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Sunday Times (London)
January 2, 2005, Sunday
Good reasons and bad for our explosion of charity
by Rod Liddle
The British public should be feeling a little better about itself
this morning. At the time of writing we've donated £60m to the
various charity hotlines set up in aid of the victims of the tsunami
that devastated southeast Asia on Boxing Day.
I suppose we could be accused of self-aggrandisement by pointing out
that this is more cash per head of population than almost any other
country on earth, but it is nevertheless heartening.
Where did this sudden magnanimity come from? For once the government
read the public wrong and initially pledged only a stingy £1m,
presumably having forgotten that eight years ago it had made a pledge
of a rather different magnitude: to end poverty worldwide. It may
well be that the parsimony of its first reaction provoked the rest of
us to get our wallets out.
But, whatever, since the original announcement from Hilary Benn,
Labour has been shamed into increasing its contribution to £50m. Now
even institutions that are mistrusted by the public, such as the
English Premier League, are forking out the cash. The country is for
once united.
If what follows from me seems a little cynical, it is not intended to
be. We should allow ourselves a moment to revel in the sin of pride.
Whatever way you look at it, £60m is a quite remarkable contribution
-but we might also ask ourselves, as we recite our credit card
numbers down the hotline, why this particular disaster galvanised the
nation.
Below I've listed the reasons why I think the British public has been
prepared on this occasion to dig so deeply. Some of the points are, I
think, blindingly obvious. Others are more complex and perhaps
contentious. Altruism is never so straightforward as it seems; we are
motivated.
oThe disaster was massive and truly calamitous in its impact, and
seems to have victimised the weak and the helpless; children, women,
the poor, the elderly and the infirm.
oIt occurred through an act of God, rather than as the result of
wicked, incompetent or corrupt foreign governments, or through the
offices of evil terrorist organisations.
oIt was a politically neutral disaster that at least temporarily
united communities that in drier moments cordially loathe each other.
One Indonesian chief of police announced that his men would be
helping the separatist rebels in Aceh, rather than killing them,
torturing them or merely arresting them. "They're searching for their
families, just as our men are searching for ours," he said, rather
movingly. Who knows, he may even have been telling the truth.
Natural disasters have a tendency to put human, political squabbles
into perspective. We are tempted to hope, vainly I fear, that this
sense of perspective will remain after the waters have receded.
oThe disaster occurred at a time of year when we are most likely to
be reminded of our Christian duty of charity. That sermon from
midnight mass has not yet left our minds, has it?
oThe disaster occurred at a time of year when we have just wallowed
in a shameful orgy of over-indulgence and conspicuous consumption. We
have spent ludicrous sums of money feeding our fat faces and buying
pointless and expensive gifts for people who, in some cases, we don't
even like very much.
Or at all.
I wonder how many people rang the credit card hotline and,
deliberating how much to give, suddenly recalled that they'd recently
spent £29 in Debenhams on a presentation box of lavender soaps for
their ghastly mother-in-law? Shame was already poking its nose over
the parapet, even before the tsunami struck. It was the time of year
when the British people were at their most morally vulnerable.
oThe disaster occurred in a part of the world that is familiar to
many of us and for which we feel affection and even affinity.
The British public did not fork out over much for that Christmas
earthquake in Armenia, if you remember. Still less for the
destruction of Tashkent, back in the 1960s. Many of us associate
Thailand, Sri Lanka and the Andamans with happy memories: it was as
if part of us -a nice part -was washed away by that tsunami.
oWe were not harangued or bullied into giving money by mouthy,
overpaid, has been pop stars or self-righteous and unfunny comedians
wearing red plastic noses.
There was almost no haranguing of any kind. Just a regular reminder
of where you could give money, if you wanted to. The public was left
to its own devices and to make its own judgment. If we felt guilty
about our own wellbeing or affluence, it was a natural and genuine
response to tragedy, rather than something we were told to feel.
oWe may have a collective gut instinct that on this occasion the
money will go directly towards immediate disaster relief rather than
into the pockets of useless and corrupt governments or the
ever-expanding London offices of our huge charities with their
political lobbyists, campaign co-ordinators and publicists. I assume
that this gut instinct is correct.
oWe may have become shamed and irritated by the media's incessant
concentration on the plight of well-heeled British gap-year
backpackers rather than, say, Sri Lankan peasants.
One can mourn the deaths of the British holidaymakers and, through
empathy, grieve with their families. But we may retain a sense of
perspective, not like one newspaper which announced that a silver
lining to the disaster was the fact that our bedraggled returning
tourists would be able to claim on their insurance policies.
oThe credit card hotlines were well organised; clear and simple to
use and, crucially, it was easy to get through.
oTony Blair was out of the country. We were spared that dubious
solemn expression he invariably adopts for such occasions. More
seriously, we perhaps felt that collectively we were at least equal
to the government in our ability to alleviate suffering.
oA comparatively high number of British citizens have relatives in
many of the countries affected, particularly Sri Lanka and India.
The Tamils who run my local grocery store in southeast London had set
up a makeshift collection box by midday on Boxing Day. It was placed
next to the bubblegum display and had a brown paper wrapper on which
was scrawled: "Help our family and friends in Sri Lanka." It was
impossible not to contribute. This is one of the more likeable
aspects of globalisation: these days, we know we are connected.
oIt could have been us. No matter how many times the experts remind
us that the Indian Ocean is prone to the occasional seismological
disruption, the suddenness and the seemingly arbitrary nature of the
disaster let us know that we are surely not immune.
In the face of such irresistible destruction, we all feel weak and
helpless. No matter what the experts say: it could have been us.
The telephone number for the appeal, by the way, is still 0870 606
0900.
January 2, 2005, Sunday
Good reasons and bad for our explosion of charity
by Rod Liddle
The British public should be feeling a little better about itself
this morning. At the time of writing we've donated £60m to the
various charity hotlines set up in aid of the victims of the tsunami
that devastated southeast Asia on Boxing Day.
I suppose we could be accused of self-aggrandisement by pointing out
that this is more cash per head of population than almost any other
country on earth, but it is nevertheless heartening.
Where did this sudden magnanimity come from? For once the government
read the public wrong and initially pledged only a stingy £1m,
presumably having forgotten that eight years ago it had made a pledge
of a rather different magnitude: to end poverty worldwide. It may
well be that the parsimony of its first reaction provoked the rest of
us to get our wallets out.
But, whatever, since the original announcement from Hilary Benn,
Labour has been shamed into increasing its contribution to £50m. Now
even institutions that are mistrusted by the public, such as the
English Premier League, are forking out the cash. The country is for
once united.
If what follows from me seems a little cynical, it is not intended to
be. We should allow ourselves a moment to revel in the sin of pride.
Whatever way you look at it, £60m is a quite remarkable contribution
-but we might also ask ourselves, as we recite our credit card
numbers down the hotline, why this particular disaster galvanised the
nation.
Below I've listed the reasons why I think the British public has been
prepared on this occasion to dig so deeply. Some of the points are, I
think, blindingly obvious. Others are more complex and perhaps
contentious. Altruism is never so straightforward as it seems; we are
motivated.
oThe disaster was massive and truly calamitous in its impact, and
seems to have victimised the weak and the helpless; children, women,
the poor, the elderly and the infirm.
oIt occurred through an act of God, rather than as the result of
wicked, incompetent or corrupt foreign governments, or through the
offices of evil terrorist organisations.
oIt was a politically neutral disaster that at least temporarily
united communities that in drier moments cordially loathe each other.
One Indonesian chief of police announced that his men would be
helping the separatist rebels in Aceh, rather than killing them,
torturing them or merely arresting them. "They're searching for their
families, just as our men are searching for ours," he said, rather
movingly. Who knows, he may even have been telling the truth.
Natural disasters have a tendency to put human, political squabbles
into perspective. We are tempted to hope, vainly I fear, that this
sense of perspective will remain after the waters have receded.
oThe disaster occurred at a time of year when we are most likely to
be reminded of our Christian duty of charity. That sermon from
midnight mass has not yet left our minds, has it?
oThe disaster occurred at a time of year when we have just wallowed
in a shameful orgy of over-indulgence and conspicuous consumption. We
have spent ludicrous sums of money feeding our fat faces and buying
pointless and expensive gifts for people who, in some cases, we don't
even like very much.
Or at all.
I wonder how many people rang the credit card hotline and,
deliberating how much to give, suddenly recalled that they'd recently
spent £29 in Debenhams on a presentation box of lavender soaps for
their ghastly mother-in-law? Shame was already poking its nose over
the parapet, even before the tsunami struck. It was the time of year
when the British people were at their most morally vulnerable.
oThe disaster occurred in a part of the world that is familiar to
many of us and for which we feel affection and even affinity.
The British public did not fork out over much for that Christmas
earthquake in Armenia, if you remember. Still less for the
destruction of Tashkent, back in the 1960s. Many of us associate
Thailand, Sri Lanka and the Andamans with happy memories: it was as
if part of us -a nice part -was washed away by that tsunami.
oWe were not harangued or bullied into giving money by mouthy,
overpaid, has been pop stars or self-righteous and unfunny comedians
wearing red plastic noses.
There was almost no haranguing of any kind. Just a regular reminder
of where you could give money, if you wanted to. The public was left
to its own devices and to make its own judgment. If we felt guilty
about our own wellbeing or affluence, it was a natural and genuine
response to tragedy, rather than something we were told to feel.
oWe may have a collective gut instinct that on this occasion the
money will go directly towards immediate disaster relief rather than
into the pockets of useless and corrupt governments or the
ever-expanding London offices of our huge charities with their
political lobbyists, campaign co-ordinators and publicists. I assume
that this gut instinct is correct.
oWe may have become shamed and irritated by the media's incessant
concentration on the plight of well-heeled British gap-year
backpackers rather than, say, Sri Lankan peasants.
One can mourn the deaths of the British holidaymakers and, through
empathy, grieve with their families. But we may retain a sense of
perspective, not like one newspaper which announced that a silver
lining to the disaster was the fact that our bedraggled returning
tourists would be able to claim on their insurance policies.
oThe credit card hotlines were well organised; clear and simple to
use and, crucially, it was easy to get through.
oTony Blair was out of the country. We were spared that dubious
solemn expression he invariably adopts for such occasions. More
seriously, we perhaps felt that collectively we were at least equal
to the government in our ability to alleviate suffering.
oA comparatively high number of British citizens have relatives in
many of the countries affected, particularly Sri Lanka and India.
The Tamils who run my local grocery store in southeast London had set
up a makeshift collection box by midday on Boxing Day. It was placed
next to the bubblegum display and had a brown paper wrapper on which
was scrawled: "Help our family and friends in Sri Lanka." It was
impossible not to contribute. This is one of the more likeable
aspects of globalisation: these days, we know we are connected.
oIt could have been us. No matter how many times the experts remind
us that the Indian Ocean is prone to the occasional seismological
disruption, the suddenness and the seemingly arbitrary nature of the
disaster let us know that we are surely not immune.
In the face of such irresistible destruction, we all feel weak and
helpless. No matter what the experts say: it could have been us.
The telephone number for the appeal, by the way, is still 0870 606
0900.