Real Power:
The Power of Progress: When Advocacy Threatens the Comfortable
By Sarah Wingfield
My light, bravery, and power intimidate some people. That’s not ego — it’s reality. For some, my strength is something to challenge, dilute, or extinguish altogether. But let’s be clear: when someone’s contribution to progress makes others uncomfortable, that discomfort often says more about the status quo than the person pushing for change.
It’s always fascinating to me how those who supposedly care about “justice,” “diversity,” or “equality” crumble when that very justice demands their accountability or reflection. Instead of self-inquiry, they mobilise — weaponising policies, processes, and sometimes even the law itself — to target and isolate the one demanding progress.
If I had no power, there would be no effort to sabotage me. No whisper campaigns. No false reports. No twisting of narratives or deliberate misuse of mechanisms designed to protect — like safeguarding procedures, anti-harassment policies, or the Equality Act 2010. These systems were created to shield the vulnerable, not to be wielded as weapons against them.
But here’s the truth: the very existence of such malicious coordination is the biggest compliment I can receive. Because no one plots against the powerless. Those who have shifted society — from Rosa Parks to the suffragettes to modern-day disability activists — have always met resistance from those who fear the change they represent.
If I was worthless, if I didn't cause real, tangible shifts in awareness and policy, then there’d be no reason to try and silence me. No cause to pressure organisations to cut ties. No effort to rally others to join in cruelty and professional exclusion. They wouldn’t need to go that far if I wasn’t already making a difference.
And when organisations or companies choose to bend under this pressure, they show their hand. They expose themselves not as allies, but as performative players in the arena of equality. Because when you withdraw opportunities from someone based on hearsay, malicious communication, or pressure campaigns — all potentially breaching internal procedures, anti-discrimination duties, and Article 10 of the Human Rights Act 1998 (freedom of expression) — you're not an advocate for inclusion.
~You're an enabler of harm.~
This is not accountability. This is cowardice.
It’s never my fault when people prioritise malice over morality. When they manipulate safeguarding frameworks or reporting structures — sometimes even breaching GDPR and internal policy in the process — to silence a disabled voice. My job is not to carry the burden of their ethical failure.
What I can do is keep going. Keep working with individuals, organisations, and communities who understand that anti-bullying isn’t a buzzword. That real advocacy requires bravery, nuance, and listening to those with lived experience — especially when it’s inconvenient.
I’ll never water myself down to make the unaccountable more comfortable. We don’t change the world by shrinking. We change it by standing tall, even when the wind howls hardest.
And make no mistake: what I do is necessary. What we do is necessary.
Because we — those of us who are disabled, the marginalised, the ones who survive and speak — are not the problem.
We are the change.
It's never our fault when people prefer comfortable lies over uncomfortable truths.
If you’re an individual or organisation ready to stand for real inclusion, I’m ready to work with you.
Let’s build something better. Together.
Sarah Wingfield
Image: A boat on the sea and black words on a white background reading: "A wise man once said: Be careful who you let on your ship, because some people will sink the whole ship just because they can't be the captain."
