The Life You Can Save – Elaine Ruth White
April 1st, 2009 | Published in Volume V: Antiheroes
“If, on your way to work, you saw a child drowning in a pond, would you walk on, or stand by, refusing to get in to the water to save that child, because by doing so, you would ruin your new shoes?”
I glance at my Uggs, and continue to read: “According to UNICEF nearly 10 million children under the age of five die each year from causes related to poverty. Think of a small child drowning in a pond. Think about that happening to 27,000 children every single day.”
My foot starts to itch. I try to scratch it without removing the boot.
“In Ghana, a boy dies of measles. He could have been cured at the hospital, but the parents had no money, so the boy dies a slow and painful death, not of measles but of poverty.
“Some children die because they don’t have enough to eat. More die, like that small boy in Ghana, from measles, or malaria, or diarrhea, or pneumonia, conditions that either don’t exist in developed nations, or, if they do, are almost never fatal. “Think about this”, the newspaper pleads, “think about your own situation. By donating a relatively small amount of money, you could save a child’s life. Maybe it takes more than the amount needed to buy a pair of shoes — but we all spend money on things we don’t really need, whether on drinks, meals out, clothing, movies, concerts, holidays, new cars, or house renovation. Is it possible that by choosing to spend your money on such things rather than contributing to an aid agency, you are leaving a child to die, a child you could have saved?”
I mentally list all the luxuries I could afford to give up. The coffee and cake at Cafe Nero. The Saturday Guardian. My weekly lottery line. The monthly leg wax. But I know this is small fry. How many lives will such a paltry amount of money save? Hardly any. This needs something bigger.
I ponder while stirring my latte. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration! Literary subscriptions.
I work it out: If I cancel my subscription to the Times Literary Supplement, that will save over £60 a year. The Poetry Society, well that’s another £40 saved. I subscribe to several well-known poetry journals. That’s sixty, forty, that’s almost £150 a year! Think how many lives I can save with that. At least a dozen. Then it occurs to me. If I can persuade ten friends to cancel their literary subscriptions, that would be £1500 a year. Think how many children’s lives would that save? My mouth goes dry. My heart starts to pound. In my mind, several villages in Botswana are already disease free. And what if each of the ten people I persuade to give up their subscriptions go on to persuade ten more people to give up theirs? That would be thousands of pounds. Pounds to the power of pounds. And why just literature? Why not give up all arts subscriptions? I can barely contain my excitement.
I’m straight on to my laptop and through the wonder of wi fi, email all my Yahoo, Google and Facebook contacts. *Give up your arts subscriptions*. I beg. * Give the money to gift aid*. And I don’t stop there. I go on to Friends Reunited. Twitter. My Space. *Save a child’s life*. *Give up your arts subscriptions*. This is amazing. Thousands of lives saved and I haven’t even left my seat. My foot no longer itches.
But then, within minutes, I receive an email from the editor of a well-known poetry journal. “You’ve cancelled your subscription”, it says. “Why?” It goes on: “Don’t you know how important your subscription is to us? Don’t you know that by stopping your subscription at such short notice, copies of the journal have been sent anyway? Don’t you realise we can’t stop our subscription mailing system on a sixpence? When you cancelled your subscription did you know we’d just lost our Arts Council grant and that EVERY PENNY COUNTS.”
My foot starts to itch wildly.
Immediately, I am back onto my laptop, typing furiously. I post on Facebook, Yahoo, Twitter. MySpace. “Whatever you do”, I plead, “DO NOT CANCEL ANY SUBSCRIPTIONS TO THE ARTS. Don’t you realise these organisations are losing their Arts Council funding, while every day, 27,000 children die of poverty? Save the arts. Save the children. Ask yourself: are you in danger of into Imelda Marcos? Ask yourself, do you really need that new pair of shoes? Give up new shoes and children will live. Give up new shoes and poets will thrive. Give up new shoes and see an end to world poverty, misery and bad literature.”
I sit back in relief, but within moments, news alerts start to flash across the screen of my laptop. Barratts has gone into administration, Italian shoemakers are on their uppers and Jimmy Choo has attempted to take his own life.
So much misery. So much suffering. I head for the local duck pond. When I get there, I see children , throwing bread to the ducks. Happy children. Healthy children. I realise: these children signify hope. I know what I must do.
“Bring an end to world poverty”, I cry, and throw the nearest child into the pond. “Bring an end to suffering”. Another large splash. “Save the children, I beseech you”. Plop. Adults rush to the scene, tearing off their shoes and wading into the water to save the children. Hallelujah. I steal their shoes and head straight for the nearest recycling centre. Children are saved. Shoemakers are saved. The Arts are saved. My foot no longer itches.