I dont give a shit about your comfort

- An Essay

Comfort Is Relative. Don’t forget it.

Let’s be clear: if my existence makes you “uncomfortable,” that’s not discomfort, it’s bigotry. What we've seen from the MAGA movement is that even the smallest inconvenience to a certain segment of right-wing white Americans is quickly reframed as oppression. This is their trademark strategy: create false narratives to distract from the real issues. A political playbook built on distortion.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives have made it possible for historically marginalized communities to finally gain access to opportunities that have long been denied. To suggest that DEI places unqualified individuals in positions they haven’t earned is not just misleading, it’s a deliberate attempt to undermine progress and manipulate the MAGA base, a coalition often fueled by disinformation and resentment. That coalition, dangerously, includes both the powerful elite who prioritize wealth and control, and the less educated every day people who have been misled into defending a system that harms them, too.

“Privilege” has become a charged word in today’s discourse, largely because some groups insist on misunderstanding it. Privilege does not mean you’ve never faced hardship. It does not mean your life is easy or that you’re wealthy. What it does mean is this: your race, gender, sexuality, or ability has not directly made your life more difficult.

I once asked my father to think back on all the major challenges he’s faced—personal, professional, everything. Then I asked him: “Did being white cause any of those problems? Did your race, gender, or sexuality ever get used against you?” His answer came quickly, “No.”

THAT is privilege.

To move through the world with the assurance that not only do you have equal opportunity, but in many cases, a built-in advantage. For straight white men, this often goes unnoticed because it feels like the baseline. But that comfort, that ease of access, is not universal. It is the absence of discrimination, not because of merit, but because of identity, and that, in itself, is a powerful privilege.

When I, as a queer woman, reflect on my struggles, or when my queer black partner reflects on hers, discrimination is not just a background factor. It’s central. I’ve been overlooked for jobs I was clearly overqualified for, only to later learn that a less-experienced man got the role. Ive been screamed at, cussed at, threatened, and called slurs by strangers just for existing. My partner has faced much more, both subtle and overt forms of bias that try to silence or even erase her in some settings.

Here’s the reality: a white man may walk into a job interview and not get hired. It could be due to his résumé, his answers, or a lack of chemistry with the interviewer. But what won’t be a factor, what never enters the equation, is the fact that he is a white man. He was not passed over because he was white.

Now, imagine that same scenario, but with a Black woman. Studies show that over 70% of the time, even when she is overqualified, she will be overlooked. Not because of her answers. Not because of her experience. But because she doesn’t fit into an unspoken standard of "culture fit", a euphemism for bias. DEI has allowed Black women, among others, to access spaces where they can thrive, not because of charity or lowered standards, but because the playing field is finally being leveled.

Comfort is a funny concept when discussing the many forms of bigotry that plague modern society. Discomfort, in contrast, is a natural and necessary part of growth in any form. Whether physical, emotional, spiritual, or psychological, true growth requires an ability to push oneself beyond familiar boundaries and into unfamiliar territory. It means confronting what feels safe, what feels known, and what feels easy. It means choosing to be challenged.

Bigotry is no different. Many individuals who hold prejudiced views didn’t wake up one day and decide to hate, they were shaped by environments that normalized it. They were raised in echo chambers where bias was presented as truth, where "us vs. them" mentalities were inherited rather than questioned. Bigotry often isn’t born of malice, but of ignorance passed down generation to generation. It's what they know. It's how they see the world. It's comfortable.

But if comfort keeps people entrenched in harmful mindsets, then discomfort is what cracks those walls. Unlearning bigotry requires discomfort, being confronted with new perspectives, being held accountable, sitting with guilt, confusion, or defensiveness. It's not easy work, but it’s essential. We cannot dismantle systems of oppression or transform hearts and minds without making people uncomfortable, and that includes ourselves. Growth isn't polite or tidy. It’s messy, disorienting, and often painful. But it’s also the birthplace of empathy, equity, and progress.

So when we talk about comfort in the context of bigotry, we must ask, Whose comfort are we protecting? And at what cost?

We see white privilege on full display in the criminal justice system. Every year, there are dozens of stories in which white men over the age of 18 are described as “boys.” Boys who made a mistake. Boys who deserve a second chance. But a Black 16-year-old? He’s labeled a man. He’s villianized and tried as an adult. There is no benefit of the doubt. No forgiveness. Just punishment.

What we’re witnessing isn’t just discomfort with change, it’s fear of accountability. The backlash against DEI, queer rights, racial justice, and any movement toward equity is rooted in the terror that long-standing systems of privilege might actually be held responsible. Power structures don’t fear incompetence, they fear visibility. They fear what happens when the people they’ve oppressed for generations begin to take up space, to lead, to demand more than survival.

This is why representation matters, not as a token gesture, but as a radical act of reclamation. When marginalized people step into roles of influence, when our voices are in the room, we don’t just change the narrative, we challenge the entire foundation the house was built on. We’re not asking for handouts; we’re demanding what’s ours; dignity, opportunity, and the right to thrive without apology.

Solidarity isn’t just about empathy, it’s a strategic necessity. The systems that divide us; racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, are all interconnected, and our resistance must be as well. Black, queer, trans, disabled, immigrant—our liberation is linked. When we show up for each other, when we listen deeply and act decisively, we dismantle the lies we've been fed and build something honest in their place.

This work is not always easy, and it’s certainly not always comfortable, but it’s necessary. Because comfort has never been the measure of justice, equity has. And true equity doesn’t come from silence or politeness. It comes from courage, from community, and from the unrelenting belief that we deserve more, and will accept nothing less.