Maybe I seem boorish, selfish, or uncouth when I say that I don’t understand why my government’s money is being sent halfway around the world. I’m only being honest. The money my government extracts from my paychecks every month could be going places a little closer to my home; places like California, recently inundated by mudslides of the non-alcoholic persuasion, or Boston, currently buried under three feet of snow. For some reason, my country is constantly called upon to relieve the suffering and tragedy of other nations and peoples, while our own natural disasters are simply shrugged off by our fellow nations. The vast droughts throughout much of the American Southwest don’t even register in the worldwide consciousness unless someone feels like blaming the United States for the evils of global warming; then we’re held up as an example of how not to behave. Forgive me if I sound bitter, but ten years of blistering drought can be a lot more destructive than one single tsunami. “But it’s all right,” everyone else seems to be saying. “They’re America. They don’t need any help or support. They can easily take care of themselves and everyone else.”
I find it difficult to comprehend why America, as a nation, is donating so incredibly much in both money and supplies. $350 million dollars was pledged, plus medical equipment and able-bodied personnel that were sent to the affected areas. As of this writing, 18 Americans died in the disaster, and another 16 are presumed dead. This is one of the lowest foreign-death tolls, but somehow the United Nations felt justified in calling our government’s donation “stingy.” Jan Egeland, the U.N.’s emergency relief coordinator, later stated that his remark wasn’t aimed at any one country, but was rather directed toward numerous wealthy nations. I wasn’t aware that there was a donation quota, where each country was required to give a certain amount as designated by their yearly GDP or per-capita income. It had been my impression that countries and peoples were supposed to give as they felt best, without a sense of obligation or guilt, so as to promote a feeling of true generosity. Sweden, with 52 dead and 1,201 as-yet unaccounted for, donated $80 million along with other needed supplies. Japan only lost 8 citizens, and yet $500 million dollars was promised in aid.
Now, I know that recent events haven’t been aberrations from the norm, and America isn’t the only country ever tapped for resources. Great Britain, Japan, Germany, and others frequently open their pocketbooks and airlift crates of foodstuffs when the disaster du jour strikes. Mother Nature goes a little wacky, and suddenly those affected cry out for salvation. Funds are promised, camera crews and newscasters rush to the scene, photographs of the helpless victims are sent everywhere, and the rest of the world shells out money. The recent earthquake and ensuing tsunami in the Indian Ocean was a stellar example of such a flawless response system. For weeks, it was impossible to escape the tragedy in Southeast Asia; horrified and weeping survivors dominated nightly newscasts and front pages of newspapers. Suddenly, it seemed as though everyone was participating in or organizing some sort of fund-raiser benefiting “the orphans of the tsunami” or “the homeless of the tsunami,” and unwillingness to give was a marker of a cruel, selfish person. Many people in Southeast Asia were orphans or destitute before the tsunami came along and reminded us of their existence, but few charity-minded individuals were happy when I brought that fact up. Apparently, this is somehow more tragic.
Is this how we express grief now? Is this the only way we can be reminded that our countries are not the sole inhabitants of this planet? Do we sympathize with childless parents and orphaned children by impoverishing ourselves on their behalf, or is it just the best way to silence the sobs coming from our television sets so that we can continue on with our busy lives? I do not doubt that many people are giving individually to various charitable organizations out of a sense of personal responsibility or brotherhood, but I worry that our government’s intentions are not so selfless. Perhaps the American aid is promised in hopes of securing and creating political ties, or to clean up America’s image in the wake of our prolonged military presence in Iraq. After all, Indonesia does have a large Muslim population-perhaps this money is an attempt to smooth over rocky relations between our corner of the world and theirs, though I’m sure such allegations would swiftly be denied. American donations are supposedly given in the pure spirit of altruism, with the express purpose and intent of showing the world just how much we, too, have been hurt by the tsunami.
What I’d like is for people to examine their motivations for helping, to try and discern whether we’re giving and pledging money because it’s the right thing to do, or whether it’s because various organizations and people expect it of us. Even the best of intentions can go awry, as prior aid-giving ventures have repeatedly proven. It’s all very well and good to say that $350 million American will be given to countries such as Indonesia and Sri Lanka, but past promises to disaster-stricken countries such as Honduras and Iran appear to have fallen through bureaucratic cracks. The Hondurans and Iranians have been waiting years for the fulfillment of monetary promises, with no relief in sight. The December 2004 tsunami was devastating, and returning the affected areas to normalcy will require much time and effort, not to mention resources. Already media attention in much of the world is shifting back to newer, more pressing matters, and tsunami-related developments are delegated to shorter and shorter sound bites. Soon, to American eyes, it will be as though this never happened, though our own personal tragedies manage to live on years after the fact. Indonesians, Sri Lankans, Indians and many others will shortly be left to their own devices, to sort things out as best they can.
Perhaps there’s a way to reconcile my bitterness with hope, but I can’t seem to figure out what it might be. I don’t like the American government’s habit of massively spending abroad when we get little more than a thank-you in return, and I especially don’t like the ease with which our own domestic problems are ignored, but isolationism hardly seems like the answer. I don’t expect to solve this problem on my own, nor do I think the issue will resolve itself in my mind in the near future. I suppose the best course of action for me, personally, is to hold out hope that it won’t always be my country’s responsibility to save the world whenever there’s trouble. And who knows, maybe someday, the weight of the world will rest a little more evenly across everyone’s shoulders
Jana Nyman
Jana Nyman
Bottomless American Pocketbooks
Maybe I seem boorish, selfish, or uncouth when I say that I don’t understand why my government’s money is being sent halfway around the world. I’m only being honest. The money my government extracts from my paychecks every month could be going places a little closer to my home; places like California, recently inundated by mudslides of the non-alcoholic persuasion, or Boston, currently buried under three feet of snow. For some reason, my country is constantly called upon to relieve the suffering and tragedy of other nations and peoples, while our own natural disasters are simply shrugged off by our fellow nations. The vast droughts throughout much of the American Southwest don’t even register in the worldwide consciousness unless someone feels like blaming the United States for the evils of global warming; then we’re held up as an example of how not to behave. Forgive me if I sound bitter, but ten years of blistering drought can be a lot more destructive than one single tsunami. “But it’s all right,” everyone else seems to be saying. “They’re America. They don’t need any help or support. They can easily take care of themselves and everyone else.”
I find it difficult to comprehend why America, as a nation, is donating so incredibly much in both money and supplies. $350 million dollars was pledged, plus medical equipment and able-bodied personnel that were sent to the affected areas. As of this writing, 18 Americans died in the disaster, and another 16 are presumed dead. This is one of the lowest foreign-death tolls, but somehow the United Nations felt justified in calling our government’s donation “stingy.” Jan Egeland, the U.N.’s emergency relief coordinator, later stated that his remark wasn’t aimed at any one country, but was rather directed toward numerous wealthy nations. I wasn’t aware that there was a donation quota, where each country was required to give a certain amount as designated by their yearly GDP or per-capita income. It had been my impression that countries and peoples were supposed to give as they felt best, without a sense of obligation or guilt, so as to promote a feeling of true generosity. Sweden, with 52 dead and 1,201 as-yet unaccounted for, donated $80 million along with other needed supplies. Japan only lost 8 citizens, and yet $500 million dollars was promised in aid.
Now, I know that recent events haven’t been aberrations from the norm, and America isn’t the only country ever tapped for resources. Great Britain, Japan, Germany, and others frequently open their pocketbooks and airlift crates of foodstuffs when the disaster du jour strikes. Mother Nature goes a little wacky, and suddenly those affected cry out for salvation. Funds are promised, camera crews and newscasters rush to the scene, photographs of the helpless victims are sent everywhere, and the rest of the world shells out money. The recent earthquake and ensuing tsunami in the Indian Ocean was a stellar example of such a flawless response system. For weeks, it was impossible to escape the tragedy in Southeast Asia; horrified and weeping survivors dominated nightly newscasts and front pages of newspapers. Suddenly, it seemed as though everyone was participating in or organizing some sort of fund-raiser benefiting “the orphans of the tsunami” or “the homeless of the tsunami,” and unwillingness to give was a marker of a cruel, selfish person. Many people in Southeast Asia were orphans or destitute before the tsunami came along and reminded us of their existence, but few charity-minded individuals were happy when I brought that fact up. Apparently, this is somehow more tragic.
Is this how we express grief now? Is this the only way we can be reminded that our countries are not the sole inhabitants of this planet? Do we sympathize with childless parents and orphaned children by impoverishing ourselves on their behalf, or is it just the best way to silence the sobs coming from our television sets so that we can continue on with our busy lives? I do not doubt that many people are giving individually to various charitable organizations out of a sense of personal responsibility or brotherhood, but I worry that our government’s intentions are not so selfless. Perhaps the American aid is promised in hopes of securing and creating political ties, or to clean up America’s image in the wake of our prolonged military presence in Iraq. After all, Indonesia does have a large Muslim population-perhaps this money is an attempt to smooth over rocky relations between our corner of the world and theirs, though I’m sure such allegations would swiftly be denied. American donations are supposedly given in the pure spirit of altruism, with the express purpose and intent of showing the world just how much we, too, have been hurt by the tsunami.
What I’d like is for people to examine their motivations for helping, to try and discern whether we’re giving and pledging money because it’s the right thing to do, or whether it’s because various organizations and people expect it of us. Even the best of intentions can go awry, as prior aid-giving ventures have repeatedly proven. It’s all very well and good to say that $350 million American will be given to countries such as Indonesia and Sri Lanka, but past promises to disaster-stricken countries such as Honduras and Iran appear to have fallen through bureaucratic cracks. The Hondurans and Iranians have been waiting years for the fulfillment of monetary promises, with no relief in sight. The December 2004 tsunami was devastating, and returning the affected areas to normalcy will require much time and effort, not to mention resources. Already media attention in much of the world is shifting back to newer, more pressing matters, and tsunami-related developments are delegated to shorter and shorter sound bites. Soon, to American eyes, it will be as though this never happened, though our own personal tragedies manage to live on years after the fact. Indonesians, Sri Lankans, Indians and many others will shortly be left to their own devices, to sort things out as best they can.
Perhaps there’s a way to reconcile my bitterness with hope, but I can’t seem to figure out what it might be. I don’t like the American government’s habit of massively spending abroad when we get little more than a thank-you in return, and I especially don’t like the ease with which our own domestic problems are ignored, but isolationism hardly seems like the answer. I don’t expect to solve this problem on my own, nor do I think the issue will resolve itself in my mind in the near future. I suppose the best course of action for me, personally, is to hold out hope that it won’t always be my country’s responsibility to save the world whenever there’s trouble. And who knows, maybe someday, the weight of the world will rest a little more evenly across everyone’s shoulders