K1., my teacher neighbor, was on a panel with another woman, presenting to some muckety-mucks in their school district. K1. is White, her co-presenter is Black. Before becoming a teacher, K1. worked in historic preservation, protecting old buildings. Now she protects people. If social justice warriors were an organized army with uniforms and insignia, she’d be wearing the chevrons of a corporal or sergeant. She’s tough, she’s not afraid of a fight, and she leads the skirmishes.

She’s telling me about the conference as we sit on her new porch and drink a Kölsch. Battles require blunt instruments, and the rules of war generally demand that she see things in black and white.

“We made talked about Black girls and how they get disciplined way more than any other group in school. And we all know why, it’s obvious. Skin color.”

In Trinidad, the population is divided nearly equally between Afro-Caribbeans and Indians. Leading up to the general election in 2010, a company connected to Cambridge Analytica ran a campaign to encourage the young people not to vote. Their message, served up via social media chicanery, was that the best way to fight corrupt politics was to stay out of it altogether: Boycott the vote. It caught fire, and protestors took to the streets. The genius was in spreading the message to all young people and letting the cultural differences inherent in the two groups play out. The young Afro-Caribbeans, as expected, shunned the polls. The young Indians, who belong to a culture where parental authority ranks high, protested then did what their parents told them to do—they voted. The Indian candidate whose party had funded the campaign won.

I don’t talk about this with my neighbor, but I think about it. Now she’s telling me something else about the conference, a remark made by her colleague. It’s the first time since I’ve known her that I hear doubt in her voice.

“The other presenter pulled me aside and said, ‘Can you please stop criticizing the administration? I’m going to be the one to pay the price.'” K1. looks at me, abashed. “I never thought of it that way. And I don’t even remember what I said that was critical. I mean, I was being honest.” She gives a short laugh. She reminds me that she’s always honest, something I already know about her. “I never thought it was something that could hurt someone.”