So remember that tsunami that hit Indonesia in 2004? The U.S. Geological Survey said it was the equivalent of 23,000 Hiroshima-type atomic bombs, and when I heard that I was all, “Crap! That sucks.” So I gave money to the victims. Actually, I gave money to UNICEF to give to the victims. I really have no idea if it got there. I’m like, 35-40% sure that I actually helped. But then there was Katrina and Wilma and the California wildfires and the China earthquake and the Burma earthquake and the floods in North Korea and the floods in Mexico and the floods in the Midwest and suddenly natural disasters seemed way overdone. So I stopped giving money and spent it on shoes and lattes instead.
But UNICEF still believes in me. They think that I still want to save the world. Every few months I get a letter from them, asking for a contribution. They’ve followed me from apartment to apartment, from job to grad school and back to job, and they won’t give up. They know that if they catch me on the right day—after I’ve just finished reading about a homeless orphan-turned Olympic athlete, or watched an Animal Planet special on kittens—that I might, just might give them some money. So they keep at it. They’ll do anything to get my attention. Case in point: this is the front of an envelope I received from them last week.
First of all, this is the most blatant advertising campaign I’ve ever seen. UNICEF is not playing games here. This is the starving baby equivalent of the “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” dating technique. You have to give them credit for that.
But more importantly, I really think that my answer is “I don’t care.” Because I don’t. Okay, sure, I donate some money to charities. I used to volunteer at a soup kitchen (but homeless people smell and I hated it). I work in mainstream media and listen to NPR. I adopted a dog from the pound. I drink organic milk. I recycle. But I don’t care, not really.
I’m never going to fly to Africa and build a schoolhouse. I’m not going to repair the levees or pick up trash on the highway. I might volunteer to wipe off wildlife after an oil spill, but that’s only because I want to pet a baby seal. I’m not going to stand up for the rights of oppressed people. I think it's important, I just want someone else to do it. Although I will read New York Times articles about them. I’ll look at pictures of their misfortune, shake my head and push away my low fat blueberry muffin in disgust. And every few years, after an especially good episode of Meerkat Manor, I might pull out my checkbook again. So keep at it, UNICEF. There’s hope for me yet. One day I might just check the right box. Unfortunately for you, that day has not yet arrived.
And besides, as my friend, Marc, put it: “I don't understand what the problem is, they've got a glass of milk. That should be plenty.”
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