All That Is Bitter and Sweet_ A Memoir - Ashley Judd [172]
When we talked about abuse, one girl said, “Oh, when they beat us, it’s okay if we’ve done something wrong. That is not abuse.” I died a thousand deaths. Cultural change is so slow. I anguish over it sometimes, it is so slow.
I wanted them to know that we were all on a level playing field. When I asked, “Who among us has been abused?” I raised my hand, as did most of the others in the small group traveling with me. I noticed there was a writer from Reuters in the room, and I briefly worried that he would spin a story about how I raised my hand to my own question. Then I thought: So be it. Most folks know I am in recovery, and I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have something from which to recover—the logic follows. At this stage, I am actually beginning to have gratitude for my painful past, in that I may be qualified to sit with oppressed people all over the world, to be a part of a grassroots social justice process that speaks volumes about the promise of ending poverty, of an age of justice.
As our time drew to a close, each of us offered something we loved about ourselves. To break the ice, I held my bosom and said, “I love my boobs!” Peals of laughter erupted. Most girls were able to find something … teeth, hair, hands, eyes. Oh, but the struggling few who could not put words to one single admirable thing about themselves. Surprisingly, a girl who had been speaking up a great deal was one of these. When I said to her, “Well, I love your voice!” she was so pleased. The girl whose parents were attempting to force her to marry was also too ashamed to say anything good about herself; I told her I loved her strength. Funny, isn’t it, that the ones who are so visibly special, so clearly gifted, carry so much shame?
That night, Seane came to my room and we each shared about our touching yet simultaneously troubling and triggering experience with Ruchira and Apne Aap. We were on our way to yet another cocktail party. Seane looked gorgeous, of course; my hair was wet, and my dress was still wadded up. As we were dashing off, I realized I hadn’t said my prayers. I ran to the bedside, fell to my knees, and lo and behold, there she was beside me, also on her knees, hands clasped together earnestly. That’s a friend, on her own path, a challenging and empathetic witness of my own. We finally made it out the door for what I hoped was our last late evening event for this trip.
The party was hosted by Vinay Rai, a huge philanthropist in India, whose Rai Foundation supports education for girls and women. Mr. Rai is an industrialist, engineer, and philosopher who is spiritually inspired to give back parts of his family’s great wealth to help lift up his nation, especially through education. The foundation’s motto is “Manav Sewa Madhav Sewa”—“Service of Humanity Is Service to God.” Right up my alley.
I sat on a small stage while the Rais’ well-dressed, beautifully mannered guests took slipcovered seats. Mr. Rai said nice things about Kate and me, described how his family’s education fund was endowed with $150 million to send poor girls to college, covering even their clothing, so they would blend well with wealthier students. Then I took the stage.
If do say so myself, I gave was one fired-up, kick-ass, hyperlucid, emotional, effective, come-to-Jesus-meeting of a talk. I had called Bono earlier that night just to thank him so much for having reached out to me five years ago, for getting me into this “holy mess,” as I called it. And as I was speaking, one of his great lines came to me: This is not about charity, this is about justice. The whole trip and especially the stories of Neelam, the orphan, and Naina, the trafficked girl in the detention home, lit a fire in me. Tonight, I would not back down.
I told the stories with all the passion in my soul, then I did something simply not done in Indian society: I asked the guests to give money. I knew most Indians’ spiritual practice required them to give anonymously (“the right hand should not see what the left hand gives”). But the point was to break the seal, be