Wicked Reflections: Glinda, Southern White Women, and a Call to Accountability

The long-anticipated movie Wicked has brought the beloved Broadway musical to the big screen, allowing us to revisit the enchanting—and deeply layered—story of Elphaba, the “Wicked Witch of the West,” and Glinda, the “Good Witch.” While the tale unfolds in the whimsical Land of Oz, its themes are profoundly relevant to our world, particularly for those of us raised in the South.

One of the most striking aspects of Wicked is its exploration of power, privilege, and perspective. Glinda—blonde, bubbly, and beloved—is everything society praises in a woman. She knows how to charm a crowd, navigate political waters, and play the part of the benevolent leader. Yet, beneath her glittering exterior lies a complicity that resonates uncomfortably with many of us who grew up as white women in the South.

Glinda’s story is our story.

The Southern “Good Witch” Persona

Southern white women have long been cast as the keepers of gentility and grace, the embodiments of charm and decorum. From debutante balls to church potlucks, we’ve been raised to uphold the image of the “good girl”—soft-spoken, polite, and above all, non-confrontational. Like Glinda, we’ve been encouraged to prioritize appearances and align ourselves with the prevailing powers, even when those powers perpetuate harm.

But what happens when that “goodness” comes at the expense of justice?

In Wicked, Glinda benefits from a system that vilifies Elphaba, a misunderstood and marginalized figure. She doesn’t challenge the lies told about her friend; instead, she goes along with the narrative that maintains her own status. How many of us, as Southern white women, have done the same? How often have we prioritized our comfort over confronting racism, sexism, or other forms of systemic injustice?

Glitter and Guilt

Glinda’s glittering façade is a mirror for the ways we, too, can use our privilege to avoid accountability. We throw baby showers and bake sales, but often sidestep the harder conversations about equity and reparations. We quote Bible verses about love but remain silent when our communities uphold exclusionary practices. We champion kindness, but kindness without courage is hollow.

Like Glinda, we’ve inherited systems that reward our compliance. And like Glinda, we must choose whether to cling to those rewards or to confront the truth—even when it costs us.

Learning from Elphaba

Elphaba represents the messy, uncomfortable, and necessary work of challenging the status quo. She is not polished or perfect, but she is principled. She is willing to stand alone, to be misunderstood, to face the consequences of speaking out against injustice. Her story is a reminder that true goodness is not about being liked; it’s about doing what is right.

For Southern white women, the challenge is clear: We must stop settling for the glitter of performative “goodness” and step into the courageous, unglamorous work of accountability. This means acknowledging our complicity in systems of oppression and taking active steps to dismantle them. It means listening to marginalized voices, amplifying their stories, and using our privilege to create change.

A Call to Accountability

In the end, Glinda’s redemption lies in her willingness to acknowledge her complicity and to change. As Southern white women, we, too, have the opportunity to rewrite our stories. But it requires us to be honest about the ways we’ve benefited from—and perpetuated—harm. It requires us to trade our glittering facades for something deeper: integrity, humility, and justice.

So, as you watch Wicked and marvel at its music, magic, and spectacle, take a moment to reflect on its lessons. Ask yourself: Am I more like Glinda than I’d like to admit? And if so, what will I do about it?

Because true goodness isn’t about being adored; it’s about being accountable. And the time for accountability is now.