Beyond Allyship: Finding Accomplices for the Work of Racial Justice
by Christopher C. Thompson | 1 July 2025 |
I was recently talking to a local politician who has grown to be a dear friend. As we talked and solved the problems of the world, she made a statement that has invaded the corridors of my mind ever since. She said, “I don’t need allies. I’m looking for accomplices.”
It struck me because I know lots of allies. These are very nice people who sit on boards and volunteer their time. They’re progressive and even radical in their thinking. But I have found that allyship can at times serve as cover for a unique brand of white supremacy.
In the ongoing struggle for racial justice and the dismantling of systemic racism, the term “ally” has long been embraced by those who seek to stand in solidarity with marginalized communities. But in recent years, a critical distinction has emerged between being an “ally” and being an “accomplice.” While allies often offer support through words, education, and awareness, accomplices go further—they risk, act, and disrupt systems of oppression from within. Accomplices are not content with passive agreement; they engage in active resistance, often at great personal cost.
We need to see the the ways in which accomplices add value alongside the limitations of an ally, and what better way to do that than through the lens of historical and contemporary examples: Civil rights activist and Freedom Rider Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, Clarence Jordan and the radical Christian experiment of Koinonia Farm, and Bishop Sean Rowe and the Episcopal Church’s stance during the recent controversial changes to immigration policy. Together, these examples illuminate why accomplices are indispensable to the work of racial equity.
Joan Trumpauer Mulholland: Risking reputation and safety
I recently saw a video of a little old lady walking through a civil rights museum and sharing personal reflections about the experiences and the people involved in each of the events. I was astounded. That lady is Joan Trumpauer Mulholland. Mulholland was a young white woman from a privileged Southern background who chose to become a Freedom Rider during the Civil Rights Movement. She did not simply write letters or voice her support from a distance—she sat at segregated lunch counters, was arrested, and even faced life-threatening violence for her participation in nonviolent protests.
Mulholland exemplifies the difference between allyship and accompliceship. An ally might have agreed with desegregation and applauded the movement from afar. Mulholland, on the other hand, allowed her body and her privilege to be part of the confrontation. She put herself in harm’s way to dismantle a racist system. Her participation wasn’t symbolic—it was strategic, intentional, and costly.
By taking real risks, she helped shift public perception and added critical momentum to the Civil Rights Movement. Her presence forced other white Americans to grapple with the movement’s legitimacy and with their own complicity in racism. Accomplices like her make injustice uncomfortable and unavoidable.
Clarence Jordan and the radical community of Koinonia Farm
I recently began reading the complete collection of Clarence Jordan’s classic work, Cotton Patch Gospel, and I’m enthralled. This man was way ahead of his time. In 1942, Jordan, a white Southern Baptist minister and New Testament scholar, co-founded Koinonia Farm in Americus, Georgia. The farm was built as an interracial Christian community where Black and white families lived, worked, and worshiped together in defiance of Jim Crow segregation.
Koinonia wasn’t just a place of moral ideals—it was a living, breathing act of protest. For their radical integration, the community faced economic boycotts, death threats, bombings, and constant harassment. Yet Jordan and his community persisted. Their faith did not remain theoretical; it took the form of land, work, meals, and shared life.
In this way, Jordan and the Koinonia community serve as a profound example of accompliceship. They understood that Christianity demanded more than private conviction; it required public, embodied resistance to evil. Allies may acknowledge injustice; accomplices actively create alternatives, even when they provoke hostility.
Jordan’s witness had ripple effects, influencing organizations such as Habitat for Humanity, which eventually grew out of Koinonia’s theological and practical foundation. Accomplices don’t just oppose injustice; they birth new ways of being.
Bishop Sean Rowe and the Episcopal Church: Defying political pressure
Fast forward to the current immigration practices and policies that have become an even greater flashpoint of national controversy. Among the many affected by changes to asylum and refugee resettlement policy was a group of white South Africans, who were given priority for resettlement under claims of “white persecution.”
Bishop Sean Rowe, speaking on behalf of a group of Episcopal leaders, took a rare and courageous stand. They refused to participate in the resettlement of white South Africans at the exclusion of Black and Brown refugees who faced far more systemic danger and displacement. Their defiance was not a matter of political protest—it was a theological and moral decision.
In doing so, they positioned themselves not as passive observers or well-meaning allies but as accomplices in the fight for justice. They used institutional power to resist a policy that they deemed racially unjust, fully aware that this might bring backlash from both government entities and members within their own denomination. The Episcopal Church’s stance cost them political capital, but preserved moral integrity.
Accomplices do not just call for justice when it’s convenient; they leverage power, disrupt unjust systems, and protect the vulnerable, even at institutional risk. Bishop Rowe and the Episcopal Church’s actions demonstrate the rare courage required to confront white supremacy even when cloaked in benevolent language.
Why more accomplices are needed
Allyship is immensely important. Nevertheless, allies should be mindful of when their role is devolving into performance—an identity claimed without corresponding action. When this happens their feelings and comfort are centered rather than the liberation of the oppressed. It is helpful to reconsider one’s level of investment at this stage. What might I be afraid to lose. What does the disadvantaged group stand to gain? What might be hindering me from a greater level of investment or support?
Be mindful of the temptation to disengage when the work gets hard, when there’s backlash, or when your social standing is threatened. White privilege and white supremacy can even cosplay as allyship. It’s possible to claim commitment, and actively hinder the mission. I’ve recently experienced this on a deep and personal level, and I have to admit that it is dizzyingly frustrating.
Accomplices, on the other hand, are embedded in the fight. They understand that liberation requires more than surface level commitment—it requires shared risk. They speak up in rooms where people of color are not present. They redirect resources, protect the vulnerable, and are willing to lose comfort, status, and even security to confront injustice.
We need accomplices because the systems we fight are deeply entrenched. Racism is not simply a personal prejudice but a structural force that requires structural resistance. That resistance demands more than statements—it demands action, disruption, and sacrifice.
Becoming accomplices in our time
The examples of Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, Clarence Jordan, and Bishop Sean Rowe call us to a higher standard. They show us that real change happens not when people agree silently, but when they act boldly. They remind us that justice work is not clean or comfortable, but messy, risky, and sacred.
To be an accomplice is to move beyond the safe margins of allyship and step into the deep waters of transformational solidarity. It is to align with the oppressed not only in thought but in strategy, effort, and cost. The work of racial justice does not need more spectators or supporters on the sidelines. It needs more co-conspirators in the fight.
There’s an old saying, “I’d rather see a sermon than to hear one any day.” Religious people love the idea of advocacy and goodwill until real injustice shows up and challenges their privilege and comfort. We’ve got to move past the theorizing, spiritualizing, and sermonizing. We need more accomplices!
In a world that still groans under the weight of white supremacy and systemic inequality, the call is clear: don’t just be an ally—be an accomplice. For it is in our willing sacrifice, not our passive agreement, that true justice is born. And remember the words of our Lord who said, “When you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.”
Christopher C. Thompson is a pastor in Beaufort, South Carolina.
