08/14/2026
Haawa, Raven-Anne, for sharing this. Ts’uu Nee - Ts’uu Naay is made up of Haida and allied professionals, and I don’t use that word lightly.
Always learning, always growing
-Janet
Being an Ally Should Cost You Something
We hear the word ally everywhere now.
The Gesgapegiag Watchdog
Aug 12, 2026
Allyship has become part of the language of universities, governments, corporations, nonprofits, conferences, social media and public relations campaigns. People describe themselves as allies. Organizations put Indigenous artwork on their websites. Institutions issue statements of solidarity. People attend ceremonies, learn a few words of an Indigenous language, wear Indigenous-designed clothing, share Indigenous content and proudly announce their support.
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And some of that support is genuine.
But we need to have a more uncomfortable conversation about what it actually means to be an ally.
Because allyship is not an identity. It is a practice.
And sometimes, what is presented as allyship is actually appropriation.
Sometimes it is opportunism.
And sometimes it is simply solidarity when solidarity is convenient.
An ally is not the centre of the story
One of the first things an ally needs to understand is that Indigenous struggles are not an opportunity to make themselves the hero.
You do not become the centre of an Indigenous issue because you care about it.
You do not become the spokesperson because you have read the books.
You do not become the authority because you have worked with Indigenous communities for twenty years.
And you certainly do not become Indigenous because you have developed a deep relationship with Indigenous culture.
An ally can have knowledge.
An ally can have expertise.
An ally can have important things to contribute.
But there is a difference between supporting Indigenous voices and replacing them.
That distinction matters.
Too often, Indigenous people watch as our experiences become the subject of conferences, research projects, documentaries, institutional reports and professional careers—while the people actually living those experiences remain unheard.
At some point, we have to ask:
Who is this allyship actually benefiting?
Allyship is not appropriation
There is another uncomfortable line we need to talk about.
Indigenous culture has become increasingly visible in mainstream spaces.
That visibility can be positive. Sharing culture can create understanding, respect and connection.
But there is a difference between respectful engagement and taking.
Our languages can become branding.
Our designs can become merchandise.
Our stories can become academic research.
Our ceremonies can become experiences.
Our identities can become professional credentials.
Our struggles can become careers.
And sometimes, the people benefiting most from Indigenous culture are not Indigenous people at all.
Appropriation does not always look like someone deliberately stealing something.
Sometimes it looks like someone who genuinely believes they are helping.
That is precisely why the conversation is uncomfortable.
Good intentions do not automatically make something respectful.
An ally has to be willing to ask:
Do I have permission?
Is this mine to use?
Who benefits from this?
Whose voice is being amplified?
And what responsibilities come with participating?
Those questions matter more than declaring yourself an ally.
Then there is opportunism
This is perhaps the conversation we avoid the most.
Indigenous issues have become an increasingly important part of public policy, education, employment, consulting, research, communications and corporate programming.
That creates opportunities.
And opportunities are not inherently bad.
There are many non-Indigenous people doing meaningful, ethical and respectful work alongside Indigenous communities.
But opportunity can also create incentives for people to position themselves as Indigenous allies because there is something to gain.
A job.
A contract.
A speaking opportunity.
A grant.
A professional title.
A place at the table.
Social capital.
Recognition.
Access.
Again, this does not mean that every person who works in Indigenous spaces is an opportunist.
But it does mean we should be honest about the possibility.
Because there is a simple test:
What happens when allyship costs you something?
What happens when supporting an Indigenous person means disagreeing with your employer?
What happens when your institution is the problem?
What happens when the Indigenous person you are supporting criticizes you?
What happens when you are asked to give up the microphone?
What happens when there is nothing financially or professionally to gain?
What happens when standing with Indigenous people makes your life more difficult rather than more comfortable?
That is where allyship becomes real.
An ally has to be willing to be uncomfortable
It is easy to support Indigenous people when everyone agrees with you.
It is easy to post something on social media.
It is easy to attend an event.
It is easy to wear orange.
It is easy to say, “I stand with Indigenous communities.”
The harder work begins when an Indigenous person says:
“You’re wrong.”
Or:
“That’s not appropriate.”
Or:
“You are taking up space that should belong to us.”
Or:
“Your organization is doing harm.”
An ally doesn’t immediately become defensive.
They don’t respond with:
But I have always supported Indigenous people.
They don’t list all the Indigenous friends they have.
They don’t demand gratitude.
They listen.
They reflect.
They learn.
And sometimes they apologize.
Because allyship without accountability is just self-congratulation.
Allies don’t need to be perfect
This conversation should not become another purity test.
Nobody gets everything right.
People make mistakes.
People misunderstand.
People say the wrong thing.
People have more to learn.
That is normal.
The measure of an ally is not perfection.
It is what they do after they are challenged.
Do they become defensive?
Do they disappear?
Do they blame the Indigenous person for making them uncomfortable?
Or do they listen and change?
There is a tremendous difference.
A person who makes a mistake and learns from it may demonstrate far more genuine allyship than someone who has spent years publicly calling themselves an ally but refuses to ever be challenged.
An ally knows when to speak—and when to step back
Sometimes allyship means using your voice.
If you witness racism, say something.
If an institution is discriminating against Indigenous people, challenge it.
If someone is spreading misinformation, correct it.
If you have access to decision-makers, use that access.
If you have power, use it responsibly.
But sometimes allyship means stepping back.
Let the Indigenous person speak.
Let the Indigenous community define its own priorities.
Let Indigenous people tell their own stories.
Don’t turn someone else’s struggle into your personal platform.
We don’t need more people speaking for us when what we need is more people willing to listen to us.
Allyship should involve redistribution, not just recognition
There is a difference between saying Indigenous voices matter and actually making room for Indigenous voices.
There is a difference between celebrating Indigenous culture and paying Indigenous people fairly for their knowledge, labour and creative work.
There is a difference between putting Indigenous people on a panel and giving them decision-making power.
There is a difference between acknowledging Indigenous rights and respecting them when those rights become inconvenient.
Real allyship changes relationships with power.
It asks:
Who makes the decisions?
Who controls the resources?
Who gets heard?
Who gets credited?
Who gets paid?
Who gets to say no?
Those questions take us much deeper than a land acknowledgement or a social media post ever could.
So, what is an ally?
Maybe we have made the word too easy.
Maybe we have turned allyship into something we can claim about ourselves rather than something other people can observe in our actions.
An ally doesn’t need to announce themselves constantly.
They don’t need a badge.
They don’t need an Indigenous title.
They don’t need to demonstrate how knowledgeable they are.
They don’t need Indigenous people to reassure them that they are “one of the good ones.”
They simply do the work.
They listen.
They learn.
They challenge racism.
They respect boundaries.
They give credit.
They share resources.
They make room.
They use their privilege responsibly.
They accept criticism.
They stand beside Indigenous people when there is nothing to gain.
And sometimes, they stand in front when they have the power to absorb the consequences—and step aside when it is time for Indigenous people to lead.
The real test
So perhaps the question isn’t:
“Am I an ally?”
Perhaps the better question is:
“What does my allyship cost me?”
If it costs you nothing, challenges nothing, changes nothing and requires nothing from you beyond saying the right things, perhaps we need another word for what you are doing.
Because allyship is not about proximity to Indigenous people.
It is not about Indigenous culture making you feel connected, enlightened or progressive.
It is not about building a career on Indigenous issues.
And it certainly isn’t about taking what belongs to Indigenous people and calling the taking “support.”
Allyship is about relationship, responsibility and accountability.
It means understanding that you are not entitled to Indigenous culture simply because you admire it.
You are not entitled to Indigenous stories simply because they interest you.
You are not entitled to Indigenous spaces simply because you have worked in them.
And you are not entitled to Indigenous people’s gratitude because you chose to stand beside us.
A real ally understands something very simple:
This isn’t about you.
And perhaps that is the hardest part of allyship.
Because when the spotlight moves away from the ally and back toward the people whose struggle is actually being discussed, we finally get to see whether the ally was there for the people—or for the spotlight.
Being an ally should cost you something.
Maybe it costs you comfort.
Maybe it costs you access.
Maybe it costs you a contract.
Maybe it costs you the opportunity to speak.
Maybe it costs you the certainty that you are always the good person in the room.
But if you are willing to pay that price when it matters, then perhaps you aren’t just calling yourself an ally.
Perhaps you are actually practicing allyship.
