Skip to main content

It's About Whether We Should Care


"Personally, I’m happy to pay an extra 4.3 percent for my fast food burger if it means the person making it for me can afford to feed their own family. If you aren’t willing to fork over an extra 17 cents for a Big Mac, you’re a fundamentally different person than I am.

I’m perfectly content to pay taxes that go toward public schools, even though I’m childless and intend to stay that way, because all children deserve a quality, free education. If this seems unfair or unreasonable to you, we are never going to see eye to eye."  Kayla Chadwick, Huffington Post

What is it that makes some people so riled up about caring for others? Is it that they don't want to pay the extra "17 cents"? Or is it that they fear a fair and just society will remove the privilege they deny they have? 

What is it that makes us spend dollars on gifts we know may be thrown out soon after the wrap beneath the tree that will soon be on the curb waiting for pick up?

I remember a time when I couldn't stand to read the newspaper because the reports of poverty and injustice would make me feel depressed. I didn't want to examine that, so I loved all the diversions - the Christmas catalogues, the brightly coloured mall, the lights on neighbours houses, the tinsel of the season.

Celebrating with friends, special treats and laughter is good, but I had become a mindless consumer of habits and traditions that enabled me to feel normal. 

I had hoped that our "leaders" would be responsible and make the right decisions for me.

Self-interest is a slithery snake. It allowed me to dress myself in the common fantasy - that I worked for everything I had. But in the end my conscience could no longer deny that my happiness depended on living in a free and just community. The duty to care is very closely linked to my own self esteem.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Letter to BC Ferries

I am a resident of Gabriola and often travel Taylor Bay Road to get to the village.

I have noticed the line up takes cars onto the road where there are bends. Because some of the cars are part way on to the road I must pass on the oncoming traffic lane. This is dangerous because oncoming traffic cannot see me. I move as close as possible to the cars in the line up but still go to the oncoming traffic lane.


It appears that we need more frequent ferries to avoid this long line up. When catching a ferry I get in line as the previous ferry is leaving, which is possible for retired people, but not everyone can do this.

Overburdened line ups also cause some to get too frustrated and do dangerous things. We are all responsible for our own behaviour but so much of our civil society is being destroyed by ruthless economic ideologies.

Climate change, abusive treatment of workers and the economic trend which intentionally pushes people to a deep sense of insecurity, calls for a renewal in comm…

Anonymous Sources

Where does "Greatness" come from? The imagination? Facts? Confidence? A willing suspension of disbelief in a slogan that makes us happy? A capacity to judge well? An ability to observe and find solutions that benefit most if not all? Taking responsibility for the community? A masters degree from Oxford or Yale?

Let me offer the opinion that greatness comes from extraordinary effort or talent.  Greatness as it may exist in our anonymous ambitions does not win fame except in isolated circumstances.  That is to say, fame is not a realistic goal for an individual.

Greatness is like a dove in the imagination, an angel, a temporary insight, a fleeting epiphany. Something aspired to in the privacy of our minds.

Greatness was an ambition I held when I was a teen and had no proof that I was good at anything or useful to the world at all. After repeated criticism and dismissal from the community around me where I attempted to win something, anything, like a medal, a competition, or a…

A Prayer for Little Children

I wonder how to protect you keep you safe from uniforms with men inside  who have pledged to follow  orders in prisons  where doors are locked so I can’t get in and you can’t get out even though all you want is your mother or brother or sister  and the crying of other children warns of danger as if  there was anything you could have done different and the uniformed bodies are not smiling but hard and I suspect your infant heart beats louder than your screams sensing that something you can’t name has gone terribly wrong.
But these words are merely a stranger’s attempt to do something, anything like send a card with butterflies that opens to a nursery rhyme to make the terror go away knowing she can't.