Given the discussions surrounding the segregation and subsequent protests on campus, it is important to understand what our roles are as allies to different communities. As both an ally and a member of many underprivileged communities, this is what I’ve learned:

If we really mean to be any kind of ally, we must take the initiative to educate ourselves. There’s a wealth of easily accessible information out there. We can’t assume that the lone person in our class that isn’t straight/cisgender/white/ablebodied/etc. is there to provide us with every bit of information about their communities. Even if they readily volunteer to help us through our learning process, that doesn’t mean that they’re required to do so and that it’s their job to in the first place.

We can’t hijack spaces that belong to the underprivileged. As allies, we aren’t part of the communities that we support. Privileged people have no business going into underprivileged spaces and making that group’s problems all about themselves. My biggest problem with the segregation scandal was that people of color were nowhere to be found, and the ones that did appear were behind the white folks, parroting their message. The instances we did get PoC input and/or dissent was after everything was said and done, which was quickly overshadowed by the news of open bids.

For all intents and purposes, the entire shebang involved white people talking to other white people about what the best thing for the black community would be. That kind of paternalism helps no one and only reinforces the privileged group’s supremacy. That also means that it’s important not to speak for anyone else. If you’re trying to relay someone’s experience to people whose privilege you share, then the best course of action is asking that person’s permission and never using anything but their words.

We shouldn’t assume that what’s true for one member of a community applies to all of it. Privilege and non-privilege work on multiple levels simultaneously. What might appear to be an inconsistency or paradox is in fact multifaceted people moving through complex systems. How I experience racism, for instance, will be different than how a black man experiences it; likewise, how I experience sexism as a black woman will be different than how a white woman experiences it. That does not mean that our experiences are invalid.

It also doesn’t mean that there exists some mythical pyramid where things may somehow “come out equal,” or even that having privilege doesn’t damage those who presumably have it, if they happen to fall outside of its acceptable bounds of behavior. Even among people who might experience the same oppression, people are still affected differently by other factors.

Please take responsibility for your screw-ups and acknowledge your inherent complicity. It might not be your fault that an unjust system exists, but all of us with privilege (and those of us who’ve internalized oppression) have perpetuated it in some way. Your personal comfort as a person with privilege will never be more important than the voices of those without the privilege you have. If you’re looking for personal validation or assurance that your intentions meant well, you’re not an ally. Your intentions don’t matter as an ally; results do.

Ultimately, allies must listen. We’re often so quick to lend support and solve problems that we miss valuable information or unwittingly harm the very people we seek to help. We shut down any opportunity for conversation by tone policing, deflecting criticism or challenging the legitimacy of people’s experiences. Genuine change only happens when we are willing to challenge the status quo and accept discomfort.

Samaria Johnson is a junior majoring in history. Her column runs biweekly.