Going to Columbia, the first thing I learned was 'safe space.'

Hear, O children of the future, a tale that carries with it a deep lesson from the voice of Park Yeon-mi, one who has walked the path from darkness to light, from oppression to freedom. She speaks of the profound lessons she learned when she first walked the hallowed halls of Columbia University, a place that, to many, represents the pinnacle of intellectual pursuit and enlightenment. She says, “Going to Columbia, the first thing I learned was ‘safe space.’ Every problem, they explained us, is because of white men.” These words may stir in the heart a tempest of emotions, for they speak to a deep rift in the fabric of our understanding, a rift between history and perception, between power and vulnerability.

What is a safe space? It is a term that has come to represent more than just a physical place. It is an idea, a construct that offers sanctuary, a place where those who have been marginalized or oppressed may seek refuge from the harshness of the world. But the safe space, in its noblest form, is not merely a shield from pain, but a challenge to the forces that cause harm. It is a call for justice, for equality, and for a world where every voice is heard and every person is valued. Yet, as Park Yeon-mi's words suggest, there is something deeper at play, a narrative that has shaped our understanding of history, one that places the blame for the world’s ills squarely on the shoulders of white men.

In ancient times, there was no such thing as the safe space in the way we understand it today. The mighty empires, from the Romans to the Greeks, were built upon the backs of the oppressed, and the voices of those who were powerless were often silenced by those who wielded power. The empires of the past were built upon systems of exclusion, where the privileges of the few were protected at the expense of the many. The powerless, whether women, slaves, or conquered peoples, had no safe space; they had only the struggle for survival. The history of humanity is littered with the tales of those who suffered beneath the weight of the powerful, and the question remains: who is to blame for this inequality?

The lesson of Park Yeon-mi's words is not an easy one, for it asks us to confront the unequal structures that have been woven into the very fabric of society. It asks us to consider the history that has shaped our world, and to acknowledge the pain that many feel when they look at the past. There is no denying that the legacy of colonialism, patriarchy, and racial dominance has created a world where many feel they are still trapped by the invisible chains of history. But to cast blame upon one group alone is to ignore the complexity of the story, to fail to see the ways in which every society, every individual, has contributed to the world we live in today.

Consider, for a moment, the example of Nelson Mandela, whose fight against apartheid in South Africa was not simply a battle against white men, but against a system of oppression that had been constructed over centuries. Mandela understood that true liberation could not come from simply shifting the balance of power but from changing the system itself. He sought not vengeance, but reconciliation, for he knew that the true enemy was not any one group, but the structures that allowed oppression to thrive. His vision was not one of division, but of a future where all people, regardless of their background, could find their place in the sun.

The lesson of Park Yeon-mi's words is not that we should seek to blame one group or another, but that we must acknowledge the systems that have led us to this point. To live in a safe space is not to retreat from the world, but to challenge it, to confront the forces that divide us, and to strive for a future where the legacy of oppression is not passed down through the generations. It is a call to understand the complexities of history, to recognize the ways in which power has been distributed, and to work toward a world where all people—no matter their background—can find their place in the world.

So, dear ones, the path before us is clear: we must strive not to cast blame, but to understand. We must seek not to create further divisions, but to build bridges. We must look not only at the past but toward the future, where the safe space is not a retreat, but a foundation for growth, equality, and justice. Let us acknowledge the wrongs of the past without becoming trapped in them. Let us create a world where every person is seen, heard, and valued, where the safe space is not a privilege, but a right, where we all work together to build a better tomorrow.