I’m Not an Authority. I Don’t Want to Be.

What does that even mean? “Authority on a subject?” Who decided that’s a thing we should care about? Who benefits from that idea?

The thoughts I have when you say someone is an authority, make me want to ask… what makes them one? Experience? Is it how many books they’ve read yet, never quite comprehended? Is it how confidently they speak, how loudly they interrupt, how many years they’ve had to convince everyone they know something better than you? Is it the shade of skin they have? Is it their ability to pay for a seat? Is it power, or control? I think maybe it’s just an excuse to gatekeep knowledge and feel superior in rooms that were never built for everyone to feel welcome in the first place.

I don’t like authority. Not even a little. Especially not the made up, performed, or weaponized kinds. Authority that doesn’t come from lived experience. Is constructed like a stage prop to look impressive while standing on shaky wood foundations. Authority which claimed to shut others down, not to uplift them. The kind that says “I know more, so I matter more.” That’s not truth. That’s ego dressed in stolen robes.

Please don’t even get me started on authority over identities. That kind of “expertise” is the most violent of all. Like when people claim to be an authority on what trans people are or are not. That’s not education. That’s erasure disguised as credibility. Trump thinks he’s some authority on existence, thinks he can just declare people don’t exist. As if my soul is some policy he can veto. As if his opinion carries more weight than reality. That’s not authority. That’s hate with a microphone, a micropenis, and misplaced confidence.

No. I don’t consider myself an authority on anything. I don’t want that word. I don’t like it. Most people I’ve seen claiming “authority” use it to stop conversations, not open them. They use it to protect their own opinions, not to welcome understanding. They create a wall then call it wisdom. Yet, get defensive when someone has the nerve to question the bricks.

And here’s the truth… anyone can teach something. Anyone can learn. Maturity has nothing to do with how many years you’ve lived, how many books you’ve published, or how many letters are next to your name. Maturity is in how you treat people when you disagree with them. Maturity is how open you stay, even when you think you know all. A title doesn’t make you wise. A podium doesn’t make you right. And being loud doesn’t make you truthful. Money doesn’t make you worth more. Only hearing what degree holding people have to say is a form of white superiority.

If I am in authority over anything, it’s my own story. My own decisions. My own morals. Still, even then, I’m always learning. I mess up. I evolve. But my values? My dedication to justice? That is unwavering. That is rooted. If I have any claim to expertise, it’s in how I love all people. How I protect them. How I advocate for other minorities with everything I have in me.

My authority if we’re calling it that. Authority isn’t about superiority. It’s about solidarity. It’s about using what I’ve survived and what I’ve built to help level the damn playing field. It’s about tearing down fake pedestals, not trying to climb up them.

Authority should never be a crown. It should be a torch, passed around freely, so no one stands in the dark alone. So those who are only there because they can pay may watch their ability to matter catch fire. Because the amount of money one has doesn’t make them any more important or worthy of anything, but distrust.

Links poem