"Ours is a world where so many have so little. It's a world where affluence often comes at the price of others' impoverishment. Affluence also comes at the price of denying future generations resources and opportunities. Our privilege is far from sustainable."

Che', our black Lab mix, is 13. That's pretty old for a big dog -- he weighs 99 pounds. A remarkably handsome guy (I think), he has a trim physique and thoughtful eyes. He's thrilled when our friends come to visit.

We serve Che' the very best dog food and dole out frequent treats -- whenever we eat, he eats. He's never missed a meal. Che' gets his regular veterinary checkup and worm and flea meds. Now slowed down by an aging back, until a year or so ago he had always been in robust health.

Che' has three human housemates. He doesn't get left home alone all that much. No day goes by without a walk with us in Elmwood Park. Most of the year, he relishes a daily swim. He has a roomy yard with squirrels to chase and trees to pee on.

A great napper, Che' has his own couch and pillow. He even has his basket of toys. Surely Che''s life is better than that of the vast majority of dogs on this planet. Heck, Che’’s life must be better than that of many -- most? -- humans.

Why does Che' have such a good life?

Mostly, because of how fortunate my housemates and I are in our lives -- how privileged.

I recently took part in a three-day workshop at a nearby campus. In one exercise our facilitator had each participant list ten words that describe his or her identity -- each word on a separate slip of paper.

Here is what I wrote: white, male, hetero, U.S. citizen, honest, green, non-car owner, partnered, nonviolent, privileged.

After we had all compiled our lists, the facilitator had us crumple each slip and drop it to the floor. But first we were to reflect on what our life would be like without that particular trait. So, for example, as I crumpled my male slip, I was to consider how my life might be different if I wasn't a male.

Then the facilitator asked us to reclaim all the slips -- except for those of traits we wished weren't part of our identity. While I'm ambivalent about a couple of my traits, I left none on the floor. For a moment, though, I considered shedding privileged.

Ours is a world where so many have so little. It's a world where affluence often comes at the price of others' impoverishment. Affluence also comes at the price of denying future generations resources and opportunities. Our privilege is far from sustainable.

Rightly or wrongly, my rationale for keeping privileged for myself went like this: by U.S. standards I consume little; as an activist I focus on what I think of as essential issues (Iraq, Iran, etc.). So I told myself my privilege is partly justified since it's a resource I try to leverage for the greater good.

Sure, I may be kidding myself. We humans have an enormous capacity for denial and for self-indulgence. Because I've had many years of schooling, I may even succumb to such delusion more than most.

Further, thanks to the advantages I've had (through little effort or merit of my own), I may well have an exaggerated sense of entitlement. You might call this "mor-ism": the more you have, the more you think you should have. There is a corollary -- "less-ism": often, the less you have, the less you're aware you deserve.

One reason I cherish Che' is that I see in his body language and in his eyes that he’s calculating and sorting things out. I love to speculate about how his mind works. Sometimes I think Che' has morism.

I'm pretty sure he never questions the security and unruffled ease of his life. He never asks who built or bought that couch he's made his own. Nor does he ask who pays the vet bill. Surely Che' never wonders whose labor produces the food that magically keeps appearing in his bowl.

In Che’’s case the obliviousness is innate. The sadness is that we humans can go through life no less oblivious.

Ed Kinane is an activist based in Syracuse. Reach him at edkinane@verizon.net.