My company has a yearly–actually, yearlong–association with a large, local charity that provides a home for children in need. Think of Boys Town. A wonderful institution, though I have a giggle at members of the parent organization who seem more interested in getting drunk than charity work. Let’s leave the place anonymous, please, because its name is irrelevant and I’d get in trouble. It just reminded me of something I dislike about this time of year.
Anyway, a staff member came in to give us a talk about the place and to encourage us to make donations. We are happy to help because it’s a good cause and for many of us dire straits are too recent to even be called a memory. What bothered me is that he brought along a group of residents. Cute kids, all under eight, in little Santa hats. Almost enough to even make me go, “Awwwww!” Except I saw them as they were being used: Props to make us dig deeper, their dignity left at home so their puppet masters could get a few more bucks out of us. I have no problem with an adult making a conscious decision to play on the sympathy of others, but these were little children, too young to realize their roles in this play, and too young to know that their misfortunes were being laid out before a group of strangers.
My family has had its share of bad times, but my wife and I tried to shield our children from the knowledge that we were poor, at least until they could understand it. These kids are in that home because their own parents could not protect them, and here their keepers opened the robe to show us Ignorance and Want as zoo exhibits, effectively saying right in front of them, “Look upon them! Their parents were addicts and whores but WE lifted them up. Aren’t they cute?”
This sort of Pathos Porn is too common at this time of year. We should take care of others all year long and not need people to use the misfortunes of innocents as a pry bar to open our hearts. I’m Pitting the people with the pry bars and the people who need prying, but I especially hate the gawpers who eat this shit up and beg for more. The people who cannot see enough of other people’s misery. The people for whom so much of this holiday season is aimed in a banquet of pain, from sad real orphans to glurgy made for TV movies. You know, grandmothers. God, I hate them.