Most people in this country, as well as in many parts of the developed world, do not realize just how prevalent the oppression of women remains. In fact, the Secretary General of the United Nations believes that systematic oppression of women is the biggest crisis of our time.

Here are just a few of the horrific truths that illustrate this point. You may not know that many of our sisters around the world cannot drive vehicles, hold jobs, or own property because of their gender. Some women are considered to be property. Some women cannot legally vote, or if they do, they must have their husband’s permission. Some women are burned after their husbands die because they are seen as an additional burden that families must take on. In some countries, it is not against the law for men to rape their wives or the wives of their brothers. Then, once these women are raped, they are often disowned or even stoned to death by their family because the rape is seen as having brought shame to the family.

Women are contracting HIV/AIDS at the fastest rate of any group due to a lack of education and funding for health care, ad because of their inability to protect themselves from their husbands and other men. Women are being trafficked for sexual exploitation. Women are being legally sent to other countries as brides to unknown men. Women are being mutilated as a “rite of passage.” Women are being murdered because their families can not pay their dowry. Women are being tortured and killed for engaging in premarital sex. Women are being sexually assaulted as a tactic in war. In fact, according to World Bank data, women between the ages of 15 and 44 are at a greater risk of suffering rape and domestic violence, than cancer, motor vehicle accidents, war, and malaria.

These stories and statistics merely scratch the surface. It is clear that we need to wake up! If we do not notice what is happening, there is no way we can change it.

I am sensitive to the needs of babies that are in need of love. There are times when a fetus is aborted because the couple failed to use a less tragic form of birth control. Stories of sleeping infants being left in boxes bother me. Tales of toddlers being abused and neglected haunt me. I cringe at the thought of children not feeling the love that they deserve.

I am sensitive to the yearnings of the youth. Their uncertainty, their feelings of angst, and their calls for support echo in my mind. I encounter students every day that are hurting, and that could use a little boost every now and then.

I am sensitive to the questions of young adults. Inquiries on how to get into and stay in postsecondary institutions shower me every day. Young adults express to me fear regarding how to pay off educational loans, how to start a career, and how to live up to filial expectations very often.

I am sensitive to the history of people of color. Their stories strike me to the core of my soul. I relate to their quest for equality, for autonomy, and for self-actualization.

I am sensitive to the status of women. The double standard they face is always on my mind. I witnessed my mother work twice as hard as the next man just to get the same amount of praise.

I am sensitive to the fight of the handicapped and disabled. Their struggles of access and fairness strike a chord in my heart. I see with the blind, hear with the deaf, and work with the unable.

I am sensitive to the deterioration of the elderly. They share with me their physical, mental, and emotional aches and pains. I empathize with their loss of independence, with their fear of being a burden, and their desire to die with dignity.

I am sensitive to the plight of the poor. My heart aches for families that can not afford food and housing. I know what it is like to not have running water, plumbing, or electricity. My memories include embarrassment from being teased for non-name-brand clothing.

I am sensitive to the struggle of the immigrant. My experiences have included trying to translate for non-English speakers, filling out forms and paperwork with them. I share their stories of discrimination, of fear, and frustration.

I am sensitive--and this makes me stronger than ever.

Apparently, my lola stood up for the first time in three weeks. She walked to the restroom, walked back to her bed, and laid back down. I wish I was home to witness it, but I was not. My uncle and cousin think that it is a sign that she is getting stronger, and getting better. Having taken care of my mom while she was on her deathbed, I am not as optimistic. There is a lot of research around aging, around dying, and I have had experience around them both. I told them what I know and what I learned from when my mom was in hospice and dying. It was a hard conversation to have with them and even now, there is very little solace that I can offer them.

Charles Dickens said, "Charity begins at home, and justice begins next door."

In her book Women and Money, Suze Orman states that one of the eight qualities of a wealthy woman is generosity. She further emphasizes that true generosity must benefit both parties. No woman can control her destiny if she does not give to herself as much as she gives of herself. Ms. Orman often cautions people not to co-sign loans or deplete their emergency cash savings to bail out someone. While those acts seem helpful, they leave people financially at risk. Happiness manifests itself through generosity—when, for example, a woman makes donations that help others yet do not deplete them.