The better we understand how identities and power work together

Host: The community hall smelled faintly of coffee, paper, and rain-soaked coats. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off folding chairs arranged in uneven rows. Outside, the city was dark and alive — sirens in the distance, the hum of buses, the sound of a thousand lives overlapping but not always intersecting.

Inside, the walls were lined with posters — words like Justice, Solidarity, and Intersectionality half-faded from years of repetition.

At the back of the room, Jack leaned against a table scattered with flyers and notebooks, his jacket still damp from the storm. Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged atop the table, pen in hand, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone screen — an article open, a quote highlighted in gold.

Jeeny: “Kimberlé Crenshaw once said, ‘The better we understand how identities and power work together from one context to another, the less likely our movements for change are to fracture.’”

Jack: [dryly] “She makes it sound so simple. Like all we need is understanding.”

Jeeny: “Understanding’s the hardest part. Especially when everyone’s fighting for the microphone instead of the message.”

Host: The heater rattled in the corner, fighting to keep the chill out of the old building. The night pressed close against the windows, listening.

Jack: “You know, I’ve been to a dozen protests this year — climate, housing, justice, labor. Every one of them started united and ended divided.”

Jeeny: “Because power doesn’t just exist in governments and corporations. It exists in us. We bring our hierarchies with us — into our activism, our art, our relationships.”

Jack: “So even our revolutions have classes.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And Crenshaw’s saying that if we don’t understand how identity and power intertwine — race, gender, class, sexuality, ability — then every movement eventually breaks on its own contradictions.”

Jack: “Intersectionality.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not as a buzzword — as a blueprint.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, streaking the windows like melted reflections. Jeeny’s pen tapped against her notebook in a slow, deliberate rhythm — like the sound of thinking aloud.

Jack: “You think it’s possible to unite people who’ve been taught to measure pain like currency?”

Jeeny: “It has to be. Otherwise every cause becomes competition — whose suffering matters most, whose voice gets the mic. And power loves that. Division is its favorite song.”

Jack: [softly] “So the system doesn’t even have to silence us — we do it ourselves.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Every argument over who’s right is one less moment spent building what’s fair.”

Host: She slid her phone across the table — an image on the screen: a photo of Crenshaw speaking at a rally, her face fierce, luminous, defiant.

Jeeny: “Crenshaw wasn’t just talking theory. She was talking survival. Intersectionality isn’t about labeling — it’s about mapping the terrain of inequality so we don’t lose each other in the fog.”

Jack: “And yet people treat it like a hashtag. Something to perform instead of practice.”

Jeeny: “Because performance is easier than reflection. It’s easier to say the right words than to question how we hold privilege in our own hands.”

Host: The light above them flickered, briefly dimming the room into shadow. For a second, they could see their reflections in the glass — two faces blurred together by rain, each carrying their own histories, their own small privileges, their own quiet oppressions.

Jack: “You ever wonder if unity’s possible in a world addicted to self-definition?”

Jeeny: “Unity doesn’t mean sameness. It means awareness — seeing the threads that connect difference. You don’t need everyone to agree; you need them to understand where their struggles overlap.”

Jack: “Overlap — like intersections.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Oppression isn’t linear. It’s a web. And you can’t cut one strand without shaking the whole thing.”

Host: Jack moved to the window, staring out at the city. The streetlights blurred through the rain, glowing like constellations on the pavement.

Jack: “You know, I used to think activism was about fighting the enemy. Now I think it’s about learning how not to become one.”

Jeeny: “That’s growth. Because power doesn’t just live in palaces — it lives in habits. The way we talk, the way we listen, the way we decide who’s worthy.”

Jack: “So every movement for change needs to start with self-awareness.”

Jeeny: “And humility. Revolution without reflection becomes hierarchy in disguise.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked — a slow, rhythmic reminder of passing time, of urgency cloaked in quiet.

Jack: “You think that’s why movements fracture? Because people come in wanting justice, but leave wanting recognition?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. But mostly because people want to belong without having to confront their complicity. We all want to be heroes in someone else’s story, not villains in our own.”

Jack: “So the better we understand identity and power…”

Jeeny: “…the harder it becomes to lie to ourselves.”

Host: The heater clicked off. Silence followed — heavy, intimate. Outside, the rain softened, replaced by the steady hum of the city reclaiming its rhythm.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about Crenshaw’s line? It’s not idealistic. It’s pragmatic. She’s saying understanding isn’t about purity — it’s about endurance. If we don’t learn how to hold difference, we’ll never hold progress.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s what every revolution forgets — that empathy is the real infrastructure.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “And the only one we keep trying to rebuild.”

Host: The two of them sat in silence again, the kind that wasn’t empty but full — of thought, of gratitude, of the strange, slow hope that comes from understanding.

The camera would pull back — the room small and glowing against the dark city, two figures framed by the rain’s aftermath.

And as the scene faded, Kimberlé Crenshaw’s words would echo softly — not as theory, but as prophecy:

No movement survives by force alone.
Power bends, identities intersect,
and justice is born not from noise —
but from understanding.
The map to freedom
is drawn where our struggles overlap.