Underside: Victimless Society?

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by Carri Anne Yager

Once in a while, I am reminded of a strange conversation that I got into with a person who told me, “there are no victims.” This was a response to a remark that I had made stating that I was angry about social injustice. Abhorred, she told me I needed to cleanse myself of my anger. Also, she insinuated that this anger would interfere with my ability to love myself and others. She told me that when I changed the energies inside myself, a more positive world would be reflected back to me.
Realizing that this woman with whom I had intended to study belly dancing viewed herself as some sort of guru, I decided not to attend her class and never felt an urge to speak with her again. Although the conversation took place more than a couple years ago, many instances have brought it to mind.
A recent example was my father complaining of a persistent rash that appeared mysteriously after a hospital visit. After various over the counter ointments failed to affect the rash, he tried to communicate with his doctors about the problem. Their universal and overwhelming response was that it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the hospital. As the doctors refuse to consider the possibility of staph infection, my father’s rash persists. Frustrated with the self-important attitudes of his doctors and unable to seek out a second opinion because of health insurance restrictions, my father is growing increasingly nervous about growing older and possibly more dependent upon a medical profession that he does not trust. Over the holiday, he shared with me a story he read in the news about a woman suing her doctor after discovering that over sixty kidneys were given out unjustly ahead of her. In turn, I told him about a similar story I had heard about from an acquaintance whose son-in-law had been waiting for an organ. His wife had found out that someone else had gotten one from the same establishment in less time. After she called complaining, they came up with an organ almost immediately. I remarked that the woman who had called complaining was smart to do so, but I wondered what happens to people who are less informed, or for whatever reason, do not handle such problems with sophistication.
If I were a sucker for armchair gurus, I might be comforted by the thought of the uninformed, perhaps disabled fraction of the American population going without adequate medical care because of some fault or choice of their own. I might even counsel myself against anger by believing that positive thinking will improve my own reality. Even more intoxicating, I might fancy my own anger important enough to affect the world around me. I might view my anger as the problem itself, rather than a reaction to the problem. By viewing my anger as a dark force that must be removed, like a tumor, I would be careful to radiate only the purest of morning sunshine rays in all words I expressed thereby bestowing good karma to all mankind. Some might think me worthy of an award for my positive attitude. And when the time comes for me to get in line for an organ, or convince a doctor that I know something about my own body, I’m sure things will be much, much better.