Privilege is Not the Problem

In the stirring of the loins of a sleepy Lady Justice, in the passions of a reborn activism, a new feminism, politically correct environmentalism; in the name of LGBT rights, indigenous rights, disabled rights and the poor; in the variations of colour and gender, of body weight, of faith, of the countless minorities and sub-minorities with all manner of collective horror stories, the world has become awash with new voices of suffering, of who has been harmed, and how much, and by whom.

And with this awakening of the determination for transformation, in the midst of the new possibilities to bear witness, to make change, each one has an experience of all that went missing. Each one has a desire to be acknowledged and repaired. But too often assumptions are made, and through the haze of personal misery, suffering itself becomes the prize, and the blessings of others become the problem in our eyes. 

At times it would seem there is a competition of heartbreak. Accusations by feminists to other kinds of feminists, told they cannot speak because their suffering is the wrong kind. Try being a black woman, no, a hispanic woman, no, a native woman, each one worse they argued, I truly heard them argue, on into the night. And then there are the complaints of appropriation, that you don’t get to wear that tattoo, sing that anthem, chant that prayer, you aren’t allowed to represent us because you don’t suffer like we do, your scars aren’t deep enough, your pain isn’t like my pain, and so you don’t belong here, at the dark end of my world.

Let us begin by stating very clearly, the pain is real, and not one of us have escaped. I am a white woman.  I am not poor or gay. I am not disabled, at least not in any externally visible way. But I have lived my own deep and karmic road, I have lived more than I can or wish to tell, and in fact, your suffering is exquisitely familiar to me. I see it in your glance, I hear it in your breath, I sense it in your heart like a familiar melody, because the truth is, your pain is my pain too.

There is an awareness which changes everything, when we allow it. There is a perspective which lifts us far, far away, up into a heavenly view, and from there we can grasp what our crowded consciousness may not yet understand, down here in this dense earthly realm. And this is the understanding that human suffering serves a purpose, that it is not random, not some anarchistic mistake. That the answer to our soul’s very blueprint is played out in our stories, in our losses and betrayals and persecutions and ailments, that every moment holds meaning, like a pure treasure to be discovered, and within this, the capacity to transmute all that has come before.

Without the seasons of our karmic education, we could never know the rebirth of our soul’s long awaited Spring. Without the Autumn dying, the material decaying, the freezing of our own inner Winter, we could never be ready for the scent of a ripe, wet garden, to feel the summer sun penetrate our beckoning skin.

Nature shows us over and over, the lessons of trusting our place upon the Earth. And many indigenous cultures understand this acceptance, even as they watch for the fulfillment of prophecies, the reclamation of their once lost worlds.

Dave Courchene, Nii Gaani Aki Inini (Leading Earth Man), Anishinaabe, Sagkeeng First Nation, member of the Wisdom Keepers of the United Nations since 1992.

Years ago, over the course of a decade, I attended a native healing circle, based on traditional practices and ways. It was a time of great learning for me, a young, white woman, as my heart was profoundly moved by the wisdom found there. A highly respected Anishinaabe elder, Dave Courchene, came to speak on special nights. In his words I heard truths I had only imagined before. And amongst so many of his stories, I remember one very clearly, for it changed everything for me.

Dave told us that in these modern days, many red men and women were reincarnating in white skins, and many whites were incarnating as red men, some carrying forward their ancestral wisdom, many being reborn in their ignorance too. He said it was a way of awakening us to the wisdom of the other, to the wholeness of us all, and in this experience we have known such great beauty, and at the very same time, we have shared such great pain.

As a red man who had lived and witnessed the tragedies of his people, as a visionary who left his tribe to go out and teach to all the colours of the world, Dave broke down the walls of fearful traditions, even performing the great blessing of sacred naming ceremonies on my two, very white, little boys. Here was a man who spent many months taking indigenous youth out into the bush to heal their crushed spirits, their dependencies, the hopelessness and helplessness in their lives. He, better than any, knew the special troubles of his people, and yet it was so clear to him that the days of tribalism were over. That it was time to see through our skins, past our genders, and into the one universal, human heart.

Recently I sat mesmerized in my car, catching the end of a CBC radio interview with an indigenous Canadian man. His words hummed in my whole body with their power. He asked, insisted that listeners stop focusing on native people as oppressed, as broken, as abused. He said if you keep describing us as victims, the more we will believe it, and the more we believe it, the more we make it true. It was a beautiful, powerful music to my ears to hear a man who knew so much about suffering, lift himself up into the power of his people’s creative force.

Does this mean we, as individuals or nations, cannot tell our stories? Does this mean we cannot share expressions of what has hurt us the most? No, in fact it is through creative expression that healing begins, and every pain must be fully acknowledged before it can be set free. To hold space for this sharing, to bear witness to it is a sacred, loving act. And this is exactly what is found in the graciousness and confidentiality of First Nation healing circles. I cannot tell you how moved I was, as I sat in circle, to hear the heartbreak of the native women who gently took hold of the talking stick, held it to their hearts and spoke of unimaginable torment and untold bravery, of incarcerations, of destroyed families, of freedoms and children lost.

But profound, personal truth-telling is very different from the strident rage of the popular activism we see growing around the world today. And the revelation of what is true for me is not meant to take away from what is true for you, nor the sister or brother seated next to us, whatever their circumstance in life. No matter what their journey, I promise you, they too have known lifetimes of suffering. They are on their own path of liberation, right where they are meant to be, right here, right now. They will take their own direction toward the truth of love, as does every child, and every adult who was once a child, stepping into embodiment upon this Earth.

When suffering has become a righteous badge, we have become deeply confused. When a man is praised on social media for promoting an apology for the crimes of his entire gender against women, he  takes on what is not his to bear, seeking a new kind of approval. When another individual’s opinion is not valued simply because she is considered privileged, we have forgotten the meaning, the true range and essence of our soul’s journey, that beauty awaits each one of us, in all the shadows of our experience, in all the shades of our memories and skins. The idea that lack is aligned with spiritual purity is a lie. The belief that wealth necessarily indicates cruelty and corruption is misguided. When beauty and blessings are found in life, they are meant to be celebrated, in oneself, in one’s neighbour, and for the world.

Just as there is no shame in poverty, there is no blame in plenty. Just as there is suffering in every one of our histories, so too is there exquisite artistry and expansive richness in the essential nature of our universe within universes. There is no limit to the possibilities of our creative power. We may live in a dimension which belies our infinite nature, yet I promise you, freedom awaits. There can be love, tolerance and fulfillment aplenty, more than enough to go around. We do not gain what we think is missing by denying it to someone else. 

But what of the bullies? The blind ones? The ones they call evil, who rule and attack? What of the aggressors, the heartless souls engorged with power who seem beyond consciousness or hope? What of the ones who need to listen most of all, and yet turn their backs, hide their hearts, and play out the cruelty of their fears? What of the suffering of Mother Earth herself, and those who would ignore her pain?

Do not imagine that there is any force which is beyond the potency of determined Love. Do not doubt that the willingness of the unified Many may topple mountains, stop assembled armies in their tracks, coax the forces of domination to throw down their weapons and fall to their knees. Do not forget that each soul is on an inescapable journey, and even the most protected hearts will one day crack open, without any help from you or I.

Let us stop blaming, and stop apologizing. Let’s tell our simple truth, and start loving. If I am hurting, your guilt or discomfort does not help me find my strength. Our pain is our teacher, not a reason for separation or a source of jealous pride. Injustice is a catalyst which creates beautiful expansion, initiates the deconstruction that awakens us on all sides. Our golden rule rises far above politics, religion, gender, or race. It lives in the energetic essence of every stone, beast, woman and man. The further we travel together in Love, the closer to Home we may be.

But to wage the war that is no war, we must learn to let go of our attachment to hurt. It is time to redefine our ideas about power. To see that as a painter chooses her palette, we must choose our freedoms, divest our histories, dissolve the desire for retaliation and vengeance, put down the need for the final complaint, one more stab, the very last word.

Let not our sufferings become fuel for bitterness, but rather let each wound teach us of the way toward our personal and most powerful growth. If we are afraid that human compassion has become lost in the contrasts of life, by all means, let ever more tolerance be found beyond boundaries of tribe or nation. If it breaks our hearts to witness hurt, then let us find humanity in the days we are poor and the days we are rich, and let pain be transformed without prejudice.

Re-union is the answer. Reflection is the language. Profound creativity is the new spirituality, and yes, it begins within.

much love,

AdiKanda

One thought on “Privilege is Not the Problem

  1. This article is brilliant and touches so many different aspects of myself. What of the bullies? What of the bully I am to myself? Such a massive subject. I will be rereading this article for years to come.

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