equality

Through frosted windows, a desolate landscape rolls past. The nuances of shadow and light painting the whites and blues of the winter scene with a sad beauty only found in the clarity of Nordic frost. The cold permeates through every layer, as if to seep right into the marrow of one's bones. Chilled, I huddle into the warm embrace of my coat, letting my gaze unfocus. A sense of melancholy hangs heavy within the icy echoes of the morning, a bitter companion to my thoughts, none sadder than those on privilege.

A subtle sigh escapes me as I cradle a lukewarm cup of train coffee between stiff hands, the bitterness akin to the unpalatable truth that privilege is an unseen potent entity, quietly shaping narratives and destinies. On numerous occasions, I've questioned where I would be without it; the cold biting at my fingertips a mocking reminder of my societal insulation against life's unforgiving chill. Every swift swipe of my student card, every sip of this overpriced coffee, they all reek of unspoken privileges.

Just yesterday, I came across an article. An incomplete submission seeking information. A simple line jumping off the screen: “Sorry, but I can't provide the information you're asking for because your text seems to be incomplete or incorrectly formatted." The author, it seemed, was at a disadvantage for not knowing how to present their query. A stark reminder indeed, that privilege often starts where knowledge begins.

The very fact that I am here aboard this train, pursuing journalism at a prestigious university, is a testament to a democratic education system that encourages and fosters growth. I am privileged to have been born into a society that values education, that can afford the luxury of intellectual curiosity.

Acknowledging this does not repress the guilt that constricts my throat, the gnawing feeling that this opportunity, this privilege, was never rightfully mine to begin with. For aren't there thousands out there, their voices silent in the yawning gap of societal indifference, left out in the proverbial cold?

As the train chugs along, cutting through the frosty morass, I reflect on finite spaces and infinite realities. Do we, the privileged few, occupy too much space in the narrative? Is our relative comfort silencing voices that need to be heard?

My journey today, both literal and metaphorical, is a stark reminder to continually question, understand and acknowledge my privilege; to appreciate its shaping influence but also recognize the biases it breeds. A reminder that this train ride, this dwindling cup of coffee, this ability to communicate my thoughts, isn't everyone's reality but a privilege I must never take for granted.

Perhaps that's where we begin to even the imbalance, to un-knit the inequality ingrained in our society. Acknowledging that privilege is not a conscious choice, but a product of an unequal framework. Accepting that the world can and should be a warmer, more equal place. And finally, taking the responsibility to heat it up with action, courageously facing change in this bitter morning chill.

Tags: privilege equality social justice

As the pallid hues of dawn break across the Oslo sky, I join the throng of drowsy commuters meandering towards the train station. Gray swaddles the world, paintbrush streaks of cloud dappled over a raw canvas of reality. The arctic air, an icy tentacle at 5°C, seizes any warmth with ruthless, greedy tendrils. From within my cocoon of frosted breath I sit, and begin to type at keys that feel as frigid as the ambivalence of history toward the impact of women.

The harsh grating of wheels against rusted track is the somber symphony to this early morning, a stark reminder of the hardships so many inspirational women in history have faced. The charred embers of the news report I most recently devoured, sizzle still in my core - a sour stench of suspicion and tension, a somber reminder that whilst we fight for equality, freedom is not yet free.

Women of history have shattered glass ceilings, their contributions like shards of light gleaming bright through the murk of societal judgement. It is not their names that matter but their consistent resilience, the strength found in the adversity they faced, or their unwillingness to succumb to the overwhelming burdens of their eras. They rode the waves of change, charted course in unknown territories, played roles in the theater of revolutions - a testament to resilience; a beacon of hope.

They had ideas that rivaled those of men, accomplishments that pushed boundaries and, most importantly, they had voices that echoed throughout history despite contemptuous efforts to silence them. Yet, society's perception of these women’s achievements tend to be suspended in monochrome, a morose lament to what should be vibrant tales of victory.

No, they weren't all saints, much like men weren’t all savants. They were human, they erred and persevered, they fell and rose, they fought and fumbled. And still, they continue to shape, mold, and influence the society we live in today. They did so, not for glory or recognition but because they believed they could, and so they did.

As the train trundles into Oslo, I look out of the window to the awakening city, shrouded in the muted hues of the dawn’s daylight. My thoughts trace back to that chilling news report, the prevailing inequality, and the walls yet to be broken.

Nevertheless, these inspirational women of history remind us not to despair. They instill in us the courage to face adversity. They encourage us to continue raising our voices, making our choices and leaving our footprints on the sands of time, just as they did. Ensuring their struggles were not in vain, we move forward, making strides infused with their memories, their inspiration. Finally, they remind us to hope, for another dawn will break, and another day will come. And with it, maybe, just maybe, a brighter future for us all.

The train grinds to a halt, the doors fold open. I hoist my bag over my shoulder, my resolve settled like the frost on the city streets outside. Today, in my own little way, I too will strive to make a difference. The women of history echo in my thoughts, whispering tales of fortitude and resilience, a soft glow in the gray light of a Norwegian morning. This is their legacy, our inheritance. An inheritance we will carry with us, always. It must be done, and so, it will be done. Tomorrow awaits.

Tags: women in history equality resilience