Discrimination is one of the worst feeling a human being can experience with their whole being. It is deeper than a wound, heavier than poverty, quieter than tears. It is not a scar left by a knife or a bullet; it comes from a look, from a tone, from that single moment when someone sees you as “less”. The moment you feel your presence is unnecessary, your voice too small, your identity a burden to carry that is the worst pain. The most painful thing is not physical harm; it is to be seen differently, treated differently, as if somewhere on an invisible scale you were weighed and declared lighter than your true worth. Sometimes I feel that inside every human being, threads are woven threads of hope, dignity, dreams, faith, and emotion. They are delicate but vital, holding our inner world together. You may not see them, but when even one snaps, the sound echoes through the soul. It is painful deeply painful when one person becomes the calamity of another. With a single sentence, a laugh, or a comparison, they pick up invisible scissors and cut through those threads. It takes a long time to stitch them back together with the needle of patience and the thread of tears. And sometimes, some threads never fully mend. If the break is deep, the wound does not disappear. It lives beneath the skin, burning again each time a memory touches it. I don’t know… but sometimes I think that as some people rise higher in education and position, they lose themselves. As if at high altitudes, the air of humanity becomes thin. They earn degrees, but their hearts grow smaller. They gain titles, but their vision becomes condescending. They begin to believe that because they know more, they are worth more. Because they live in a peaceful country, they are superior. Because their language is more polished, their voice matters more. A sea of pride forms inside them and its waves are called power. They begin to measure people. They allow one person more space to speak and silence another, simply because of nationality, identity, accent, or family background. Perhaps they believe they are doing what is right. But the truth is something else entirely. Is the heart of a president different from the heart of a shepherd? If you mistreat either one, the heart breaks the same way. A heart is a heart. A pulse is a pulse. A human being is a human being. Do tears carry passports? Does a heartbeat recognize nationality? What truly separates us? It was we who created “me” and “you” and “them.” Otherwise, in essence, we are one born from the same earth, carrying the same fears, longing for the same simple thing: to be loved. Why do we drift so far apart? Why do we worship distance?

When a country burns in war and sinks into instability, it is easy to laugh from afar and say, “How tragic, how unfortunate.” But have we ever worn their burned shoes? Slept through a night shaken by explosions? Felt the depth of losing loved ones, becoming homeless, living with fear as a daily companion? Do we know that behind short news headlines lie mountains of buried grief? A father is a father whether he is French, Pakistani, Indian, or Afghan. When he cannot afford shoes for his little daughter, the pressure on his heart is the same. He swallows his pride and sleeps later than everyone else. Poverty does not recognize nationality. Hunger does not ask for identity. A mother whose child asks for bread while she has nothing to give but who still works through exhaustion to keep her child alive is a hero. A hero without medals, without cameras, without applause. Yet we do not see these heroics. We only see labels. If someone comes from a powerful country, we call them valuable. If they come from a wounded, war-torn land, we reduce their worth. I struggle to understand why we measure humanity by geography. Is a girl or boy who survived war who has touched death, who has carried unbearable loss worth less than someone who has lived safely and never tasted fear? The one who rises from ruins and still chooses hope carries a mountain of courage within. Amid these thoughts, the words of the Afghan singer Zahir Howaida shone in my mind like light. He was told by a teacher: “Why do you speak so much to your audience during concerts? You are an artist. An artist should be like an idol unmatched, untouchable. When you speak, the idol breaks. You should remain silent.” How similar this thinking is to the root of discrimination turning a human into a statue and separating them from the people. But his answer was more beautiful than any song: “Why should an artist be an idol? Why should I sell myself at such a high price? The voice I have is a God-given gift. Why should I behave like a statue toward my own people? What is the difference between me and them? There is no ‘me’ and ‘them.’ We are all one.”

What a powerful truth. He understood that greatness is not found in becoming stone, not in creating distance. An artist who speaks to people does not break the idol he breaks the wall. The same wall that discrimination builds. The same distance that pride glorifies. There is something profoundly beautiful about remaining human despite talent, fame, and admiration. Words that rise from the heart settle in the heart not as commands, but as comfort.

Discrimination whether in a home, a university, or a society cuts through the threads of a person’s being, one by one. A person grows silent. Swallows their pain. And the most dangerous moment of all is when they begin to believe they truly are less. At that point, it is not only a heart that has been broken; it is a spirit that has been dimmed. I dream of a world where no one feels ashamed of their identity. A world where we are not executioners of hearts. Whether we are presidents, professors, kings, ministers, or shepherds if we are not human, we are nothing but skilled hunters who know exactly how to aim at hearts and tear apart the invisible threads inside others. There are many positions in this world. There is plenty of power. Plenty of wealth. But being truly human is the rarest rank on earth. I wish people would simply act like human beings speaking with clarity, honesty, and a clean, sincere heart. I wish we would learn, before any title, before any flag, before any degree, to be human. Not idols. Not breakers of hearts. Not cutters of the inner threads that hold each other together. The world does not need higher platforms. It needs bigger hearts.

And perhaps everything begins with this simple truth: no human being was created lesser than another. And before every border, every name, every identity we are one.

M.

Saskatoon