Charity Is Not a Virtue

There is something sinister in the bottom of that bowl of sticky rice handed so magnanimously to the hungry African. What is mixed in with that cheap, plentiful grain if not contempt, condescension, self-aggrandizement? Or is it a belittling pity disguised as charity? What would the downtrodden do without its hand-outs? Continue on as they always have, or starve. Such is the way of Nature, but that is not good enough for the charitable. What power lies in that simple bowl of rice that costs the bleeding heart next to nothing while the hungry and ignorant trades his soul for a few bites, just enough to stay alive after native skill is forgotten, just enough to keep the charade going year after year.

What have our generous, long-distance philanthropists done? Perpetuated the misery of what amounts to little more than a brown-skinned idea long enough to engender another generation of misery. What will the generous do with his playthings’ offspring? Torture them just the same. I ask you, oh magnanimous urbanites with your only a few cents a day mail-order orphans, who are you really helping? You have done nothing more than keep the hungry alive long enough to birth another generation of slaves forced into modernity. What are they doing when the cameras are not around? Digging out diamonds for your temporary, childless wives? Mining the depths for your next generation of I-phones? Hacking and slashing at rubber trees for the tires under your luxury cars? Is that why you continue feeding them? It makes you feel good about yourself, those requisite post-cards of brown faces gleefully accepting hand-outs provided by your pennies a day, pennies that keep those brown hands working.

How wonderful of the privileged to modernize the third-world! The generous protest, but we are sending them to school! Why? So they, too, can become cogs in the first-world economy? Or so they can become wholly dissatisfied with their traditional way of life? Which handful of misery is the philanthropist holding out to them? Even the terminology betrays us – third world? Who are we to say they are third and who the hell decided we were first? Are we in a race to destroy the planet? If so, we are first indeed and what have the generous done? Spread the poison, one bowl of rice at a time, one indoctrinating schoolhouse at a time, one modern convenience at a time – all as a tribe’s traditional way of life is washed away in a stream of oh-so-modern pollution.

The activist screams about racism, but acts as if the brown-skinned couldn’t exist without his pity.  The progressive assert the equality of all, but tosses pennies to the African, the Guatemalan, the Afghan.  The liberal asserts the beauty of diversity, but wants the brown shades bred up the color spectrum while the white shades are bred down. The modernist praises the multiCult, but wants the Sudanese and the Indian to live just like him.

I say to these long-distance philanthropists:  Walk away. Wash your hands of it. Your charity helps no one but global pillagers who offer a bowl of rice in exchange for a proud people’s freedom while the tried and true ways of their ancestors are thrown into the garbage heap of modernity. If you truly care, if you truly believe in the multiCult, diversity, and the beauty of the rainbow, leave them alone. If they are your equals, let them feed themselves. Let Nature work her will. She is wiser than you.

Rachel Summers
Known as the Dropout Philosopher, Rachel Summers walked away from the Ivory Tower, spent a year in a motorcycle mechanics program, and started research for her first novel, CondAmnation, in a local Harley Davidson shop. Her novels are what some have called a journey into antinomian mysteriosophy, where socially sanctioned morality is turned on its head in order to shake out just a few drops of enlightenment.

Summers holds degrees in History, Comparative Religions, English Literature, and Philosophy but ran afoul of academia when her dissertation proposal was rejected as something that might cause a scandal or, worse yet, cause the check-signing alumni to sign fewer checks. Welcomed to stay and write if she accepted a pre-approved project, she chose to leave and vowed to cause a scandal indeed, whether with pen or sword. She is currently writing her fourth novel as well as articles for the Revolutionary Conservative; thus far, the sword remains sheathed.
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