name or worse (e.g., “boy”). Deference was not optional during this time. It was enforced.
The law has since changed. But, cultural posture lingers.
In fact, I tested something over the course of a month last year. When walking toward white pedestrians on sidewalks, I stopped automatically adjusting my path and held my line the way many of them do. Take a wild guess at how that went.
The number of near-collisions was telling.
Often, there is an unspoken expectation that people of color will yield. That we will shrink slightly. That we will make room. And when we don’t? The irritation flashes across faces, as if an unspoken rule had been broken. But, what rule? Shared space is shared and “excuse me” is not a surrender of power. It is an acknowledgment of humanity.
When you don’t say it, repeatedly, reflexively, it communicates a great deal. Even if that is not your active intention.
Default Centrality
Many white Americans grow up as the demographic majority. That shapes the subconscious sense of normalcy.
If you are rarely made to feel “other,” you can unconsciously assume:
Your movement is neutral.
Your presence is standard.
Your inconvenience matters more.
Your path is the path.
Why does this matter? Because inequality is not reproduced only through explicit acts of discrimination. It is reinforced through repetition. When one group consistently adjusts while another consistently proceeds, a hierarchy is rehearsed in everyday life. Children watch who yields on sidewalks. Employees notice who interrupts without apology. Customers observe who receives eye contact and who does not. These patterns accumulate. They shape confidence, belonging, and whose comfort is treated as default. In a society with a long history of enforced deference from people of color, small acts of assumed centrality echo older structures of dominance.
When you move through shared space without acknowledgment, expect adjustment without offering it, or treat courtesy as optional rather than mutual, you are participating, even unintentionally, in a pattern that predates you. Impact does not require intent. And in a historically unequal society, what feels neutral to one group can function as reinforcement to another. The good news is that these patterns are not fixed. They can be interrupted through awareness and deliberate reciprocity. That is not loss of status. It is growth in character.
Empathy Is Strength, Not Weakness
There’s a myth deeply embedded in colonial and capitalist history: dominance equals strength.
Winning equals superiority.
Never yielding equals power.
Softness equals weakness.
But, cheating is easy.
Cruelty is easy.
Ego is easy.
It takes very little character to push through a space without acknowledgment or regard.
Empathy requires restraint.
Restraint requires self-awareness.
Self-awareness requires courage.
And courage requires strength.
Choosing to say “thank you” with sincerity costs you nothing, but signals shared humanity.
Choosing to shift slightly to alter your walking path communicates parity.
Choosing to see someone fully rather than move through them as though they were a ghost communicates integrity.
Here’s the truth: cheating can win, but only temporarily. It can produce quick victories, inflated reputations, and the illusion of superiority. But those wins are hollow because they depend on manipulation rather than merit. The moment you can no longer bend the rules, sabotage others, or avoid accountability, the advantage disappears.
If life ultimately tests what you’ve actually built, then shortcuts are self-sabotage. A boxer who avoids training but cheats his way to victories may collect easy titles. But, when he faces someone he cannot undermine…someone who has trained, endured, and strengthened himself, the outcome changes. When the fight cannot be rigged, discipline determines survival.
Cheating is not strength. It is avoidance. It avoids discipline, growth, and self-examination. It trades short-term advantage for long-term weakness. Real strength comes from doing the work, especially when no one is watching. And that kind of strength doesn’t suddenly evaporate into thin air when tested.
Why This Isn’t About Inherent Guilt
I’m not asking you to feel shame for history you did not personally author. If anything, my request is that you to notice how history authors (read: shapes) habits.
Colonial systems trained generations to associate whiteness with purity, authority, and centrality. That programming didn’t magically evaporate in 1964 with the passing of the Civil Rights Act. It simply shifted forms.
You don’t have to consciously believe you are superior for subtle superiority to surface behaviorally.
But, you do have to consciously decide whether you wish to perpetuate it.
Micro Adjustments That Matter
You can’t dismantle systemic inequality with a single gesture.
However, you can practice micro-adjustments that could make the world of difference:
- Make eye contact.
- Say “please.”
- Say “thank you.”
- Say “excuse me.”
- Notice who usually yields and pause to consider why.
- Teach your children the value of reciprocity.
These are not radical acts. They are baseline acts of humanity.
About That Discomfort
If this exchange made you tense, defensive, or irritated — pause and take a deep breath (zero condescension intended).
Ask yourself why. Is it because you feel accused? Because you feel seen? Or misunderstood?
Discomfort can be a doorway. It can be the moment where growth begins.
We do not get to build a more equitable society without some friction.
And again, discomfort isn’t oppression.
It is information. Data.
The Sidewalk Test
Picture this.
You’re walking toward someone on a narrow sidewalk.
You hold your line. So do they.
Impact.
Now imagine something else.
You keep walking straight. They always step aside.
Every time.
Now imagine a third version.
You both adjust…ever so slightly.
No collision. No silent ranking. Just shared space.
That’s the model.
None of us chooses where we are born, what race, what body, what history we inherit. But, we do choose how we move through the world once we’re here. We choose whether we reinforce old patterns or soften them. We choose whether the next person who enters this world (including, perhaps, a future version of ourselves) will inherit a society built on quiet disregard or deliberate empathy.
Courtesy is not ornamental. It shapes atmosphere. It signals who belongs.
Empathy is not weakness. It is responsibility.
Start small.
Say “excuse me.”
Say “thank you.”
Notice who usually moves.
And choose, respectfully, to move too.
Lence in Layers 