It must be nice.
It must be nice to have so little to worry about that you can feel injured by name-calling. To glide through the world like a bowling ball on a marble floor, so unencumbered by resistance that one could find themselves weeping about people poking fun at which sandwich condiment they prefer.
The false equivalency is either mind-numbingly stupid or intentionally obtuse. Listening to white people complain about reverse racism is like hearing the UFC world heavyweight champion bitch and moan about being punched in the gut by a toddler. Technically the champ is still a victim of violence, but the disparity in power renders the complaint moot.
Racism is like that too. It may be hurtful to white people to hear the fictional residents of a fictional country in a fictional movie refer to them as “colonizers,” but no matter what one “considers” it, it does not leave a mark.