Stop Asking the Oppressed to Convince You: Human Rights Are Not a Neutral Debate

One of the most intellectually lazy, and politically dangerous phrases circulating right now is this:

“There are extremists on both sides.”

It sounds reasonable. Balanced. Mature. But it collapses under even light scrutiny. Because it erases a fundamental distinction between modern Right wing and Left wing politics: one side broadly seeks to restrict, remove, or roll back rights — the other broadly seeks to protect or expand them.

That is not moral equivalence. That is not “two sides of the same coin.” That is a structural difference in who gets to live safely. And when we pretend otherwise, we obscure harm.

What Are We Actually Comparing?

Let’s strip this back. Across many countries, not all, but many, political divides repeatedly show up around the same fault lines:

• LGBTQ+ rights

• Women’s bodily autonomy

• The rights of forced migrants

• Protections for BIPOC communities

• Religious minority freedoms

These are not abstract debates. They are about safety, dignity, and survival.

Left wing positions, broadly speaking, include:

• Equal pay legislation

• Anti-discrimination laws

• Reproductive autonomy

• Criminalisation of marital rape

• Same-sex marriage

• Gender-affirming healthcare

• Decriminalisation of homosexuality

• Non-refoulement protections under international law

Right wing positions, in many contexts, resist, restrict, or actively seek to reverse these gains.

You do not need to go to the “extreme fringes” to see this. It’s visible in mainstream policy proposals, voting records, and public rhetoric. And yes, political parties that historically positioned themselves as Left, whether Labour under Keir Starmer or liberal centrists like Macron, are increasingly adopting Right wing policies, particularly around migration, Palestine, trans healthcare, and policing.

Labels are fluid. Policies are not. So when someone says “both sides are extreme,” what they are often doing is flattening a reality in which one side is debating whether certain groups deserve rights at all. That is not symmetrical.

Who Is Expected to Do the Emotional Labour?

Now let’s talk about the second problem.

Whenever these political tensions escalate, we hear the same call:

“We need to bring people together.” “We shouldn’t push people away.” “Dialogue is the answer.”

Fine! But who, exactly, is expected to initiate that dialogue? Because too often, the burden falls on the people most harmed by the policies in question. A woman whose bodily autonomy is under attack is expected to calmly explain consent to men who don’t believe marital rape exists.

A Queer person is expected to debate their legitimacy with someone who believes their identity is immoral.

A forced migrant is expected to justify their presence in a country where they are described as a threat.

A brown person is expected to gently educate someone who questions whether racism is “still a thing.”

Why? Why is the emotional labour of “bridge-building” repeatedly assigned to the people already carrying the harm?

Let’s take one example.

If a woman has been raped by her husband, would you ask her to sit down and debate consent with a man who believes marriage implies sexual entitlement? OR, would you expect men — particularly men who understand consent — to challenge other men?

If the answer feels obvious in that context, then apply it elsewhere.

Why should BIPOC people be expected to debate racism with racists? Why should trans people be expected to calmly justify their healthcare to those who want to ban it? Why should Queer people repeatedly prove their humanity to people who frame them as a threat to “tradition”?

They can do it. Many do. Some are paid to. Some choose to in personal relationships.

But should they be obligated to? And if they refuse, are they “divisive”? Or are they protecting their nervous systems and their physical bodies?

This Is Not a Neutral Exchange

There’s another common move in these debates. When emotions surface, someone says:

“Why are you getting so emotional? It’s just a discussion.”

But here’s the thing: debating someone’s rights is not neutral. A woman discussing sexual violence is not operating from a detached, academic space. The statistics are embodied.

A BIPOC person discussing racism is not participating in a thought experiment. The consequences are lived.

A Queer person discussing anti-LGBTQ+ legislation is not arguing theory. The risk is personal.

Emotion is not a weakness in these contexts. It is an appropriate response to injustice.

Whilst Therapy can and does provide healing from past trauma and I highly recommend any activist or oppressed person to seek support where ever possible and in whatever form possible, you cannot “fully heal” from systemic oppression while the system continues to produce and disseminate harm. You can develop coping mechanisms. You can build resilience. You can create community. But the threat remains structural and so new traumas are being experienced as you "heal".

So yes, anger shows up.Yes, frustration shows up.Yes, grief shows up.

That does not invalidate the argument. It contextualises it.

Privilege Changes the Risk

Now let’s talk about privilege, because this is where things get uncomfortable. Talking about homophobia as a white gay man is not the same as talking about racism as a brown Queer person. Talking about misandry as a man is not the same as talking about sexual violence as a woman.

Intersectionality is not an academic buzzword. It is a map of power. Being white and male confers protection in most global contexts, even if you are Queer. That does not erase homophobia. But it shifts the risk profile.

A white gay man challenging homophobia in London is operating from a different position of power than a brown gay man challenging racism and homophobia simultaneously.

That is not an insult. It is an invitation. If you have relative safety, you have leverage.

If you have leverage, you can absorb more of the backlash. If you can absorb more backlash, then perhaps the responsibility to initiate difficult conversations should sit more heavily with you.

Allyship is not symbolic. It is strategic. It is not about posting the right graphic during Pride month. It is about intervening when it costs you something.

Solidarity Is Not Comfort

Solidarity does not mean endless patience from the oppressed. It means redistribution of risk.

It means asking:

• Who is safest to challenge this belief?

• Who will be listened to by this audience?

• Who can afford the emotional toll?

And if the answer is “me,” then step up. Because what we are witnessing right now is not a clash of abstract ideologies. It is a contest over whose rights are negotiable.

When someone says “both sides are extreme,” ask them: extreme compared to what?

Compared to the status quo where women couldn’t vote? Where homosexuality was criminalised? Where marital rape wasn’t recognised? Where forced migrants were returned to torture?

If expanding rights is considered “extreme,” what does that tell you about the baseline?

Final Question

If you are not directly harmed by Right wing policies, why are you waiting for those who are to do the convincing? Why is your comfort prioritised over their exhaustion? Why is civility demanded more loudly than justice?

Rights are not a debate club topic. They are lived realities.

And if we are serious about protecting them, then the question is not whether we can “bring people together.”

The question is:

Who is willing to use their power and who is waiting for someone more vulnerable to do it first?

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