A fortnight ago, I was penning down thoughts while returning from Denmark. I’ve always had an affectionate link with Denmark and everything Danish, the seeds sown during my childhood via an exquisitely illustrated version of a Hans Andersen book. This bond was further strengthened during a short stay in the 1980s, en route to our regular family vacation in nations “behind the Iron Curtain”. I’ll elaborate more on this topic at a later time.
Presently, my trips to Denmark include both visits to pals and professional commitments. I greatly appreciate the well-structured, well-kept, and widely used public areas; the seamless biking, strolling and jogging experiences across the urban and rural landscapes; and the pervasive ethos of shared wealth and welfare. I’m also fond of the country’s bakeries and as a family custom, I usually pop into one to bring back rye bread and pastries on my way to the airport.
The question from my son still remains the same, why Britain and Ireland don’t have the same quality of bread. And my reply, again the same, guiding them to the local Polish deli while delivering a mini-tutorial on the gastronomical and societal past of northern Europe (our house is forever lively). I consciously avoided mentioning the fact that quality bread is a luxury, expensive, which is why I often bake our own bread. This practice is, in itself, a privilege, considering not everyone gets the time to bake or has storage for flour or even can afford the oven’s running costs. I’ve been baking bread twice every week for several years, a tradition handed down by my parents from times way preceding lockdown. He understands that we are fortunate, I have mentioned that before.
The term ‘privilege’, similar to ‘private’ and ‘privy’, connotes something exclusive, stored away from the communal domain.
In comparison to our own upbringing, we parents, strive to raise children in a more secure environment. In doing so, I find myself emphasizing their good luck, hoping to ensure they don’t take comfortable lives for granted. I must learn to stop at this remonstrance, as it might become unpleasant. This time, however, I realized it’s not accurate.
The crux of the matter is not my homemade sourdough and my kale. The availability of healthy food should be considered a right.
I detest the term ‘first world problems’ – Sarah Moss
Despite the guilt, my frequent flying continues.
The concept of ‘writer’s block’ has always seemed suspect to me. After all, nurses don’t experience ‘nurse’s block’.
Undoubtedly, there exists a predicament of high living costs and it’s true that a majority of us wouldn’t be able to spare 40 pounds or four hours weekly to provide quality bread for our families. However, the issue doesn’t lie with the fact that a handful of individuals can afford to consume authentic food – bread artisanally produced with simple ingredients like wheat, water, salt, some time in the oven, at either their homes or bakeries. The real problem is that most people can’t afford this kind of food. I’ve been remorseful before, acknowledging my ability to purchase and prepare organic vegetables as a luxury and sign of privilege. I’m reminded of an ingrained guilt whispering that I’m not worthy of these premium offerings and the risk of being labelled a fraud amongst the eggplants – very much like an army of caterpillars.
Still, isn’t there something off about this perspective? The right to ample nutritious food shouldn’t be exclusive, but universal. The issue isn’t my penchant for sourdough bread and kale. The root of it all is that we’ve agreed, either passively or actively, to a system advocating that conventional food – low in quality yet engineered for the financial benefit of producers rather than consumers’ health – is what we all deserve.
“Privilege” hails from the same etymology as “private” and “privy”, suggesting scarcity and exclusion from common ownership. Labelling the access or possession of something as a “privilege” implies an imbalance, asserting that it’s not for everyone. A right cannot equate to a privilege. So, when I assure my child that eating wholesome food is a privilege, it suggests that it isn’t meant for everyone – indirectly endorsing the unfair notion that a sub-par diet is all one should expect. Conversely, I refuse to accept that accessing respectful, prompt healthcare; receiving an education founded on equity and expertise; securing safe, affordable housing; or breathing clean air amidst greenery are privileges.
Certain standards should be the norm and enjoyed by everyone. The inability to access these is not a privilege; it’s a wrongful denial. Our choice of language matters. Often, the true issue lies in this violation and not in privilege.