Will I ever be able to live it down? I am sitting here at a UNESCO Human Rights Youth Leadership conference, and next to my name, in front of me, is a union jack flag. And I feel ashamed. I am the only British person in the room, and now I am coming to realise why. They struggle to find Europeans to come to this Human Rights conference, but I think I know why. A mixture of shame and arrogance.
I cannot work out how I feel being British. Sometimes I think I am fulfilling the basic prejudices of my kind, I think the UK is the best place to be and that I am so grateful to be a UK citizen. And the other half of the time I am so ashamed of being British and long for another life. People would tell me not to be so ungrateful of what I am and have. As if I really would like to be in a country that has no healthcare, where I cannot go to University as a woman, and a place that is always on the brink of war. Of course not. I don't want those things. But for exactly the same reason that I am protected from those things I feel utter guilt.
People here will tell me not to feel guilty for the sins of the past, but how can we not, when every conversation and discussion we have comes back to the arrogance of the West in believing they are right, when we all agree that Human Rights activism comes from a sense of empathy. I sit there and I wonder, do they think that I shouldn't be here as I think? How can I possibly empathise with a Sierra Leoneon soldier, or an Ethiopian woman? How can I even dare to sit here and discuss as if I know.
So I begin to wonder what I am doing here, what my role in all these Human Rights is. I know my country is ravaged by Human Rights violations, but they don't happen to me. I want to do something about it, and speak out for the voiceless, but I am terrified that they will stand up and ask me, 'how can you possibly know how I feel?'. I feel as if I do not belong with a group of people so passionate because of their experience, because of their reality.
Why do I care about this I ask? Is it colonial paternalism, that is so deeply embedded in me that I think it is philanthropy? How can I ever know with this skin and this accent that I am not making the same mistakes as my forefathers?
I want so desperately to know that what I feel and what I desire to do is about love, about my commitment to humanity and equality, but I know that I am riddled with prejudice and confusion.
And so it is that very feeling I have, that longing to be sincere, that is the same feeling that fills me with doubt. Is my compassion real?
I should not be here, not with these people who have experienced the human rights violations, the turmoil of being downtrodden and oppressed. I have not the position to make myself worthy to express an opinion on Human Rights violations. What do you know about it says the voice inside my British skin. And I realise its because I am the only one sitting around that table with a Union Jack flag next to her name.
And then the same voice says to me. Now you know what it feels like.
2 comments:
Lilibet, I love it. Well written. It is not wrong to note the mistakes that have been made before and to be concerned not to make them again. At the same time you do come from a place of priviledge and with that brings responsibility - much is expected from those to whom much is given. You can use the fact that you come from Britain and have open doors and have not experienced Human Rights abuses to work for those who have. There is always something that you can offer, even if its just to say that you have only things to learn from such people in such a situation. Keep writing, I love hearing you. Kat
Britain, Britain, Britain. Don't be embarrassed about Britain, we have Lou and Andy, we have Vicky Pollard, we have Anne - eh eh eeeeeeehhhh. Here's one for ya, we know how to laugh alot!! Don't go giving me evils.
He's the not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy.
Post a Comment