An Elitist Looks at Healing

I am privileged.  These words are not easy for me to write.  Even in my reluctance, I know these words to be true.

I am privileged.  I was born in a hospital, I had more than enough food and clothing and shelter growing up, I had the advantage of a formal education, a roof over my head, and family.

I am privileged.  When I got sick, I went to a doctor.  When I was bored, I could walk to a friend's house, take a bus downtown, watch television.  

I am privileged.  Although I have experienced some prejudice and discrimination in my life, I have not been shot at, maimed, or killed because of the simple fact of my existence.  I was able to practice the religion of my parents' choosing, write poetry, travel.  No one insisted that I sit in the back of the bus.  I was not considered to be an enemy of the state due to my political leanings.

A privileged upbringing usually yields a privileged adult.  I am not an exception to that axiom.  I am privileged.  As a privileged adult, I have options.  I do not always know what my options are, but I do have them.  I am not living under a bridge or in a rat-infested slum.  I do not have to pick through garbage in order to eat.  The water that I drink does not make me sick.  I have the use of a computer.  I have a refrigerator, stove, sink, toilet, bed, houseplants, pets, family, friends.  I have books.

Not everyone has adequate shelter, sanitary food, enough clothing.  Not everyone has seen a dentist.  Not everyone has access to a library, to the Internet, to a voting machine.  I am elitist scum; a materialist surrounded by consumerism and the urge to acquire more, more, more.  I am privileged.

How glibly I can speak of things like healing and empowerment while sitting in the stink of my privilege.  I am privileged.  I have not had to suffer because of an accident of birth or circumstances or geography.  Kids beg on the streets-- I've seen that in Reynosa, Mexico.  A family lives in a tin shack outside of Biloxi, Mississippi or in the Yucatan.  A teen gets raped in a troubled teen industry facility in Utah or in Jamaica by the staff that is supposed to be helping.  Someone's teeth are rotting out.  Another baby dies tonight.

I am privileged.  What nerve I must possess to engage in mental masturbations as if serenity and rainbows are the mark of a successful life.  My self-satisfaction makes me want to vomit.  To speak of healing to someone who does not have access to medical treatment is treason.  To speak of empowerment to someone who will die in enslavement is unjust.  Inequity is not solved by political rhetoric or clean hands.  Calling myself a radical means nothing without meaningful action.  If there is to be a revolution, I have to part with some of that privilege.