Hau mitakuyepi, my relatives,
When the world feels heavy with injustice, it’s natural to want to act. The recent reversals in immigration policies, increased deportations, and the threat of defunding sanctuary cities and immigrant-support services have left many of us feeling angry, heartbroken, and ready to stand up for what’s right.
But here’s the thing, faith calls us to act, but it also calls us to listen.
Micah 6:8 tells us, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
These actions aren’t just political maneuvers; they are targeted efforts designed to instill fear, silence voices, and divide communities. From stripping funding from cities that protect immigrants to increasing deportations, these policies aren’t just attacks on individuals, they’re attacks on our collective humanity.
In moments like this, the call to stand up feels urgent. But as people of faith, we’re not just called to stand up, we’re called to stand up in the right way. Sometimes, that means knowing when to step back, when to listen, and how to create space for the voices that need to be heard most.
Because allyship isn’t just a political act, it’s a spiritual one. It’s not about taking the spotlight; it’s about making sure the spotlight is ready when others are ready to step into it.
In Romans 12:13, we’re called to “share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” But hospitality isn’t just about opening doors, it’s about making space. It’s about inviting others in, yes, but also knowing when to step aside so their voices can be heard.
When you step into spaces where communities are organizing, resisting, or healing, you’re stepping into a space that wasn’t created for you. And that’s okay, it’s just important to recognize.
Being an ally means being a guest.
So, what does that mean?
It means showing up with humility and respect. It means listening first, asking how you can support, and understanding that there might be boundaries you need to honor. Think about it like this: when you walk into someone’s home, you don’t rearrange their furniture or talk over their family, right? It’s the same here.
Ask, don’t assume. If you’re unsure how to help, ask the organizers or community members what’s needed. Follow the lead of those directly impacted. They know what they need, you’re there to support, not to steer. Respect the boundaries of the space. Some meetings or trainings are not meant for allies to attend, even if your intentions are good.
Practicing radical hospitality means showing up as a guest—not taking over as the host.
Let’s be real for a second, there’s something exhilarating about protesting. If you’ve ever stepped into a rally, held up a sign, chanted alongside a crowd, you know what I mean. There’s this rush, this energy that comes from being surrounded by people who are all fighting for the same thing. It feels powerful. It feels good.
But here’s where we’ve got to check ourselves.
As people of faith, we’re called to serve with humility. Philippians 2:3 reminds us, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.”
For allies, that adrenaline rush? It’s temporary. You get to carry that feeling home with you after the protest ends. But for the people who are directly impacted, immigrants facing deportation, families living in fear of separation, communities losing critical services, the fear doesn’t go away when the rally’s over.
That adrenaline you feel? It’s a privilege. Because for many people, speaking out isn’t just risky, it’s life-changing.
While you might leave a protest feeling energized, others might leave feeling exposed or even unsafe. While you can decide when to step into activism, others don’t have that choice, their very existence is a form of resistance. And while you might be excited to post about your experience, others might worry that being seen or tagged could lead to retaliation, job loss, or even deportation.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t show up. But it does mean you’ve got to show up thoughtfully.
Ask yourself:
- Am I here to support, or am I here to be seen supporting?
- Am I creating space for others to speak, or am I unintentionally taking it up?
- Am I checking in with those directly impacted, or am I rushing to share my own experience?
Being an ally isn’t about the rush, it’s about the responsibility.
Here’s one of the most important things allies need to understand: the risks are not the same for everyone.
For many immigrants, especially those without documentation, speaking out isn’t just about voicing an opinion, it’s about risking deportation, family separation, job loss, or worse.
And now, with threats to defund sanctuary cities and immigrant-support organizations, the risks have only grown. Legal aid groups, housing services, and health clinics that provide critical care to immigrant communities are under threat, making it even more dangerous for people to seek help or speak out publicly.
So while you might feel safe at a protest or comfortable sharing a post online, others don’t have that same privilege. That’s why it’s crucial to move carefully and respect those boundaries.
Be cautious about what you post and how you post. Don’t share photos, videos, or stories of others without their clear, enthusiastic consent. Even well-meaning posts can put people at risk. Think before you tag or share. A photo of someone at a rally might seem harmless to you, but for them, it could mean being targeted by ICE or facing harassment. Your safety isn’t everyone’s safety. So speak carefully and act thoughtfully.
Now, what if you’re someone who works in a place of power or influence? Maybe you’re a teacher, a journalist, a government worker, or someone with a public platform. Your support is critical, you have access to resources, platforms, and networks that can make a real difference.
But even in those roles, it’s important to hold onto the same principles of allyship. Having influence doesn’t mean you stop being a guest in these spaces. It means you have a bigger responsibility to ensure you’re using that power thoughtfully and responsibly.
Let me ask you this:
When you hold meetings, Zoom calls, or strategy sessions to “support” immigrant communities, how many people from those communities are actually in the room? Are you making decisions about people without their input? Are you creating plans or programs for immigrant communities without the very voices you claim to stand up for?
It’s not just about having good intentions, it’s about making sure you’re not deciding for people without bringing them into the conversation. Who are your colleagues that are working within these communities, or are being affected by these policies? How are you bringing them into the fold, not just as participants, but as leaders?
Use your platform to amplify, not overshadow. If you’ve got a public voice, make sure it’s being used to uplift the stories of those directly impacted. Don’t speak for them, create opportunities for them to speak for themselves. Consult, don’t assume. Before launching initiatives or making public statements, check in with the communities you’re supporting. Ask what they need and how you can help. Protect, don’t expose. Be mindful of how your influence can unintentionally put people at risk. Always prioritize the safety of those you’re advocating for.
True leadership in allyship isn’t about controlling the narrative, it’s about holding the door open for others to lead.
It’s natural to want to jump in and help. But sometimes, the best way to help is by stepping back and letting others lead.
Rapid response trainings, organizing meetings, and community gatherings are often created for those directly impacted by these policies. While your support matters, your presence can unintentionally take up space that others, especially those at risk, might need.
Many communities are on high alert. People may feel unsafe attending events where they don’t know who’s in the room. As allies, it’s essential to be mindful of the spaces you enter and make sure you’re not causing more harm than good.
Attend ally-specific trainings to learn how to support without overshadowing. Offer your time, skills, or resources behind the scenes, help with logistics, provide transportation, or assist with fundraising. And when you’re in shared spaces, listen more than you speak. If someone from the impacted community is ready to share, step back and let them.
Solidarity isn’t about leading the charge, it’s about holding the line so others can step forward.
In times like this, when injustice feels overwhelming, it’s natural to want to act. And yes, showing up at protests, raising your voice, and taking action are all important. But the most meaningful work doesn’t end when the adrenaline fades.
True allyship isn’t just about being the loudest voice in the room, it’s about being the most thoughtful, the most respectful, and the most willing to listen.
James 2:14-17 reminds us, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?”
Your role as an ally isn’t to take over the movement. It’s to amplify the voices of those most impacted, to protect their right to speak, or to stay silent if that’s what feels safest. Because the most powerful support isn’t always about being in front, it’s about making sure no one is left behind.
Together, as a faithful community, we can build movements that don’t just resist injustice but also honor the voices of those most affected. Because true allyship isn’t about leading the way, it’s about walking alongside, just as Jesus walked alongside the marginalized in his time.
Mitákuye oyás’iŋ. For all our relations.
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