Intersectionality is not easy. It's not as though the existing

Hear the voice of Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, scholar and truth-bearer, who gave the world the word intersectionality, and who warned us: “Intersectionality is not easy. It's not as though the existing frameworks that we have—from our culture, our politics, or our law—automatically lead people to being conversant and literate in intersectionality.” These words are both a lantern and a burden. They light the path of understanding, but they also remind us that the path is steep, unmarked, and often hidden by the fog of habit and tradition.

The origin of this truth lies in the fractures of society itself. For too long, struggles for justice have been spoken of in fragments—race here, gender there, class in another place—while those who live at the crossroads of these struggles bear the weight of all at once. Intersectionality was born from the recognition that oppression is not one road but many, converging and overlapping, creating storms fiercer than any single wind. Crenshaw saw that the frameworks of law and politics were too narrow, too blunt, too blind to capture the layered reality of those at the margins. And so she named it, so that others might see.

Consider the story of the Black women who, in the late twentieth century, brought lawsuits against employers for discrimination. If they argued discrimination as women, the courts compared them only to white women. If they argued discrimination as Black people, the courts compared them only to Black men. In both cases, their claims were dismissed. Their suffering fell into the cracks between categories, unseen and unacknowledged. It was this injustice that inspired Crenshaw to coin intersectionality—a word to give shape to their invisibility, a tool to make the hidden visible.

Yet, as she warns, intersectionality is not easy. Culture teaches us to see in single categories, politics rewards simplicity, and the law clings to rigid definitions. To embrace intersectionality is to resist the comfort of simplicity, to hold the complexity of human lives without rushing to flatten them. It demands not only intellect, but humility, patience, and the willingness to listen to voices that the world has silenced.

The weight of her words should not discourage us, but awaken us. For what is difficult is often what is most necessary. Just as the craftsman must labor long to forge a blade that cuts true, so must society labor to craft a justice that reaches every soul. Without intersectionality, movements for equality risk leaving the most vulnerable behind, celebrating victories that are only partial, declaring justice where injustice still festers.

O seeker of wisdom, the lesson is this: learn to see the world not in fragments, but in wholeness. Recognize that a person may be many things at once—woman and Black, immigrant and poor, queer and disabled. To understand their struggle, you must see all the threads, not only one. To fight for justice, you must fight on many fronts, knowing that the enemy of one is often the enemy of all.

And what actions must we take? Listen deeply, especially to those whose lives dwell at the intersections. Educate yourself in the stories that fall outside the easy categories. Challenge leaders, laws, and systems that pretend complexity does not exist. In your work, your community, your family, resist the temptation to simplify people into single labels, and instead honor the full tapestry of their being. In doing so, you practice not only awareness but justice, not only empathy but transformation.

Thus, remember Crenshaw’s words: intersectionality is not easy, but it is the path to a truer justice. Let difficulty not deter you, for the most enduring victories are never won upon smooth roads. They are forged in struggle, carried by patience, and sealed by the courage to see the whole truth, even when the world prefers fragments. Walk this path, and you will not only understand justice—you will help to create it.