Fight for Those Who Don’t Have Your Privilege

Privilege is not an accusation; it is a responsibility. It is the door you walked through that others are still pounding on.

You sit in your warm home, the walls lined with books you chose, the scent of coffee curling through the air like a quiet assurance that you are safe, that today is just another day. You have your opinions, sharp as glass, and the luxury to voice them without consequence. You can step outside without fear curling in your gut, without your body being a battlefield someone else laid claim to. You can rest.

Somewhere else, someone like you—but not like you—wakes up in a world that does not hold them with the same softness. Their voice is a risk. Their body is policed. Their existence is questioned, denied, erased in real-time while the world turns away, distracted by things that don’t matter. They do not get to opt out of the fight.

Privilege is not an accusation; it is a responsibility. It is the door you walked through that others are still pounding on. You did not build the door, but here you are, on the other side. Will you keep walking, or will you hold it open? Will you risk your comfort, your convenience, your carefully curated peace, to make space for those who have never known it?

To fight for others is not to save them. They do not need saving. They need allies who do not flinch, who do not retreat when the world snarls back. Who understand that justice is not a performance, but a choice made daily, in the quiet moments when no one is watching.

You cannot give away your privilege, but you can use it like a crowbar, like a megaphone, like a shield. You can take what was handed to you—unearned, inherited, granted by luck or circumstance—and wield it for those who never had the option.

You are not separate from this. You are not above it. You are in it, whether you admit it or not.

So fight. Not for gratitude, not for praise, not for the story you will tell later. Fight because it is the only way forward.