Echoes of Belonging and Identity on Stolen Land

White people are emotionally and morally dead. They avoid teaching their children about colonisation or the genocide of indigenous peoples, claiming they’re too young for such harsh realities. Yet, BIPOC children don’t get this privilege. From a young age, they are exposed to these injustices, living through the effects of racism and colonialism daily. In BIPOC households, we don’t shy away from difficult conversations. We discuss our histories, the histories of our neighbours, and injustices from across the world. We are comfortable confronting the “uncomfortable”.

This avoidance links to white fragility. White people’s identities are fragile, rooted in stolen land and propped up by systems that protect their privilege. The guilt and shame from this history run so deep that any thought that might challenge their sense of self is repressed. White people prioritise comfort over the emotional labour required for spiritual and emotional healing. As Robin DiAngelo pointed out, “Nice, white people who really aren’t doing anything other than being nice people are racist. We are complicit with that system. There is no neutral place.”

I’ve clung to this idea as I’ve decolonised my life and noticed my white friends dwindling away. Racism isn’t just about overt bias—it’s the automatic way that one group’s prejudice is backed by legal authority and institutional power. Many white australians remain in their own bubbles, surrounded by other white australians. They don’t know BIPOC intimately. They don’t invite us to their dinner parties, their birthdays, or “community-building” events. Want to know how inclusive someone is? Look at their birthday or holiday photos—who are they spending their time with? And yes, this applies to BIPOC too. Some of you are whitewashed, especially in the Naarm scene. If your friend circle is entirely white, all slim, all wearing the same Naarm fashion trends, and you’ve got that one token “Asian”—I’m not hanging out with you anymore. Your photos tell me everything I need to know about your performative inclusivity.

What Does Colonisation Do to a Human?

Let’s explore this for a second. I didn’t grow up in a colony; I grew up in my homeland. I learned about colonisation by watching news showcasing western colonialism in neighbouring countries.

Fast forward to my teenage years in melbourne. We were making ends meet, living in a wealthy suburb, and my classmates were mostly white kids from affluent areas like toorak and brighton. My friends were the non-white kids: Mexican, Greek, Vietnamese, Indian, Egyptian and Indonesian. I didn’t think much about it then, but I do now. I wasn’t popular. I was navigating the culture shock of a white-dominated city and working after school. Now, when white women I meet mention going to the same school with a sense of camaraderie, I don’t feel it. We’re not fighting the same fight, even though we could be.

When I talk about politics, indigenous incarceration rates, or poverty in Aboriginal communities, my white friends become visibly uncomfortable. They stiffen, their eyes glaze over—they’re not unreadable because they don’t care, but because they’re dissociating. Scrolling through Instagram, I see white people engaging in what I call soul-death: obsessing over the aesthetics of their lives, posting about Berlin music festivals (despite the fact they should be boycotting the country) and curated travel snapshots. Sure, I’m no saint, I post about my travels too. But every Black, Arab, Southeast Asian, and Queer person I follow also talks about social justice. Why are my white followers so quiet?

Soul Death and Colonisation’s Impact

Soul death in settler-colonial societies is well-documented. Colonisation doesn’t just harm the colonised; it morally, ethically, and spiritually erodes those benefiting from systems of domination and dehumanisation. A country like australia, founded on ethnic cleansing, genocide, and theft, suffers trauma not only from the loss of its indigenous people but also from the violence inflicted on them. Colonisers cannot truly thrive on this stolen land. The universe has a way of balancing things.

From terra nullius—the legal fiction that indigenous land belonged to no one—to racist laws like the Aborigines Protection Act in victoria, which controlled indigenous lives, or the White Australia Policy designed to maintain a white population, the scars of colonisation run deep. The Assimilation Policy sought to erase indigenous culture, and the Stolen Generations saw indigenous children forcibly removed from their families, often by nurses, and placed into white homes or institutions.

These are just some of the racist policies that have shaped australia’s dark history. Though some reforms have been made, the ongoing effects of colonialism and systemic racism are still very visible in indigenous communities. I witness this firsthand as a nurse working in remote parts of australia.

Dissociation, Shame, and Emotional Disconnect

Dissociation is a psychological response to trauma, sometimes passed down through generations. While we focus on the trauma inflicted on indigenous peoples, I want white people to reflect on the trauma inherited from their ancestors—the mass murder, land theft, and colonisation. Dissociation allows colonial societies to distance themselves from their violent histories. This moral disengagement helps settlers avoid confronting the brutality of their past and present.

In settler-colonial societies like melbourne, white people experience cognitive dissonance—a conflict between their ideals of humanism and the violent realities of oppression. This is one reason I no longer date white men, especially from melbourne. They may attend Invasion Day rallies, but their parents are buying them houses on stolen land. Their guilt leads to dishonesty about their wealth, and they take trips to the Red Centre to paint themselves as progressive, while still benefiting from a colonial system.

The denial of history—the collective amnesia of colonial violence—is a form of dissociation. White-dominant societies create sanitised narratives that downplay the atrocities of colonisation. This historical erasure leads to a dishonest society, one incapable of empathy, compassion, or true understanding. It traps the settler in a harmful cycle of guilt and moral corruption. 

The Compartmentalisation of Identity

Settlers compartmentalise their identities to avoid facing the truth of their exploitation. This allows white people to maintain a positive self-image while benefiting from systems that perpetuate their dominance. They remain emotionally detached from the historical violence that built their privilege.

I’ve seen this firsthand. When I looked for a room in alice springs, the owner was secretive about owning the house, and I later learned they bought it with their parents’ money. I’ve met plenty of white melbourne kids like this, ashamed of their family wealth but unwilling to confront that shame in a meaningful way. If they truly want change, they need to start redistributing their wealth. Give the money your parents gave you to First Nations people—alleviate your psychological death. You’ll feel better.

This dissociation extends into workplaces. Colonial power structures are inherently racist. I’ve waited years for promotions while watching white women get promoted in months. I no longer work in spaces where I’m not valued. Now, I work where my skills are recognised immediately. I no longer work managerial roles without the title or pay, and I know my worth—it’s not defined by a white, colonial manager.

Racism Is a Spectrum

White people need to understand that racism exists on a spectrum. You don’t have to be an overt racist to be complicit. You can be the white manager who only hires white people or the white friend who takes a promotion over a BIPOC colleague. True allyship means recognising that your opportunities aren’t just about your skills—they’re also about your skin colour. What are you doing to make your workplace more inclusive? Did you take a job while a more deserving BIPOC candidate didn’t? Reflect on your privilege.

White Identity and Emotional Detachment

The construction of white identity encourages emotional detachment from the violence and inequality created by colonialism. How do you feel right now? Uncomfortable? Defensive? That’s your white fragility kicking in. This discomfort is a sign of your psychological dissociation. Confronting this reality forces you to acknowledge the moral contradictions of your existence. I hope you choose to do the work.

The soul death of white folks is a direct consequence of colonisation and imperialism. While you reap the material benefits of colonisation, you are ignoring the psychological and ethical costs. A collectively dead conscience will be felt for many years if white folks do not face their own demons.