I was listening to a podcast today, one featuring a Stanford professor, someone clearly intelligent, well published, and widely respected. She’s done amazing work in her field, and I’m not here to question her accomplishments. But what caught my attention, and honestly made me deeply uncomfortable, was how often she repeated the phrase “I’m trying to change the world.”

She must’ve said it five or six times in the span of thirty minutes. And each time, it made me wince. This phrase has become a badge of honor in academic and tech circles, a kind of universal slogan worn by entrepreneurs, researchers, and influencers alike. It’s on banners at conferences, on mission statements, in TED talks, university admissions essays, startup pitches. “We’re here to change the world.”

But what does that even mean anymore?

Because here’s what I hear: Change the world for who?

It’s a real question. One we don’t ask enough. Who exactly are you changing the world for? The wealthy, educated few who already have access to innovation? The white founders who walk into venture capital meetings and walk out with $10 million in seed funding, often without a product? The people who already live in safe neighborhoods, who already have health insurance, connections, passports, savings accounts, and social capital?

When I hear “change the world” tossed around so casually, so broadly, I feel something tighten in my chest. Because for so many of the people I work with, advocate for, and care about, the world hasn’t changed. Or it has, but not for the better.

I work with immigrants, with low income families, with women who’ve survived violence, with people trying to start businesses in communities that are under resourced and overlooked. For them, changing the world isn’t a fancy lab project or a venture backed startup. It’s trying to navigate a system that was never designed for them to succeed. It’s trying to survive.

The disparities are everywhere and they’re not hidden.

In business, where less than 2% of venture capital funding goes to Black and Brown founders, and where women, especially women of color, are routinely told to bootstrap their way up while others get funded for ideas that barely exist.

In healthcare, where low income patients are more likely to die from preventable diseases, where undocumented immigrants are denied access to basic care, and where the zip code you’re born in can shave decades off your life expectancy.

In science, where entire communities are left out of research, and where data is often drawn from narrow, privileged populations then used to make decisions that affect everyone.

In engineering, where companies build tools that ignore or harm marginalized people, because those people aren’t in the room when decisions are made, and when they are, their voices are often drowned out.

This is not just frustrating. It’s exhausting. It’s infuriating. And it’s dangerous.

When you say you’re changing the world but you never mention these inequities, when you gloss over the who and focus only on the what, you’re not changing the world. You’re reinforcing the one we already have. The one built on exclusion, silence, and selective visibility.

“Changing the world” without addressing injustice is just rebranding privilege.

I believe in innovation. I believe in research. I believe in startups and new ideas. But I’m tired of watching the same kinds of people pat each other on the back for building systems that still leave so many people behind.

So if you’re going to say you’re changing the world, then I want to know:
Are you changing it for those who have been locked out?
Are you listening to those who’ve been silenced?
Are you redistributing power, or are you just repackaging it?

If not, then maybe it’s time to rethink your slogan.

Because the world doesn’t need more saviors. It needs people willing to do the hard work of justice. People who will talk about the uncomfortable things. People who will show up for those who don’t have the microphone or the platform.