Subject: Re: A Woman, Her Daughter, and a Gospel of Wealth
Alice,
For me, even more than the lack of money, what separates us is contempt. We gather together in our little safe houses, some of us in finery behind gated walls, some of us in tract houses and some of us in Ghettos and slums. And we peer out and trash any who do not measure up to our standards, whatever they might be. The rich call the working class lazy. The working class calls the rich man greedy, and the street people Damn all of us. We have divided ourselves into many, many little clubs when we ought to be joining hands and celebrating the fact that we are one huge human family. A world-wide family.
But instead, in order to give ourselves self importance, we turn our backs on any who look or act differently than us. Instead of reaching out, we slam shut the door, creating differences that do not exist. We call others Evil, or unfeeling, or aggressors, or Terrorists. We turn on one another with violence. Violence, a tool that has never won a war, never solved a problem, never created a better life, never brought about lasting peace. In our hearts we know it won't work, but we just can't bring ourselves to embrace "those people". Besides, they might slit our throats even as we hug them.
So it is contempt for one another that is the root cause of our suffering.
And by the way, the fellow in the story opened his wallet and said he had a one dollar bill, a ten and some twenties. He gave the woman and her daughter a ten dollar bill. At MacDonald's today, ten dollars does not go far. Why didn't he hand her a twenty so she could really have a full meal for the two of them? Or perhaps take them down the street and treat them to a sit down meal in a real restaurant.
But then, how many of us would have?
Carl Jarvis
----- Original Message -----From: Alice Dampman HumelSent: Sunday, December 16, 2012 2:52 AMSubject: Re: A Woman, Her Daughter, and a Gospel of WealthThere are so many things wrong about this whole scenario.But one small line I think tells part of the story that we often tend to ignore.There's so much talk of limited resources in the world.Maybe.But the one so-called resource, an artificial construct, that causes most of the misery and suffering on our planet is money, or rather the lack of it, the scarcity of it, created and maintained by all those sitting on piles of it, often ill-gotten at the expense of those suffering poor."And once I give eye contact, the story begins. And the story is always aboutmoney. Money separates us. Without it we're hungry and homeless. AccordingThat's the whole paragraph, but the core of its truth lies in the fact that people are not cold, hungry, sick, or homeless because of lack of resources, they are cold and sick and hungry and homeless and suffering because they lack money.
to worldhunger.org, one in seven American households - more than 17 million
of them - were "food insecure" as of 2010. It's "the highest number ever
recorded in the United States."And if there can be a hierarchy of tragedy or suffering, this fact makes all that suffering even more deplorable.It's, to use one of Carl's favorite terms, the corporate empire not only turning their backs on the suffering of the poor, but actually causing and perpetuating it all in the name of a lousy nickel.Alice
On Dec 15, 2012, at 4:43 PM, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@optonline.net> wrote:
Friday, 14 December 2012 13:30
A Woman, Her Daughter, and a Gospel of Wealth
ROBERT C. KOEHLER FOR BUZZFLASH AT TRUTHOUT
"I'm pregnant," she said.
Well, OK. She wanted $4. I could have done the "pretend not to see you"
thing. Taking that option is part of life these days, especially in Chicago.
She'd been standing in the middle of the intersection, trying to get money
so that - if she was to be believed -she and her daughter could get dinner
at the McDonald's on the corner. When the light changed, she came over to
me. I was out for a walk. It was a beautiful, cold December night.
This is what I'd been thinking: "We are not human beings having a spiritual
experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience."
It was a quote from one of my favorite writers, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin,
and at times it feels true - such as when I'm walking through my vibrant,
unpredictable neighborhood. Suddenly nothing is ordinary or banal, nothing
is to be blown off. Oh, the humanity.
She was young but had a raw, weathered look to her, as though she'd spent
nights in parks or maybe under viaducts. Why not just keep walking? That's
the sensible thing to do, but I cannot do so - cannot avoid eye contact -
without feeling a wrenching brokenness in my relationship with the world.
Most of the time I can tolerate this and I move on; but sometimes a
curiosity, or perhaps my own need for an I-thou connection to the world,
simply stops me in my tracks.
And once I give eye contact, the story begins. And the story is always about
money. Money separates us. Without it we're hungry and homeless. According
to worldhunger.org, one in seven American households - more than 17 million
of them - were "food insecure" as of 2010. It's "the highest number ever
recorded in the United States."
Yeah, something's broken. It's systemic, of course. I won't fix it tonight,
here at the corner of Devon and Ridge, as a young woman steps out of the
traffic and tells me how hungry she is, and so is her daughter, and she's
pregnant. And her words are compelling even if I don't necessarily believe
her. "I'm for real," she says and I feel for change - because I don't
disbelieve her either - but I have only a few nickels in my pocket. I pull
out my wallet. I have a one, a ten and some twenties.
I'm rich.
This is what I sense in this moment, as she stands there looking at me,
illuminated by the streetlight and the glow of the McDonald's sign. And
nothing could feel more preposterous to me than to feel, suddenly, rich,
when in my own mind I'm anything but. I don't want to be rich or, at any
rate, to feel a divide between us based on the contents of my wallet. And I
think about the presidential campaign that ended a month ago - about the
convenient divide that money creates between "taxpayers" and "moochers" and
the righteousness that instantly supplants any internal conflict we might
feel about the basic unfairness of the situation.
"It is well, nay, essential for the progress of the race, that the houses of
some should be homes for all that is highest and best in literature and the
arts, and for all the refinements of civilization, rather than that none
should be so. Much better this great irregularity than universal squalor."
Wow, universal squalor as the only alternative to a wealth chasm dividing
society into fragments. This was Andrew Carnegie, writing in 1890 ("The
Gospel of Wealth"). Earlier he'd talked about how, in the old days, "there
was little difference between the dwelling, dress, food and environment of
the chief and those of his retainers."
And furthermore, "The Indians are today where civilized man then was. When
visiting the Sioux, I was led to the wigwam of the chief. It was just like
the others in external appearance, and, even within, the difference was
trifling between it and those of the poorest of his braves. The contrast
between the palace of the millionaire and the cottage of the laborer with us
today measures the change which has come with civilization. This change,
however, is not to be deplored, but welcomed as highly beneficial."
Oh, the entitlement! The poorest of "his" braves . . .
These are the prejudices - the spiritual contaminants - built into the
society we inhabit. It begins with the myth of civilization and the
abundance of technology and art and fabulous entertainment and great
footwear it bestows, however unequally, on all of us, rich and poor alike.
The viciousness of the enforcement of this divide is hidden behind the
glorious abundance. Without the inequality - without the rich owning almost
everything - we'd have . . . drum circles and moccasins. You know, universal
squalor.
What I do is hand her the ten. I don't know if she's telling the truth, nor
do I have a "feel good" moment of helping someone in need. I have only a
bemused despair, either that nothing has changed and she'll be hungry again
tomorrow, or her pitch was a lie (or maybe just a form of advertising).
When I hand it to her, she squeals, "I love you!" And I watch as she hurries
off toward McDonald's, presumably to have a feast with her daughter.
---
Robert Koehler is an award-winning, Chicago-based journalist and nationally
syndicated writer. His new book, Courage Grows Strong at the Wound (Xenos
Press) is now available. Contact him at koehlercw@gmail.com , visit his
website at commonwonders.com or listen to him at Voices of Peace radio.
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Friday, 14 December 2012 13:30
A Woman, Her Daughter, and a Gospel of Wealth
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ROBERT C. KOEHLER FOR BUZZFLASH AT TRUTHOUT
"I'm pregnant," she said.
Well, OK. She wanted $4. I could have done the "pretend not to see you"
thing. Taking that option is part of life these days, especially in Chicago.
She'd been standing in the middle of the intersection, trying to get money
so that - if she was to be believed -she and her daughter could get dinner
at the McDonald's on the corner. When the light changed, she came over to
me. I was out for a walk. It was a beautiful, cold December night.
This is what I'd been thinking: "We are not human beings having a spiritual
experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience."
It was a quote from one of my favorite writers, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin,
and at times it feels true - such as when I'm walking through my vibrant,
unpredictable neighborhood. Suddenly nothing is ordinary or banal, nothing
is to be blown off. Oh, the humanity.
She was young but had a raw, weathered look to her, as though she'd spent
nights in parks or maybe under viaducts. Why not just keep walking? That's
the sensible thing to do, but I cannot do so - cannot avoid eye contact -
without feeling a wrenching brokenness in my relationship with the world.
Most of the time I can tolerate this and I move on; but sometimes a
curiosity, or perhaps my own need for an I-thou connection to the world,
simply stops me in my tracks.
And once I give eye contact, the story begins. And the story is always about
money. Money separates us. Without it we're hungry and homeless. According
to worldhunger.org, one in seven American households - more than 17 million
of them - were "food insecure" as of 2010. It's "the highest number ever
recorded in the United States."
Yeah, something's broken. It's systemic, of course. I won't fix it tonight,
here at the corner of Devon and Ridge, as a young woman steps out of the
traffic and tells me how hungry she is, and so is her daughter, and she's
pregnant. And her words are compelling even if I don't necessarily believe
her. "I'm for real," she says and I feel for change - because I don't
disbelieve her either - but I have only a few nickels in my pocket. I pull
out my wallet. I have a one, a ten and some twenties.
I'm rich.
This is what I sense in this moment, as she stands there looking at me,
illuminated by the streetlight and the glow of the McDonald's sign. And
nothing could feel more preposterous to me than to feel, suddenly, rich,
when in my own mind I'm anything but. I don't want to be rich or, at any
rate, to feel a divide between us based on the contents of my wallet. And I
think about the presidential campaign that ended a month ago - about the
convenient divide that money creates between "taxpayers" and "moochers" and
the righteousness that instantly supplants any internal conflict we might
feel about the basic unfairness of the situation.
"It is well, nay, essential for the progress of the race, that the houses of
some should be homes for all that is highest and best in literature and the
arts, and for all the refinements of civilization, rather than that none
should be so. Much better this great irregularity than universal squalor."
Wow, universal squalor as the only alternative to a wealth chasm dividing
society into fragments. This was Andrew Carnegie, writing in 1890 ("The
Gospel of Wealth"). Earlier he'd talked about how, in the old days, "there
was little difference between the dwelling, dress, food and environment of
the chief and those of his retainers."
And furthermore, "The Indians are today where civilized man then was. When
visiting the Sioux, I was led to the wigwam of the chief. It was just like
the others in external appearance, and, even within, the difference was
trifling between it and those of the poorest of his braves. The contrast
between the palace of the millionaire and the cottage of the laborer with us
today measures the change which has come with civilization. This change,
however, is not to be deplored, but welcomed as highly beneficial."
Oh, the entitlement! The poorest of "his" braves . . .
These are the prejudices - the spiritual contaminants - built into the
society we inhabit. It begins with the myth of civilization and the
abundance of technology and art and fabulous entertainment and great
footwear it bestows, however unequally, on all of us, rich and poor alike.
The viciousness of the enforcement of this divide is hidden behind the
glorious abundance. Without the inequality - without the rich owning almost
everything - we'd have . . . drum circles and moccasins. You know, universal
squalor.
What I do is hand her the ten. I don't know if she's telling the truth, nor
do I have a "feel good" moment of helping someone in need. I have only a
bemused despair, either that nothing has changed and she'll be hungry again
tomorrow, or her pitch was a lie (or maybe just a form of advertising).
When I hand it to her, she squeals, "I love you!" And I watch as she hurries
off toward McDonald's, presumably to have a feast with her daughter.
---
Robert Koehler is an award-winning, Chicago-based journalist and nationally
syndicated writer. His new book, Courage Grows Strong at the Wound (Xenos
Press) is now available. Contact him at \n This email address is being
protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. "
target="_blank"koehlercw@gmail.com, visit his website at commonwonders.com
or listen to him at Voices of Peace radio.
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