The inequality offset by white privilege had me thinking quite deeply the last several years. We forget – FOR REAL – that we* are only second, third, fourth generation. Who arrived before us? If there is no proof of ownership, it’s… mine? Yours?
It’s ours, this beautiful planet. And we’ve put it on life support as best we can.
How does that make me a better Ambassador for Canada? Because I think it is sinful to drop refugees on our shores and then leave them to fend for themselves or with their family/sponsors. They have endured the worst parts of war. The innocent bystanders. The children who lost entire families right before their eyes. Mothers, wives, husbands, fathers. Sisters and brothers. Many, I suspect, are truly running for their lives.
Friends divided. Old hurts spill unchecked because we don’t attend to anyone’s mental health. If we were human, this would be a priority for you, me and everyone else around us.
We give away our time, our space, our support in so many ways that it is easy to miss us.
For Terri, who is a Master of ESL Classes. You also deserve the title of Ambassador. Every bit helps because kindness is magnified in your heart.
Me? I sat down and did some rough calculations to figure out that I am in that illusive 1% of the world’s most wealthy. And I am not wealthy. Sure, we could bend it sideways to make sure I didn’t fit into that 1% but it was an uncomfortable truth.
I was forced to sit with it because once you see it, you can’t un-see it. Never mind how it looked, my income alone boosted me into that snack bracket. I am the bargain basement of “the rich” and may not qualify by many standards, but it was enough for me to realize that I was indeed privileged. But my living conditions in my own country, as a single working mother, are – quite simply – a place I call the Penthouse in Hell. I’ve hated it here, then realized that God had placed me here for a reason. I wrote about this place years ago in Grime.
As an Ambassador to Canada, I would welcome everyone by their name; pronounced until I have it right. My name is Lisa, but in different cultures it’s pronounced Liza, Leeza, Alicia, Lee, LeeLee, and so on. I want to know each name and each story so that we can help you become the best Canadian you and your family can be. Je suis Lise, aussi.
None of us are perfect. I have seen myself and everyone else perpetuate distrust and hatred. The trick is to stop following that wolf and feed the one who radiates kindness. Your vibration does ring a little clearer.
This gift was given to me by someone I dearly miss and I want to pay it forward. She gave me this book in hardcover for Christmas: Meghan Markle‘s humble contributions in Together: Our Community Cookbook. Ms. Markle has more class in her pinky than those who spite her.
And what about those before us? Our own indigenous people? It’s 3rd world countries inside our 1st world frame. Disgusting.
We can’t ever fix the past, but we can fix the future. I want to know everything about the earliest people who lived where I now live. Their art, their stories, their plants, their traditions, their languages.
And even I had to learn to do this at home. Next year, I will be celebrating Eid al-Adha with my Ajacian family.
*we is us. Some of us just have it much better. Imagine how spoiled we are that we pay to be entertained by fear because we don’t have to walk outside our doors to find it.
I would love to settle under a peaceful tree to read the stories from Mi’kmaw Moons fables to remind each other while the storm rages above. We are one family.
For now, can we have Search & Rescue in Lebanon? Food, shelter, and love to Kenya!