That struck me.
I almost turned on a guy with a clip board last time I was in Old Town. I honestly don’t even know what he was asking me for – money, to join his mailing list or buy a T-shirt…or just sign his paper. I could have done it, I honestly don’t think I believe that signatures on a page make much difference in this world of ours.
But he was standing there, well-dressed and handsome, across from the gaping mouth of Abercrombie and Fitch and saying “Save the polar bears!” And all I wanted to say was, “6,000 people are dying each month of disease and violence in the Darfur region of Sudan alone…and you’re saving the polar bears?”
I thought better of it and bit my tongue instead.
“You don’t want to save the cute little polar bears?” asked his not-as-handsome partner. Honestly, right then, saving the polar bears was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But there I was standing, clothed-and-healthy-and-fed, in the middle of the part of this town that most epitomizes middle-class consumerism and I couldn’t talk about people thousands of miles and a million worlds away, dying in filth and poverty, not knowing what it means to feel safe or not be hungry.
“…load up on guns, bring your friends…” sang the busker down the street.
I just walked away.
And the morning dew will bring us,
to a day our souls can last.”