Treating Pneumonia While Dying of Cancer

What America still refuses to learn about white supremacy—before it kills us all.

Today, May 29th, Ascension Day, would have been my mother’s birthday.

It’s the second one I’m experiencing without her—and as I reflect on everything she taught me, I find myself grappling with an eerily painful parallel between the way she died and the state of our country.

I explored this parallel more deeply in my earlier piece, A Dire Warning for Americans: America Has Cancer, and We Keep Pretending It’s Just a Cold, where I draw striking similarities between how cancer behaves and how white supremacy operates in our society.

At the April 5 Hands Off rally in 50 US states and several international cities, millions marched in opposition to Trump, fascism, authoritarianism and the dismantling of our rights. It was a powerful, necessary show of resistance. Senator Bernie Sanders and Congress Woman AOC went on a “Fight The Oligarchy” Tour doing rallies around the country, attracting millions. And the marches, protests, and rallies continue. 

As a DEI strategist, culture strategist and entertainer, I was truly honored to be a speaker and performer at the Los Angeles Hands Off rally, as well as in San Diego’s Women’s march and rally on International Women's day, the day my mom died - using my voice and stories to fight for change.

And YET, both times, I couldn’t help but feel a chilling sense of déjà vu. Wondering if my efforts even matter.

Because this isn’t the first time we’ve marched. This isn’t the first time we’ve sounded the alarm. And if we don’t confront a hard truth—one both major political parties continue to avoid—it won’t be the last.

That truth is this: America is treating pneumonia, when the real threat is cancer.

I don’t use that metaphor lightly. I lost my mother to cancer last year, and watched helplessly as it was initially misdiagnosed as pneumonia. They treated the infection, and for a time, she improved. But the cancer was still there—spreading silently. By the time it was discovered, it had metastasized. And there was no turning back.

That’s eerily similar to what we’re doing right now in this country. We see democracy collapsing and rush to treat the symptoms: voter suppression, court-stacking, book bans, hate groups, rights rollbacks. We march. We protest. We write “RESIST” in bold letters.

But we haven’t touched the root: white supremacy—a centuries-old cancer embedded in the bones of this nation.

Republicans pretend America just has a cold. A little Tylenol, some thoughts and prayers, and time will fix it. Democrats are scrambling to treat pneumonia—the visible threats. Urgent? Yes. But pneumonia is still just a symptom. The reason it keeps coming back—stronger each time—is because the underlying cancer remains untouched.

We thought Trump’s 2016 election was a fluke. We screamed, “He’s racist!” and thought that would be enough to prevent his return. But screaming about symptoms without dismantling or transforming the structures that produce them doesn’t cure the disease.

Because white supremacy is more than slurs or tiki torches. It’s the railroad track every other “ism” runs on. Patriarchy. Homophobia. Anti-immigrant hate. Xenophobia. Religious extremism. Economic exploitation. All fueled and legitimized by white supremacist ideology and structures. White supremacy is the dress rehearsal for facism and oligarchy. If we continue to ignore or tolerate it, we know where it’s going to end up.

At its core, white supremacy isn’t just racial—it’s economic.

You can’t understand it without understanding predatory and racial capitalism. From redlining to racialized lending, wage theft to gentrification, economic and racial injustice are not separate—they’re conjoined twins. Trying to fight one while ignoring the other is like treating pneumonia while letting the cancer spread.

When Black and Brown voters say they’re tired of showing up only to be sacrificed for political convenience, they’re pointing to this misdiagnosis. When Black labor organizers demand racial equity alongside economic justice, they’re naming the same disease. When LGBTQ+ advocates of color call out the whiteness expectations of queer spaces, they’re identifying the same root.

As someone who has spent over 15 years working across public, private, and community sectors as a cultural awareness strategist and racial equity expert, I know that the work of bridge-building and transforming systems and policies to be more just isn’t easy and creates a lot of discomfort. But it’s the only real cure. We cannot march our way out of this without fundamentally transforming the systems that built it. Trump is the inevitable result of a system baked in white supremacy.

Until we fight for an America where racial and economic justice are shared, non-negotiable goals, we’re just buying time. Until we dismantle the policies and practices keeping white supremacy alive—in schools, workplaces, banks, neighborhoods, hospitals, media, and even our social justice movements—we’re just managing symptoms.

And symptoms, as anyone who’s battled illness knows, can lull you into thinking you’re healing. Until you’re not.

We are at a crossroads. The growing protests and resistance movements are promising. But we must not stop at marching or simply regaining or protecting recently stolen rights or rights under threat. We must not stop at diagnosing symptoms. We need leaders with the courage to name the disease and commit to full structural transformation—not just another round of antibiotics.

Because if we don’t act now, we won’t just lose an election. We’ll lose the patient—America.

Today, as I remember the extraordinary woman who gave me life—and the fight she carried in her bones—I offer this reflection not as a political critique, but as a love letter. To my mother. To this country. To everyone who still believes in what we could become.

And for those wondering where to begin? One small step among many is to learn or deepen our understanding of the hidden stories, systems, and historical narratives that got us here.

That’s the heart behind an experience I created called Beyond Black History: A Personal Journey Through Culture, Identity & Transformation. It’s a series that provides space for honest truth-telling, reflection, and reimagining what our shared future can look like.

While I don’t currently have a session scheduled, those who are interested in attending the next set of sessions are welcome to leave their contact info and expression of interest at www.setche.com/contact.

Because change starts with truth. And solidarity starts with shared understanding.

The past may not be our fault. But the future? That’s on us.

And on this day—my mother’s day—I choose to fight for a future she would be proud of.