Oppression Olympics, Whataboutism, and How We Exercise Humanity in the Face of Adversity

As someone studying to become a professional social worker, I often find myself reflecting on complex issues like social justice, oppression, and activism. These topics are far from simple, and they demand respect, honesty, humility, and nuance when we discuss them. In this post, I’ll be reflecting on a particular issue that’s deeply personal for me as a Ukrainian living in Canada: the dynamics of "whataboutism" and the "oppression olympics."

 For those who may not be familiar with my writing, I am Ukrainian and have been living in Canada for the past eight years. During this time, I’ve actively worked to advance the voices of Ukrainians across various spaces, focusing particularly on sharing our culture and traditions at the university campus and within the larger Ottawa community. In the social work world, we love to use big buzzwords—things like “social location,” “oppressions,” “social justice,” and “activism.” But the reality is that these concepts are tightly connected to the human suffering we witness in society. Right now, we’re seeing more conversations about identity, historical suffering, and the struggles that people from different backgrounds face.

In Canada, much of this conversation centers on the ongoing trauma experienced by Indigenous communities, as they continue to process the legacy of the residential school system and other colonial practices. At the same time, many other ethnic communities are raising awareness of issues like racial inequality and daily racism. As a Ukrainian living here, I’ve come to realize how these struggles intersect, but also how they sometimes get overshadowed by comparisons that do more harm than good.

In January of 2023, our student club faced a difficult situation when hate graffiti started appearing around campus. Many Ukrainians, myself included, began to feel unsafe walking through the university corridors. When our undergraduate student association posted a statement condemning hate speech, I was mortified to see comments under the post dismissing our concerns. Some referred to us as "privileged Eastern Europeans" who were overreacting, arguing that we were already receiving too much support. This was not an isolated incident. As the war in Ukraine has progressed, I've encountered more of these dismissive remarks, the “what about Syria?” or “what about Palestine?” responses whenever I or others share updates about the war in Ukraine. To be clear, these are just examples—people could easily substitute any conflict or crisis happening in the world.

It’s true: the world is a messed-up place, and human suffering is not unique to Ukrainians. When I delivered a motion to our student association calling for a statement marking the 1,000th day of russia's unprovoked aggression against Ukraine, I made it very clear in my speech that we have a responsibility to ensure that all students—particularly those from conflict zones—feel safe, supported, and heard. This is how I try to combat whataboutism: by ensuring that the message I send is one of inclusion and solidarity. Rather than focusing on who is suffering more, I emphasize the importance of standing together.

Sometimes, though, the challenge goes beyond whataboutism. A couple of years ago, our club presented an exhibit called "Unissued Diplomas," which featured the stories of 36 Ukrainian students who were killed as a result of russia’s aggression. While we received heartfelt feedback from some attendees who were deeply moved by the exhibit, there were others who asked why we weren’t doing a similar exhibit about Afghan or Iranian youth.

Frankly, these comments were heartbreaking. It felt like the deaths of young Ukrainians were being dismissed, as if their stories didn’t deserve to be highlighted or mourned in the same way. This is the essence of the “oppression olympics”—the idea that suffering must be ranked, and that one group’s pain is less valid because another group is also suffering.

We’ve all seen this narrative play out online and in discussions: "What about X group’s suffering?" "What about Y community’s pain?" The problem with this is that it reduces human experiences to a competition. When we get caught up in the "who is suffering more" mentality, we forget to humanize the individual stories at the heart of each conflict. The tragedy of one person’s death or displacement is not less important because someone else is also facing hardship.

This notion that "we have it easier" as Ukrainians is particularly frustrating to me. Earlier this year, I attended a meeting with a member of parliament where we discussed the priorities of the Ukrainian Canadian community and called for increased support for Ukraine. The response I received was frustrating: “Constituents in my riding say that Canada is already doing too much for Ukrainians. They have it so much easier than others coming from war-torn zones.”

I am tired of being portrayed as the "lucky" victims of war—as if our suffering is less significant because we have light skin tones and blond hair. This kind of rhetoric ignores the real pain, fear, and trauma that Ukrainians are enduring as a result of russia’s ongoing invasion. Our country is diverse, with many different ethnic, linguistic, and cultural groups. I encourage anyone interested in understanding this complexity to look into Alice Zhuravel's project Tozhsamist, which explores the diversity of identity in Ukraine. But I also want to emphasize that we cannot let the "privileged European" stereotype overshadow the real suffering that many Ukrainians are enduring right now.

As a Ukrainian living in Canada, I recognize the role our diasporic community plays in the broader context of reconciliation and decolonization. We benefit from living on lands that were never ceded to settlers, lands that belong to Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island. It’s important to note that we weren’t always seen as "privileged Europeans" here. Our history in Canada is also marked by suffering. Between 1914 and 1920, many Ukrainians were wrongfully imprisoned in internment camps during World War I. This painful chapter of our history is often forgotten, but documentaries like That Never Happened: Canada’s First National Internment shed light on the legacy of these camps and how they have impacted generations of Ukrainian Canadians. We must acknowledge this history while also being mindful of our role in supporting other marginalized groups in Canada. The suffering of Indigenous peoples, Black Canadians, and other communities cannot be erased by comparisons. True solidarity lies in amplifying all voices without ranking their pain.

In our world today, it often feels like suffering is treated as a competition. The question becomes: who is suffering more? But should we really be asking this? Do we need to pit one community's pain against another's in order to validate the experiences of each? I believe the answer is no. We don’t need to compete for suffering. Instead, we should be asking ourselves how we can care for more than one community at a time and find strength in solidarity.Solidarity isn’t about comparison—it’s about standing together in the face of injustice and supporting one another in our collective fight for equity and human dignity.

To do this, we must engage in nuanced conversations—conversations that allow us to truly listen, to learn, and to understand the historical struggles of others. We must approach these discussions with humility and a willingness to educate ourselves, as we lend our voices where they’re needed, and amplify those who are often unheard.

We are capable of more than just competition; we are capable of building a world rooted in compassion, unity, and shared humanity. It’s not about who has suffered more—it’s about how we can fight for a world where suffering is no longer the norm for anyone. When we stand together, we challenge the status quo and demand that equity, justice, and dignity are afforded to all, no matter their background.