© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 144
Everyone needs something to believe in when they are young. I used to believe in change for the better, and that I could make a contribution. My days were filled with homeless people, people skirting the edges of society, the poor, the damaged and those who were simply the victims of prejudice and marginalisation in a general sort of way.
The reason, behind the whole thing, as I look at it now, is that I believed that these people were ‘real’. They hadn’t been exposed to the whole materialist thing of the house, car, 2.5 kids, or 4.9 kids, depending on whether you believe in tenets of traditional Catholicism or not, and so on.
By virtue of their suffering, the difficulties, and their need to navigate life without the benefits of comfort zones, I believed they were more worthy of my interest, and certainly more interesting. And for a long time, I centred much of what I did around improving conditions for them.
I never saw myself as a saint. It just felt like the right thing to do, on some strange, deep level. It still does. And I still try to help out where I can, by helping organisations that do things that make sense to me, by giving my time and knowledge. But so much has changed since then.
For a start, I cannot share as much of my existence with their concerns as I did. I cannot picture a revolution anymore, in which everyone shares the wealth and none are marginalized. I have played that movie over and over again in my head, and the excitement is lacking. I have explored that vision too often. I have become too tired.
I am regularly accosted by someone on the street. He seems to have developed the idea that I am a soft touch, or something huggable with lots of money to help him, or perhaps if I let him get close enough, muggable. But I am not anything and I am not his friend, as he has decided to call me. In fact, in his case, I have had to become cantankerous and threatening. It’s either that or I have to alter my route, which is the one thing that I really won’t do.
Some years ago I spoke to someone who established one of the most notable charitable organisations around, an organisation that still continues to deliver some of the most worth improvements to society. I asked him what he would do if he got a windfall of a couple of million dollars. His answer blew me away.
“I would buy a yacht and sail off
to some tropical paradise and leave all this behind.”
I asked him why? He told me that he was tired. Now I find myself in the
same boat, literally, and figuratively. But there is no end to the need.
Someone once wrote about charity, as a biological phenomenon. It might have been Desmond Morris or Richard Dawkins. In my memory it is put across as some kind of genetic phenomenon, so it was probably Richard Dawkins, but I really can’t remember. In terms of this theory, there is some sort of genetic imperative that says look after yourself, procreate and look after your family, but underlying all this, there is a concern for your immediate group, the wider group that would probably be defined by your culture, even if it is just an intense desire to get together and hang out drinking beer and watching rugby or soccer on a Saturday afternoon. And it carries on like this, until you get to the species.
And so, apparently, charity, caring and concern are thing of deoxyribonucleic acids.
Strange as it may appear, it all seems to gel. As my concern for my family has grown, so my concern for others has diminished. I am not a saint. I would not give up my family for the good of others. But perhaps, if I devote time to them, and watch my daughter become something, and move on to her own things in the way that young ones do, there will be more time and energy for helping others later. It still feels right, just tiring. And I think I am beginning to understand why some people rather give money than of themselves.
It feels as if in writing this down, I have learned something, that charity really must begin at home.
