It has been an upsetting week for racial representation on both the cultural and political front – between Cory Booker’s recent suspension of his presidential campaign and the overwhelmingly white (and male) composition of this year’s Oscar’s nominations, it seems we are regressing in a way that’s certainly hurtful, if slightly unsurprising. With America’s population never more diverse, why is cultural and political representation still so white?

While the answer seems, on the one hand, obvious, recent political history adds nuance to frustration. After Donald Trump’s election in 2016, the need for progressive candidates of color became clearer than ever. As a result, politicians such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar and Tiffany Cabán soared to the frontlines, promising to solve racial and class inequities on both a national and local level. The composition of presidential candidates shifted, too, and the 2020 Democratic ballot was the most progressive and diverse it’s ever been – no doubt in opposition to the hyper-conservative platform of our current president.

Kamala Harris and Booker weren’t perfect – Harris’s history on criminal justice was less than satisfying – but the political caliber of both was undeniable, and many voters were rightfully excited at the prospect of two promising black Democratic candidates. This excitement faltered when Harris declared her withdrawal from the presidential race last month, and was further stalled this week when Booker announced the same. This news is especially frustrating given that most of the Democratic candidates that remain in the race are white men: Pete Buttigieg, Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders.

To say that Harris and Booker withdrawing from the race was disappointing is an understatement. It felt personal: though I was never entirely on the same page with either candidate politically, the comfort and validation that comes from seeing a candidate who looks like you, who vows to protect you and your community, is undeniable. But my sadness stems from something much deeper than a desire for representation; it’s my sense that the increasingly white Democratic slate confirms people of color’s worst fears about the trajectory of this country’s political landscape.

In the devastating aftermath of Trump’s 2016 win, we were consoled only by the conviction that this was fated to happen, that we needed a candidate to win on a platform of hate so that we could wake up to the immediate necessity of electing a leader who prioritized the values of unity, justice and, of course, love. As such, seeing promising candidates of color fail is even more devastating because it questions that logic and makes Trump’s win feel like less of a fluke and more of a prediction of our future.

This same is true of our disappointment with this year’s Oscar nominations. Like the 2020 Democratic ballot, this year’s Oscar nominations are oppressively (if unsurprisingly) white. In the wake of the nomination announcements, viewers and critics alike have been quick to point out the large number of creatives who were snubbed, many of whom were people of color. Lupita Nyong’o did not get an Oscar nomination for her spellbinding lead performance in Us, and it seems strange that more attention was not given to the actors in films such as Hustlers and Parasite. The black British actor Cynthia Erivo was the only person of color nominated across 20 acting categories, and out of five directing nominations, all nominees were male.

Ultimately, what’s most upsetting is not the number of white candidates or the number of white nominations, it’s what this whitewashing represents: a grand invalidation of the lived experiences of people of color. Marginalized politicians and creatives face greater pressures to succeed in their field, despite lesser resources, as well as to use their platforms to amplify the concerns of their communities amid a culture that often couldn’t care less.

Every year it becomes clearer that the Academy cannot be trusted to choose the stories that best represent our culture; the organization seems preoccupied with ensuring that only its historic demographic – heterosexual, older white men – is allowed to have its experiences validated and seen.

Similarly, the cyclical defeat of marginalized candidates due to a lack of money or support reinforces the notion that whiteness is a quality that one must possess in order to be effective as a leader or individual. In this way, whiteness becomes both a standard to achieve as well as one to fight against, ensuring that creatives and politicians of color are doomed to fail.

Focusing on the individual experiences of Nyong’o or Booker is easier than facing the uncomfortable reality that we are living under a white supremacist regime that does not recognize the humanity of marginalized politicians, creatives or people. We can only hope that this week’s setbacks will mobilize people to organize, to vote, to show up for marginalized artists and to recognize the worth of people of color even as we are structurally and systematically undervalued.

• Mary Retta is a freelance writer covering culture, identity, sexual politics and wellness