The Thin Line of Privilege

Recently, I shared about my experience of lack and abundance in two countries. This week, let’s look at a tale of two cities.

My husband and I share our time between Canada and Zambia, where he manages his family farm. This year, Zambia has been hit hard by “load shedding” (brown-outs) as the electricity company struggles to keep up with demand. A few factors play into this lack, including low rainfall that has limited the hydroelectricity provided from Victoria Falls, a lack of diversified electricity sources, and pressure from contracts with nearby countries to provide them with power, too.

So what’s the result of living with only 5-8 hours of electricity a day? That depends.

For some daily wage earners like welders, tailors, bakers, or barbers, unreliable power means no wages can be earned, sleep must be sacrificed, and compromises must be made on what can be purchased. Food security becomes a distant memory as the scarcity continues month after month.

The inequities I’ve described are indeed close to home, no matter where your home may be.

At our rural farm, not having power is expensive and inconvenient: water tanks run dry faster, our phones and computers are reliant on backup power bars, the stores of frozen fish or beef for sale are compromised, and lighting is a luxury. Yet we are privileged to manage these challenges without having to make life-altering decisions.

After I returned to Hamilton, Ontario, after my last trip I noted the culture shock that unlimited hot shower water and endless electricity in our apartment offered. A few weeks later, I came across this essay: “There is a community outside Toronto where most people can’t drink their tap water. Patience is running out.” Just 31 km from our Canadian home, our neighbours at Six Nations of the Grand River do not have reliable access to clean water. This First Nations reserve with a population of 12,848 people now lives on just 5% of the land initially “set aside” back to them in 1784 and has been under-resourced and under-represented throughout those 240 years. (It’s worth noting that the British Crown initially “bought” the 385,000 hectares of land surrounding this region from the Mississaugas of the New Credit for 1180 pounds. Adjusting for inflation, that would be like paying someone $7.50/acre for their land today.)

I’m no expert on Six Nations, so I’ll ask you to learn more about the history of the Cayuga, Mohawk, Seneca, Oneida, Onondaga, and Tuscarora peoples from better sources than me. Read more of this blog under Indigenous Justice or join your church’s Hearts Exchanged cohort for a start. But sit with me for a moment in the discomfort and, perhaps, distress of knowing that the inequities I’ve described are indeed close to home, no matter where your home may be.

Why are some people devastated by these ebbs and flows of resources, while others are sheltered from even noticing them? It’s easy to see how class or socioeconomics can contribute, but are we also paying attention to see how other factors like history, race, gender, or geography weigh in?

Think about Indigenous peoples and their rights to water. Why do they become invisible when we live in a country where there’s more freshwater than we know what to do with? Jesus told Nicodemus, “But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.” (John 3:21) Maybe a first step to advocating for water justice is thinking about your own visibility and what power you have to help shine a light on the truth of what’s going on in your neighbourhood.

Photo provided by the author of a team member watering the garden at our family farm.