The most underused leadership tool? Privilege

There’s a moment from my earliest days as a founder that I still replay in my mind, not because it was dramatic, but because it changed how I understood power. We were on the edge of collapse—three months of cash left, product pivot still untested, team morale hanging by a thread. A government agency liaison had finally agreed to meet after four weeks of chasing. I walked in with a deck, some data, and a desperate optimism I hoped didn’t show. She listened carefully, paused, and said, “You’re solving the right problem. But you’re talking to me like you need a favor. Why not ask me to lead with you?”

That sentence knocked the wind out of me. Because she wasn’t wrong. I had spent weeks positioning the request like a charity case. I made the mistake of assuming that powerful people only helped when they were begged, persuaded, or inspired. I hadn’t even considered that some might be waiting—willing, even eager—to step into the fight, if only they were offered a role that matched their weight.

That moment cracked something open for me. I used to think of allyship as a form of generosity. Now I see it as a kind of power transfer. Not in the transactional sense, but in the architectural one. Allyship, at its most powerful, isn’t a side gesture. It’s a leadership seat waiting to be claimed.

We’ve spent years telling marginalized founders to be scrappy, independent, resilient. All valid traits. But somewhere along the way, we made “doing it alone” the mark of moral strength. And that belief, while noble on the surface, quietly robs us of the very leverage we need to change the system we’re building inside.

In Southeast Asia’s startup circles, especially among women-led and mission-driven founders, I’ve noticed a quiet pattern. We underestimate how much influence sits untapped—not in money or policy—but in relationships. There are board members who believe in equity but have never been asked to co-design a hiring system. There are investors who hate performative diversity panels but would gladly fund a pipeline of actual change. There are senior leaders, tired of legacy politics, hungry to back something real—but they’ve never been invited beyond a breakfast chat.

The problem isn’t that powerful people won’t help. The problem is that we keep asking for support instead of proposing shared leadership.

It took me years to unlearn that. I used to approach stakeholders with polished decks and deferential tone, hoping they’d champion the mission. Sometimes they did. More often, they offered polite interest. What I realize now is that I wasn’t giving them enough surface area to attach. I made the pitch about my team’s dreams, not about their power’s purpose.

In Riyadh, I mentored a founder building a talent platform for Saudi women re-entering the workforce. Her idea was strong, her story compelling—but she couldn’t get decision-makers to commit. One afternoon, she told me, “They all say it’s important. But no one joins the cap table. No one pushes the ministry.” I asked her how she was framing the invitation. Her answer? “I’m asking for support. For visibility.”

There it was again. We frame power like a donation jar. Something you tap into when you’re short. Instead of something you build around from the start.

So we practiced a different approach. What if we stopped asking for help, and instead invited people to co-author the system? Not just fund it. Design it. Shape what accountability looks like. Choose the levers they were uniquely positioned to pull. Within two weeks, one of her lukewarm “supporters” became her first institutional partner—not because the ask changed, but because the posture did.

This isn’t just about fundraising. It’s about narrative. How we frame allyship shapes how power shows up. If we treat it as decoration, we get tokenism. If we treat it as endorsement, we get photo ops. But when we treat allyship as a leadership role? We build actual infrastructure.

The shift is subtle but seismic. It begins with asking, not “Can you support us?” but “What would it look like if you led this with us?” That reframing does two things. First, it levels the field—not in title, but in agency. It says, “We’re not asking you to rescue us. We’re inviting you to steward something alongside us.” Second, it forces clarity. It makes the ask concrete. Allyship, in that light, isn’t vague encouragement. It’s a choice to commit resources, reputation, or reach toward a shared outcome.

But that shift also requires founders to do something hard. We have to get specific about what leadership looks like for someone who isn’t in our daily ops. That means mapping the exact leverage they can bring. Maybe it’s a policy door only they can open. Maybe it’s operational insight no one else on your team has. Maybe it’s the credibility to get your pilot through procurement. If we want powerful people to lead with us, we have to show them what leading actually means in this context.

And we need to do it early. Too often, we treat allies as add-ons. People we reach out to after the deck is done and the product is built. But true allyship works best when it’s part of the scaffolding, not the signage.

I once worked with a founder who spent months trying to launch a program supporting refugee entrepreneurs in Malaysia. Every door he knocked on gave him the same answer: “We love the cause, but we’re not ready to fund it.” Then he changed his approach. Instead of asking for money, he asked one senior leader to co-design the framework with him. Not in a passive way, but actively—monthly working sessions, problem-solving on procurement rules, co-hosting early showcases. Within four months, that same leader brought three partners to the table. The program scaled faster than any of us predicted—not because the founder tried harder, but because someone powerful felt accountable.

That’s the other side of allyship we don’t talk enough about. It doesn’t just distribute power. It distributes responsibility. And in early-stage work, that’s gold.

There’s a myth we need to retire: that people with power will step up when the time is right. No. Most of them are already watching. What they’re waiting for is a signal that their leadership won’t be wasted. That their risk will build something real. That showing up for your mission isn’t reputational charity—it’s strategic contribution.

I’m not naïve. Not everyone with influence wants to be used this way. Some are more comfortable staying observers. That’s fine. But you won’t know who’s ready to lead until you start making invitations that sound like partnership, not pity.

And you, founder, have to believe you are worthy of that partnership. That’s the first barrier I see, again and again. Talented, visionary builders who keep pitching small because they don’t believe they’re allowed to ask big. Especially women, especially in Asia, especially in spaces where we’ve been taught to earn every inch of credibility before speaking with power.

Let me tell you what I now know for sure: Power is not the enemy. Power misused is. Power unused is worse.

When you treat power like a tool—one that can be wielded, invited, guided—it stops being scary. It becomes designable. And that’s when allyship stops being symbolic and starts becoming structural.

Looking back, I regret the years I spent trying to earn my way into rooms instead of shaping them. I regret how long it took me to see potential allies as teammates instead of gatekeepers. But I also know I couldn’t have made that shift without the burn. Without the funders who ghosted. Without the stakeholders who smiled and said no. That pain taught me precision. It taught me that “support” is cheap until it costs someone something. But leadership? That’s costly. And worth everything.

So here’s what I’d say to any founder feeling stuck: Don’t wait for power to come find you. Go invite it to build with you. Make the ask big enough to matter. Make the role clear enough to be respected. And make the work real enough to change something.

Because allyship isn’t a favor. It’s a form of leadership we’ve barely begun to tap. And the people who could change your entire trajectory? They’re not hiding. They’re just waiting for the right invitation.