I should probably start with a caveat. This is another heavy post from me, your resident heavy poster. Maybe that’s what you need, and I’m here to deliver. Or maybe you will roll your eyes skyward and sigh, hoping I can come up with some new material soon.
Last week a friend introduced me to VII Magazine. I was immediately drawn to a photograph of a woman lying on a birthing table, looking at the ceiling while the first of her twin sons sleeps with his left arm poking out of a bright kanga. By the time I landed on the third picture in the photo essay I knew how the story would end. But I couldn’t stop clicking the button that moved me forward through the progress of Mama Sessay’s efforts to deliver the second baby. Rachel and our friend instructed me to stop looking at the photos and return to the present moment, which centered around dinner with friends. But I just could not look away. I felt obligated to keep moving through the photos until I reached the end.
The following day I spoke with one of my relatives, who shall remain nameless so that anonymity may provide shelter from any virtual haranguing that could result from my loose lips. We were talking about others’ suffering, and my relative said that after a lifetime of worrying, “there are some things I just don’t want to be bothered with.” She feels like she’s earned the right to some peace. I admire her honesty and her ability to select what she sees and hears for the sake of self preservation. I think many of us do the same but with less intention and certainly less truthfulness.
My relative’s M.O. reverberated through my mind, mingling with the image of Mama Sessay for days. I’m still sorting out the results of the mental stewing but I keep coming around to the notion of choosing to attend to others’ suffering, which boils down to choice. The small act of choosing not to navigate away from Mama Sessay and her infant reminded me of its larger implication that I have a choice about whether to tune into or tune out others’ suffering. I also have a choice about whether I can and will do something to relieve it. But suffering permeates so many people’s lives and there is no pause button, no looking away.
I’m neither pessimist nor glutton for punishment, but I often find myself ruminating on what recompense is required of me, as a person with a great deal of unearned privilege. I happened to be born into a white, middle class American family and my social position has allowed me to have good health, education, freedom, and financial security. Why me and not Mama Sessay? I am simultaneously haunted and fueled by this question. I don’t expect to find an answer, and that’s why I can’t tune out.
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Amy Knopf is a doctoral student at the University of Washington, where she studies HIV prevention and disease transmission dynamics. She has been working in western Kenya, blogs erratically, and finds solace in her partner Rachel. A rare Seattleite with Kentucky bluegrass roots, Amy loves exploring new regions of our large planet.
I can relate to what you’re saying. I often feel guilty for how unfair life can be and how I have almost always fallen on the side of “the lucky ones” (and somehow I still find plenty of time to bitch).
Sometimes I feel a sense of panic that my time of suffering is coming- a sort of double edged sword where what goes around still comes around even if I never asked for it. Not sure if that makes sense to anyone else. I live an admittedly sheltered life, but for me I think exploration and self sacrifice are two disciplines worth pursuing in order to empathize with suffering without voluntarily indulging in it. To me, nothing could be more damaging to our potential for love than ignorance or apathy towards suffering.
Geez, this is getting heavy. But thank you for your transparency. You post was a really helpful illustration of something I’ve thought a lot about.