The Language of Power, Privilege, Survival, and the Fragility of Allyship

We struggle to find words that ring true, so we can make sense of our existence. Then we end up arguing about the words.

On Threads, a story drew both praise and fury. A woman, nomadnovelswithtea, described stepping in when police arrested her 18-year-old neighbour, a young man with mental health struggles. She calmed him, spoke to the officers, and went home safely. Why? Because she was white. “My whiteness allowed me to speak to him and for me to speak to the police without me getting arrested,” she wrote.

Her post was about more than kindness; it was about power. One voice amplified by privilege could be heard by police, while another—the terrified young man’s—was ignored. That imbalance is at the core of every system of oppression. Whiteness, maleness, cisness: these categories don’t just mark identity, they shape whose voices carry and whose are silenced.

Her point was sharp: there is no such thing as a “non-practicing white woman.” Whiteness is not a lifestyle; it is a condition. White women who soften their complicity with euphemisms only muddy the waters. Privilege is not optional; it can only be denied or used.

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The Spectrum of Responses

The reaction was immediate and fractured.

Some embraced her candour. Several white women even joked about their “Karen privilege,” describing how they deliberately use their appearance or authority to shield neighbours and clients of colour. A Bronx caseworker admitted he trains his clients to “Karen it up” while he stays in the room with his white voice as backup. Others praised the honesty of naming privilege rather than pretending it doesn’t exist.

Others bristled at the language. A Black woman, alphalaydie, wrote: “I still get followed in the store. I still get paid less. I am three times more likely to die in childbirth than a white woman. I just wish y’all stopped using the phrase ‘non-practicing’ and just be white women and use that privilege to fight the patriarchy and racism instead of rebranding.”

For her and others, the phrase sounded like self-absolution, a way to center white women yet again in conversations that should focus on systemic inequality. In their view, even the attempt to frame the issue through new terminology risked making the conversation about language rather than power.

And some denied the premise altogether. “White privilege is a myth,” one commenter insisted. “All you did was be a good person.” Others argued the outcome had more to do with respect or calmness than with skin color. These rebuttals ignored the mountain of evidence—and lived testimony in the thread itself—that whiteness shapes who gets safety, credibility, and second chances.

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The Irony of Allyship

In trying to clarify, nomadnovelswithtea explained that she had used “non-practicing” sarcastically, a jab at white women who distance themselves from their racial identity. But without quotation marks or context, the irony fell flat. Her insistence that she wasn’t centring herself only made some readers feel she was, in fact, doing just that.

The irony of allyship: your voice carries further because of privilege, but the louder it carries, the more likely it becomes the story.

This is the tension every ally faces. When you speak, you may be heard because of privilege—but in speaking, you also risk drowning out the very voices you mean to defend.

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A Parallel in Trans Experience

Reading this exchange, I felt an uncomfortable recognition. I am a Latina trans woman who is often perceived as cisgender. That perception shields me from some of the violence and discrimination other trans people endure. It means I can move through the world with a measure of safety that many in my community cannot.

Yet I live with a low-level hum of survivor’s guilt. Because while I may be safer, this safety depends on how others read me—on how closely I align with a cis template I never chose. That is not the way survival should work.

The imbalance here is about voice as much as safety. Cis people’s voices are amplified in conversations about gender; trans people’s are often silenced or dismissed. Saying “I’m not one of those cis people” is as hollow as “non-practicing white woman.” In both cases, privilege isn’t undone by disavowal. The only honest question is how it will be used.

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Beyond Clever Labels

And here’s the charge: stop inventing clever labels to distance yourself from privilege. Stop saying “non-practicing.”Stop saying “I don’t see gender” or “I don’t see race.” These phrases do not dismantle systems; they insulate the speaker. They make the conversation about language rather than lives, about performance rather than power.

Privilege isn’t optional—it’s structural. The real question is whether we’ll squander it or wield it to defend those the system targets or excludes.

Yes, words matter. But what matters more is what you do when privilege could make the difference between safety and harm. Will you step in at the traffic stop? Will you back up the trans colleague when they’re undermined? Will you use your access to housing, education, or credibility to widen the door rather than keep it shut?

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In Closing

We struggle to find words that ring true, so we can make sense of our existence. Then we end up arguing about the words—privilege, whiteness, passing; those things that are both inherited and unearned, or from our self-determination. But what truly matters is how we have allowed these ideas to shape who deserves to survive. We often forget that our value is not defined by labels, but by our shared humanity.