'The White Lotus:' A Quiet Kind of Racism

Mike White's The White Lotus Season 1 is a masterclass in dissection, catalyzing its following seasons 2 and 3, not just of wealth, class, and enduring colonialism but of the subtler form of racism practiced by its white, ultra-wealthy characters. That racism thrives under the guise of kindness, neoliberalism, and self-perceived innocence. It is a show where the most devastating harms are not done by a clear, definite villain but by everyday people who would never think of themselves as part of the problem. And that is the biggest problem.

Watching it was so disturbing I could not look away for one second, acutely squaring at the most insidious kind of racism: the kind that does not know it is racist.

Set in stolen paradise of Hawaii, season 1 follows a group of wealthy, mostly white tourists whose interactions with the resort staff and the land are marked by ignorance and entitlement. All the “woahs” and bewilderment at the sight of the sceneries are meant to make us absolutely uncomfortable. That, Mike White is a mastermind.

Tanya McQuoid and Belinda

Something about heiress Tanya Mcquoid’s (Jennifer Coolidge) fascination and overcompensating adoration of the resort’s spa manager, Belinda (Natasha Rothwell), does not sit right with me from the start. At first, their interactions are empathetic exchanges. But the layers gradually unfold, revealing Tanya to be desperate for emotional healing that she clings to Belinda incessantly.

That is when the racism that smiles, that “means well” starts rotting its veneers of politeness and self-satisfaction.

Tanya promises Belinda the dream of funding Belinda's own wellness spa business, dangling it like a lifeline–only to abandon the idea when something shinier comes along and fulfills Tanya's emotional unavailability. Belinda, who has broken down her guards to warm up to Tanya, is now confronted with this automatic removal. To Tanya, Belinda is not a person with autonomy but a comforting prop in the heiress's endless search for self-fulfillment.

But the most disturbing thing is? It is that Tanya never sees the betrayal. Her privilege and entitlement insulate her completely. In her mind, she has been generous and kind, and the plan does not work out simply because it does not. But to someone like Belinda, a working-class woman of colour, to have plans is a luxury. And that's the point: The White Lotus captures how racism operates through paternalism, through the commodification of care and through a complete lack of genuine self-awarness.

Critique on the Post-racial Utopia?

One of the most fascinating characters of season 1 that I am still trying to wrap my head around is Paula (Brittany O'Grady), a proxy character for the show to critique the idea of a “post-racial utopia." She's embraced by Olivia's wealthy white family. She attends an elite college. She moves freely among the resort's guests. So, on the surface, having Paula as a young woman of color might be evidence that this vacation paradise has moved beyond race (although she is one of the few guests who are not white). But it is quickly revealed that her inclusion is conditional and superficial. Or, even meaningless.

After becoming closer to Kai, one of the local Hawaiian staff, Paula grows a looming sense of discomfort with how the resort and its ultra-rich guests treat the local workers. She is now hyper-aware that the society around her, one that “embraces” her, has not moved beyond racial and economic hierarchies; it has simply learned to mask itself behind politeness. For instance, Paula abruptly leaves in the middle of dinner with Olivia's family because of how unsettling it is to watch wealthy white guests wine and dine while watching a performance from the local workers on their stolen land and a culture exploited, appropriated, and fetishized by colonialism.

Yet, as morally upright as Paula wants herself to be, she can't even separate herself from privilege. She is precisely as complicit as the white guests she has criticized. When Paula tries to “help” Kai by encouraging him to steal from Olivia's family, it backfires catastrophically. Kai is arrested yet Paula walks away untouched, her privilege completely intact. Such a gesture of solidarity stemming from a reckless impulse to “fight” the system is nothing but hollow. It is entitlement masked as solidarity.

The Liberal, The Complicit.

It is almost impossible to talk about Paula without talking about her supposed best friend, Olivia Mossbacher (Sydney Sweeney). Like Paula, she presents herself as a socially conscious, cynical Gen Z liberal, reading philosophical books and making remarks about how messed up the ‘system’ is, although she clearly habituates herself nicely into the lifestyle afforded by the system. I have seen this performativity before, a kind that rebels against privilege, criticizes her parents, and rolls her eyes. Yet, Olivia and Paula's attempts to ‘fight the system’ are merely symbolic: they read radical literature, spout critiques of capitalism and colonialism, and smugly posture as more enlightened than the adults around them. Comfortable enough, they criticize while snuggling into the luxurious, soothing fabric of the resort's thousand-dollar bed.

Neither Olivia nor Paula steps outside to look into the system they are overly upset with–they are only fluent in its language, wearing such ideas as mere adornment. They are rude to the staff and their judgment immediately to anyone who seems a bit ‘oblivious’ from their limited perspectives. Such a sharp commentary shows how young people who recklessly declare their disobedience and put up this liberal performance afforded to them by privilege and status without ever stepping outside of their bubble or engaging with the said cause intentionally and directly risk becoming a form of bigotry.

Final Thoughts

I love how Mike White allows these dynamics brim and simmer quietly. No one gives a grand, expositional speech about colonization or race relations (perhaps, except for when Mark Mossbacher said that colonization and imperialism were ‘bad’ but we should all move on). Instead, the camera is quietly pervasive, lingering on the tired faces of the workers who manufacture smiles while knowing that their land and culture have been commodified, commercialized, and once again exploited, showing that colonialism has never really ended.

Even the resort itself functions as a metaphor. The White Lotus is a manufactured and human-made paradise built over stolen indigenous land. It is then curated and manicured for the enjoyment of rich outsiders whose fascination often resides in the ‘exotic other.’ The guests, Tanya McQuoid, the newly-wedded Shane and Rachel Patton, and the Mossabacher family, are exactly where they want to be: a place to have nothing much to think about, to escape reality, not confronting it.

I mean, how does racism endure? Through the ability to look away and self-indulge: “I mean well!”

I am officially sold and cannot wait to dive into the second and third seasons of the show. The White Lotus is not so much about luxurious vacations gone wrong or rich people's problems; it is an unflinching study of colonial legacy and the eroding facade of neoliberalism. A smiling face of racism, one that does not even know it is there–this racism leaves just as much wreckage in its wake.