Copyright 1985, 1986 by Gregory S. Swann. All Rights Reserved.
Direct inquiries to CIS I.D. 75115,1341.
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The Power of Pity

        "We're not the world!," sang out the delightful little girl with the
blonde curls. "We're snotty children!"
        Her Grandmother, the Pity Maven, looked at her with alarm.
        "We don't intend to make a better world! We were just fibbing!"
Her singing wasn't all that good, to be honest, but she put a lot of joy into
it, the unpretentious kind.
        "Melissa!," the Pity Maven scolded. "Grandma said that song
is only for at home, didn't she?!?"
        Melissa giggled gleefully. "But I like it! We're not the wor--"
        "Mel=iss=a!"
        The kid shut up with a pout.
        I met the Pity Maven, an aging Yup with shaggy gray hair, backstage at
a benefit concert in Queens. I recognized her because I've seen her on
a couple of talk shows and (I think) a soda commercial. I seem to remember she
ran for some elective office a year or two ago, but for the life of me I can't
recall when or for what...
        I don't flatter myself by thinking she recognized me. I was
wearing a 'Press' pass, and I'm pretty sure she was pouncing on anyone with
same. I had the impression she'd had a drink or two, so maybe she was just
victimizing anyone with a pliable ear.
        Melissa seemed willing to keep the family secrets, so she gave me her
full attention. Or as full as her attention ever got... Her grey eyes
kept sliding off me, as if she were looking for someone.
        She said: "The world is changing before our eyes..."
        "Is it...?"
        "Yes," she confirmed. "We have within our grasp the chance to alter
the course of history! We can wipe out hunger within our lifetime!"
        Three drinks? "...how?"
        "Why, with benefits like this one! Do you know how much money we've
raised!?!"
        "...does it matter?"
        The Pity Maven was adamant: "What do you =mean= does it matter!?!
Of course it matters!"
        With some people, I =know= I'd be better off just walking away...
"To whom?"
        "Why, to the =starv=ing, of course! Why do you think I'm here!?!"
        "...I have a few ideas," I mumbled.
        "What was that?"
        "Nothing..." Deep breath. "Look, I don't want to rain on your
parade... But the money you've raised today, the money from 'Live Aid', the
money collected by churches and schoolkids and mothers marching
door-to-door... None of it will make a difference in the long run."
        "WHAT!!"
        "If you're here to save the '=starv=ing', you're here for
nothing..."
        "WHAT!!"
        Sigh... "The problem cannot be addressed by charity."
        She was strident: "Do you know how =much= money has been raised!?!
How =many= people will be fed!?!"
        "...fed how many times?"
        "Hunh?"
        I said, "You're all acting on the presumption that these starving
people need only eat one meal for life. You provide that one meal and claim
that you've defeated hunger... But they'll be hungry again tomorrow, and
you'll have done nothing to address the real issue..."
        "Over forty nations have wiped-out hunger in our lifetime!," she
spouted.
        I smiled. "...with charity?"
        "Why you--" She cut herself off, wiping the angry expression from her
face. "I don't know what you mean!"
        "In the nations you're talking about, it wasn't charity that wiped
out hunger. It was greed. You know what greed is, don't you? As I recall, you
campaigned against it..."
        "Greed is evil!"
        "Greed is =good= by your own standard of feeding the starving. Greed
is how the starving get fed."
        "In the face of mass starvation, the greedy must renounce their good!"
        "...is that what =you're= doing?," I murmured.
        "I didn't catch that."
        "Nothing... Face it, if you want the '=starv=ing' to be fed for more
than a few meals, you have to permit the market to function."
        She stamped her foot. "Greed is evil!"
        "...but forced famine is not?"
        "We can't interfere with the internal policies of another nation!,"
she parried.
        "Hmm... That's not what you said about South Africa."
        "It's not the same thing!," she sputtered. "South Africa is a racist
tryanny!"
        "...where nobody starves."
        "Where whites kill blacks!"
        "True," I said. "No quarrel. Of course, the five-hundred murders in
South Africa aren't much in comparison to the tens of thousands of murders
in Ethiopia..."
        "It's not the same thing!"
        "...I guess not," I mumbled. "No TV specials, for one thing..."
        "What did you say?"
        "...nothing."
        The Pity Maven said: "Just =think of the power we have!"
        "...power over whom?"
        "Not power =over= anyone. Just power." She smiled; it wasn't a
pleasant thing to see. "The whole world is watching us!"
        "...by satellite..."
        "Yeah," she mused. "=Think= of all the vote--I mean--viewers!"
        "...do politicians ever think of anything else..."
        "What was that?"
        "Nothing..."
        Melissa had begun to sing again: "There's a chance we're taking! We're
saving our careers! So drink another Pepsi down, then have a Miller Beer!"
        "Mel=iss=a!!"


 =Willie!= 
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