I weep for all those who suffer

WE’RE deafened by shouting about ‘privilege’ these days — especially ‘white privilege’.

The word implies disgraceful, unfair, innate advantage, doesn’t it? But from where I sit contemplating the human condition through letters and emails from all over the place, such assumptions are fatuous.

What makes anybody ‘privileged’ — that is, apart from talent, wealth and beauty? What about the downtrodden ones, wherever they come from? What about all the unfortunates who have no one to scream that their lives matter?

The letter in my hand arrived by old-fashioned mail, two small, lined pages covered in the careful, looped handwriting of the older generation.

Such letters always make me sad in advance. I know the kind of sorrows they will contain.

The writer, Mrs V, is not asking me advice or help, just telling me about her life. ‘My husband is a nasty, violent, controlling bully. I live in fear each day, too frightened to leave.

‘He puts me down in front of other people. He comes over all nice to others but a monster in the house with me.’

She explains that she married at 17 and is now 71 and hard of hearing, so cannot use the phone. ‘I feel stressed and trapped in a living hell — and have been for decades.

‘I would leave if I could find somewhere safe.’

She has two sons but longs for a friend ‘in a similar situation, so we could comfort each other’.

What can I do? Nowhere does she say she has experienced actual domestic violence. I have her address, but would writing to her risk more wrath on her head? Where are her sons? Into what category (of social work?) can we place such misery?

There are many marriages like hers — and I’ve learned the limits of suggesting answers. No glib advice about counselling could reach the beaten soul of Mrs V. It just wouldn’t happen.

I see no solution — but to weep for those, whatever the colour of their skin, who have no privilege at all.

Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, london W8 5TT, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.