One of the great tragedies of modernity is how hard we have to work in order to develop facets of life that were taken for granted a few generations ago. Because food magically appears in the grocery store, for example, we 21st-century brain jocks must chisel hours out of our lives to run nowhere on the treadmill, just to half-approximate prairie-farmer fitness.
To my mind, one of the greatest casualties of time and technology is an ingrained sense of community compassion. If literature and history books can be trusted, back before we were all thrust into the global community, most people felt themselves to be a part of an actual community. Before mass food transport, for example, when communities were forced to provide for their own mouths, you didn’t need Twitter to tell you when families on the other side of town were facing serious deprivation or death. You could just look outside.
Bad growing season? Mysterious dairy cow plague? All the nearby train lines get twisted up by that pesky Union Army again? It seems to me that if hard times were a-brewin’ (and, man, weren’t they always?) your family felt it. And in the magical pre-video-game world, when people were forced to actually get to know and rely on their neighbors, chances are you knew exactly who else was feeling it too.
It may be romanticized, but the immediacy of pre-technology life suggests a healthy barter system of compassion: it behooved you to be good to those around you, because who knew when it would suddenly be your turn to suffer?
People who work in the compassion industry have a bit of a tougher sell now. Because we’re exposed to global news on a minute-by-minute basis, it’s easy to become desensitized to tragedy. And with so many excellent social programs out there, of course there are always a few (or a few dozen) springing leaks — and why wouldn’t they subtly bad-mouth each other to make sure they’re earning enough donations to subsist on?
Because there’s so much in-fighting between niche non-profits, however, lately I’ve been noticing a disturbing trends of wonderful charities cutting the idea of compassion out of the picture all together. They’re so pressed for time in this mad, mad world that they cut out your heart altogether in the mad grab for your wallet.
The clearest example for me is an experience I had the other day with a street-corner canvasser for a highly-regarded children’s charity. He asked, as they all do, if I had a moment. Not wanting to waste his time, I gave him my standard answer: I respect what he’s doing and wish him the best, but am completely broke and already over-extended on charitable giving.
“Well at least give me a few seconds to talk to you,” he said, and I readily agreed, expecting him to play arpeggios up and down my heartstrings with pictures of cleft palates and statistics on national education. Instead, he locked his steely eyes on mine and demanded: “How much money do you make a year?”
I told him, and shrugged helplessly; the figure in and of itself explains why I can’t give. Instead of letting me move on, though, he pulled out a calculator.
“Okay, so let’s figure out what you spend your money on. How much on rent? Eight hundred or so? And a latte a day at $4; let’s say $10 a day for lunch out, $60 per month for cable…”
I let him get halfway through my imaginary budget before I could finally sputter out my objection. “Look,” I told him, “you don’t know anything about me. I don’t drink coffees, I don’t go to clubs. The only things I spend money on are rent and food.”
“Well,” he answered, giving me a slow once-over. “Have you ever considered eating less?”
So, that was the end of that. I smiled again, told him I didn’t have the financial means, but said I commended how dedicated he obviously was to helping the children.
“Yeah, that’s good too,” he said, “but if I don’t make a crapload in commissions this month, I’m going to have to move back in with my parents.”
Ah, capitalism. Ah, humanity.
• • •
The next day, to wash the last lingering bitterness of the interaction out of my head, I picked a few cans out of my pantry and headed to the drop-off point for a local food bank. They, funnily enough, thanked me without asking a single question about my annual income.
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I wonder if he has considering cutting out his coffee consumption, eating out less, and eating less in general. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to move back in with his parents.
I actually got almost forced into signing up for Greenpeace once. I had to call the number and tell them I couldn’t. The people who answered were much more understanding than the canvasser.
too true. There are now a couple of charities I will no longer donate to, because I’ve been accosted by canvassers who were far too pushy and downright rude. I still give to the cause, but through other charities.