There’s a question that’s been following me around lately:

Who do I become when it would be easier to look away?

I don’t mean in the dramatic, movie-scene moments. I mean in the quiet ones: when a coworker makes a “joke” that lands on someone’s identity; when a friend says “I don’t see color” and expects praise; when a news story breaks about yet another injustice and I scroll past because I’m “too tired” to engage.

In 2026, it feels like the world is on fire in a thousand different ways at once: climate disasters, political polarization, economic inequality, attacks on marginalized communities, wars and displacement. It’s overwhelming. It’s tempting to shut down, to retreat into our own lives and say, “I’m just trying to survive.”

And yet, if we want a better world, “trying to survive” can’t be the end of the story.

This is a reflection on what it means to move from awareness to responsibility—on privilege, solidarity, and the slow, imperfect work of showing up for each other.

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The Moment I Realized “Good Intentions” Weren’t Enough

I used to think of myself as “one of the good ones.”

I read the right books. I posted the right things on social media when something terrible happened. I prided myself on being “open-minded.” I thought that made me a good ally.

Then, a few years ago, I was in a meeting where a colleague—let’s call her Maya—was repeatedly interrupted and talked over. She’s a woman of color in a mostly white, mostly male space. I noticed it happening. I felt that familiar discomfort rising in my chest. I thought, “This isn’t right.”

And I did nothing.

After the meeting, I went to her and said, “I’m so sorry that happened. I saw it and it made me uncomfortable.” She nodded politely, but there was this quiet sadness in her eyes. She said, “I appreciate you saying that. But honestly, I would have appreciated it more if you’d said something in the moment.”

That sentence lodged itself in me like a splinter.

I walked away realizing: my discomfort had mattered more to me than her dignity. My desire to be seen as “nice” and “not confrontational” had been more important than using the privilege I had in that room. My silence had aligned me with the status quo, no matter what I believed in my head.

This is the part that’s hard to admit: I had been more invested in seeing myself as a good person than in being useful.

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Privilege as Unpaid Debt, Not Personal Guilt

The word “privilege” can make people defensive. It can sound like an accusation: “You didn’t earn what you have.” Or a dismissal: “Your struggles don’t matter.”

But privilege isn’t a moral judgment; it’s a description of uneven terrain.

It’s the ways the world is tilted in our favor or against us based on things we didn’t choose—race, gender, sexuality, class, ability, citizenship, body size, neurotype, and so on. You can be struggling and still be privileged in some dimensions. You can be marginalized in one area and privileged in another.

I like to think of privilege not as a personal flaw, but as an unpaid social debt. It’s not about shame; it’s about responsibility.

If the world has given me smoother pathways in some areas—whether it’s being able-bodied, cisgender, documented, middle-class, or something else—then the question becomes:

– How do I use that smoother path to clear obstacles for others?
– How do I turn unearned advantages into shared benefits?

This reframing matters because guilt is paralyzing. Responsibility is mobilizing.

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Intersectionality: No One Is Just One Thing

The concept of intersectionality, coined by legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw, helped me understand why one-size-fits-all approaches to justice fail.

Intersectionality says: people don’t experience the world only as “woman” or “Black” or “disabled” or “queer” or “poor” in isolation. These identities intersect. A Black woman doesn’t face racism plus sexism as separate lines on a spreadsheet; she experiences a specific, intertwined form of oppression that can’t be understood by looking at race or gender alone.

I remember a conversation with a friend who’s a queer, disabled person of color. They described going to a “women’s empowerment” event that talked about breaking the glass ceiling—but every example assumed a white, able-bodied, corporate professional. Another time, they went to a disability rights meetup where people spoke passionately about accessibility but resisted talking about racism or transphobia.

They told me, “In every space, I’m expected to leave parts of myself at the door.”

Intersectionality invites us to stop asking, “Which issue is most important?” and start asking, “Who is being left out of our solutions?”

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The Myth of the Perfect Ally

One thing that keeps many of us from showing up is the fear of getting it wrong.

We worry:
– What if I say the wrong thing?
– What if I overstep?
– What if I center myself?
– What if I’m called out?

So we stay quiet. We don’t ask questions. We don’t intervene. We don’t join. And we tell ourselves it’s because we “don’t want to do harm,” when often it’s because we don’t want to feel uncomfortable.

I’ve made just about every “ally” mistake there is:
– I’ve spoken over people I meant to support.
– I’ve offered solutions when what was needed was listening.
– I’ve expected gratitude for doing the bare minimum.
– I’ve turned someone else’s pain into my “learning moment.”

What I’ve learned is this: there is no way to do solidarity without messing up. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s repair.

Being called in (or out) is not the end of the story; it’s an invitation to grow. The question isn’t “Will I ever make a mistake?” but “What will I do when I inevitably do?”

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Questions for Self-Reflection

If you’re reading this and wondering where to start, here are some questions that have helped me:

1. Where am I most comfortable?
In conversations about race but not about disability? About gender but not class? What does that reveal about my own positioning and blind spots?

2. When have I stayed silent because I didn’t want to rock the boat?
What did that cost the person or group being harmed? What did it cost my own integrity?

3. Who is missing from my life?
Look at your closest friends, colleagues, mentors, favorite authors, people you follow online. Whose voices are absent? What perspectives do you rarely encounter?

4. What am I willing to give up?
Not just money, but comfort, time, social capital, the benefit of the doubt. Solidarity often asks us to sacrifice convenience.

5. How do I respond when I’m wrong?
Do I get defensive? Do I center my intentions instead of the impact? Do I apologize and change, or just apologize?

Take one of these questions and sit with it. Journal about it. Talk about it with a friend. Let it unsettle you a little—that’s where growth often starts.

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Practical Ways to Practice Solidarity

Reflection is important, but it’s not enough. Here are some grounded ways to move from awareness to action:

1. Listen Longer Than Feels Comfortable

When someone shares their experience of oppression, resist the urge to:
– Offer quick fixes
– Compare it to your own struggles
– Explain it away (“I’m sure they didn’t mean it”)

Instead, try:
– “Thank you for trusting me with this.”
– “That sounds really painful.”
– “Is there a way I can support you right now?”

Listening is not passive; it’s an active choice to make space for someone else’s reality.

2. Learn Without Demanding Labor

Educate yourself through books, articles, podcasts, films, and lectures created by people from the communities you care about. Pay for their work when you can.

Resist the impulse to treat your marginalized friends as walking encyclopedias. If they offer to explain, that’s different. But it’s not their job to build your understanding from scratch.

3. Use Your Voice Where It Matters

In your workplace, family, friend group, or community:
– Speak up when harmful comments are made.
– Advocate for policies that create more equity (pay transparency, flexible work, accessible spaces, inclusive hiring).
– Support people who are targeted, not just in private but in public.

Even simple interventions—“Let’s let her finish,” “That’s not okay,” “We don’t use that language here”—can shift the tone of a room.

4. Follow the Leadership of Those Most Affected

If you’re joining a cause that’s not about your own survival, look for organizations led by people from the impacted communities. Ask:
– What are they asking for?
– How can I support that, rather than imposing my own ideas?

Solidarity isn’t about swooping in as a savior; it’s about standing alongside and backing the strategies already being developed.

5. Build Community, Not Just Crisis Response

It’s easy to show up when something dramatic happens. It’s harder—and more transformative—to build relationships and structures before and between crises.

– Join local mutual aid networks.
– Get to know your neighbors.
– Support community centers, grassroots organizations, and local movements.
– Practice care: checking in, sharing resources, showing up consistently.

A better world is built less through grand gestures and more through sustained, collective effort.

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A Path Forward: Choosing Who We Are Becoming

I think often about that meeting with Maya. About the version of me who stayed silent, and the version of me I’m trying to become.

I don’t get it right every time. I still miss opportunities. I still choose comfort more often than I’d like to admit. But I’m trying to shorten the distance between what I believe and how I act.

Maybe that’s the work for all of us in 2026 and beyond: to close the gap between our values and our behaviors, between the world we say we want and the choices we make in the smallest moments.

So I’ll leave you with this:

– Where is one place in your life where you can move one step closer to solidarity?
– What is one conversation you’ve been avoiding that you’re now willing to have?
– What is one habit of silence, convenience, or detachment you’re ready to question?

We don’t have to transform everything overnight. We just have to keep asking, in each moment:

Who am I becoming—and who am I becoming with?

Because a better world won’t arrive fully formed. It will be built, slowly, imperfectly, by people willing to look honestly at themselves and still choose to show up for each other.

Photo by josue rosales on Unsplash