Tag: Living With (But Not In) Poverty Page 4 of 8

Six Privileges of Living in a Wealthy Country

Some benefits to living in a wealthy country are obvious:  Access to clean water, free schools, plenty of available food, non-stop electricity.  But it wasn’t until I had lived in a developing country for a number of years that I started seeing the more subtle privileges.  

1.      The privilege
of choosing your career.
  What do you want to be when you grow up?  is a standard question for children.  We encourage our children to dream big, to
set goals, to reach for the stars.  We
take personality tests and analyze our strengths.  Yet for most of the world, this is never even
a consideration.  For most, a job isn’t about
personal fulfillment, it’s a way to survive. 
That means you take any job you can get, whether it’s digging ditches or
selling boxes of Kleenex on the side of the road.  And working in fast food?  That’s one of the better careers out
there. 

2.      The privilege
of reasonable commute time.
  I’m currently visiting Los Angeles, which has the worst commute time in the United States.  But compared to the rest of the world?  It ranks 12th.  Out of the 50 cities worldwide with the worst commute times, America has only three. We also must consider that for most people in the world, getting to work isn’t in a private, air conditioned car with leather seats.  Imagine an hour or two–each direction–standing in a packed bus or train.  Every day.

3.      The
privilege of protecting your children.
 
Every morning, I have watched children as young as four or five years old walking a mile to school along busy roads with no sidewalks.  Do their parents worry?  They certainly told me they do.  But since parents have their own hour-plus
commute every morning, and they can’t afford school bus fare, they don’t have
much of a choice. 

4.      The
privilege of seeing your children reach their potential.
  Sports teams, music and art lessons, even
educational toys are all at our children’s fingertips.  Learning to read and write is an assumption,
and if we discover a particular talent in a child, we nurture it.  But in the majority of the world, this
doesn’t happen.  Children are often crowded
into classrooms of 50 or even 100, and books or other resources are scarce or
non-existent.  How many potential
Olympians, musical prodigies, or brilliant scientists are languishing in
developing countries, with no opportunity to develop their potential?

5.      The
privilege of food choices.
 
Eliminating gluten, dairy, grains, peanuts, and meat, or switching to
organic food has become a popular way of improving health in western society.  But what you may not realize is that this is
a distinct privilege of living in a wealthy country.  Even in countries where food is not scarce, choice
is not an option.  Pesticides are a cheap
and easy way to increase crop production and are rarely regulated.  And in many countries, eliminating grains or
carbs means there would be hardly anything left to eat. 

6.      The
privilege of knowing why people die.
 
Of course, having some of the best health care in the world means that in
wealthy countries, a lot less people die in the first place.  But when they do, at least we know why.  I can think of countless incidences in
East Africa of babies, children, or adults dying—sometimes falling over dead
after a short illness—and no one has any idea why.  Cancer? 
Heart attack?  Diabetes?  Maybe. 
Maybe not.  They will never
know. 

Of course, not every person in a wealthy country has all these privileges, and not every person in a developing country does not.  And there’s always people like me, who get the benefits of being from a wealthy country, even while living in a developing one.  The life I take for granted is not a reality for billions of people.  And coming to grips with my privileges has helped me to be more grateful, more content, and more eager to wisely use what I have been given. 

It’s Easier to Care for the Poor When They are Invisible

Let’s see a show of hands:  How many of you bought gifts for the less fortunate this year?  A Christmas shoebox?  Or for your church’s Christmas outreach?  Or rescue mission or homeless shelter?  Or Angel Tree?

I’m guessing there’s a lot of hands up out there.  Americans are generous at Christmas.  It’s wonderful.  Good for you, America.  I’m guessing there’s not a lot of other countries that meet your level of generosity this time of year.

There’s just one thing that concerns me:  All these gifts were purchased for invisible people.  People without faces, without names.  Sometimes, charity gift programs do include actual names.  You know, like when you get a little gift tag:  Buy a gift for Tom, age 12.  He would like a football.  That’s a little more personal, but Tom is still invisible.  The gift buyer will never meet Tom.

These programs can be great, and they have their place.  But it does cause a huge disconnect between the giver and the recipient, or to be more blunt, the “rich” and the “poor.”  The thing is, I think we “givers” kind of like it that way.  It makes “helping the poor” as neat and easy as swiping a credit card.  Present bought.  Present wrapped.  Poor person happy.  Rich person happy.  Duty done.

We want to help the poor, but we also want it to be easy.  Doing more, like say, building relationships and getting involved in the messy complications of other people’s lives–well, that’s a whole lot harder.  But we must force ourselves to answer the question:  What really is going to make a difference?  Giving a gift to a faceless person we will never meet, or getting down and dirty with the problems in another person’s life?

What we might not realize is that the invisible recipients of our generous Christmas gifts are actually not quite as invisible as we might think.  They might be cleaning our houses or our workplaces, or mowing our lawns.  They might be doing our nails or delivering our newspapers.  Maybe they are serving us weekly at our local diner.  Maybe we’re paying for them to care for our ailing grandmother.  Of course, not everyone who works these jobs is in the “poor” category.  But I would guess that if we look hard enough, all of us, every day, have contact with people who are.

Often, they might look different from us or speak a different language, which makes the barrier between us and them greater than just economics. Often, we content ourselves with knowing that we are paying them, so that should be enough.  

But is it really?

Some people think that the way to eradicate poverty is for the government to do more.  Some people think that the solution is found in generosity to charitable organizations.  I think the solution is a whole lot more complicated than that, but we are heading in the right direction if we prioritize relationships as the key.

Building a relationship goes far beyond a paycheck.  It means talking.  Spending time together.  Being a part of each other’s lives.  Learning from each other.  And then, once that relationship is built, looking for ways to help raise that person’s standard of living.  Not just by generosity.  But by mentoring.  Helping.  Tutoring.  Investing.



If it sounds hard, let me assure you that in reality it’s even harder.  The more I’ve tried to help people in poverty, the more complicated my life becomes.  Many, many times, I just get a pit in my stomach and want it all to go away.  Often, I don’t know what to do.  Often, I wonder if I am making things worse.  But then a friend tells me that her 9-year-old daughter ranked 6 in her class of 200 students, and it’s all worth it.  I get a glimpse of their better life coming.  We rejoice together.  And in the end, the miracle of real relationships is that my life becomes so much richer.  Often, it is I who have something to learn.

The righteous care about justice for the poor.  (Prov. 29:7)



Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me. (Matt. 25)


If every established American family chose to invest deeply in the life of one immigrant, refugee, or financially struggling family, then we wouldn’t need more government programs, or even more private charities. Think of the very real difference we could make in America. 

And then, come Christmas time, instead of buying presents for nameless, faceless strangers, we could have the joy of spoiling a family who we know and love and has enriched our lives.

Now that would be a great resolution for 2017.



Every year, as a Christmas present for my house cleaner, we take her family to the local water park.  It’s a highlight of the year for her kids, and an incredible joy to us.  

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

To be virtuous is a luxury of the rich.  

I just made that up.  I’m well aware that it’s certainly not a true statement of everyone, as many rich people are evil and many poor people are virtuous.  But it is much, much easier for a rich person to choose to be virtuous than it is for a poor person.

And if you don’t believe me, then you’ve probably never been poor.

To be poor in Annawadi, or in any Mumbai slum, was to be guilty of one thing or another.  Abdul sometimes bought pieces of metal that scavengers had stolen.  He ran a business, such as it was, without a license.  Simply living in Annawadi was illegal, since the airport authority wanted squatters like himself off its land. 

I read Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo about a month ago.  I had planned to include it in my semi-annual list of books to recommend, and then I realized that I just can’t stop thinking about it.  Even a month later.  This is one of those books that changes you.  You can’t be the same after reading it.

A few weeks ago, Abdul had seen a boy’s hand cut clean off when he was putting plastic into one of the shredders.  The boy’s eyes had filled with tears but he hadn’t screamed.  Instead he’d stood there with his blood-spurting stump, his ability to earn a living ended, and started apologizing to the owner of the plant.

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know that poverty is always on my mind.  I am surrounded by it.  I struggle daily with what to do about it.  So as I read this book, even though it is about a slum in India, I felt like it was describing the lives of those on the other side of my fence.

True, a few residents trapped rats and frogs and fried them for dinner.  A few ate the scrub grass at the sewage lake’s edge.  And these individuals, miserable souls, thereby made an inestimable contribution to their neighbors.  They gave those slumdwellers who didn’t fry rats and eat weeds, like Abdul, a felt sense of their upward mobility.

This book has inestimable worth in helping the average (rich) westerner to understand the vast complexity of poverty.  How it’s not just a matter of providing seed money or sending a Christmas shoebox or paying for a good education that is going to get someone out of poverty.  That ethnicity and religion and politics and most importantly, worldview, have far deeper ramifications than we realize.

In this way [Sunil] learned that policemen sometimes advised the road boys about nearby warehouses and construction sites where they might steal building materials.  The cops then took a share of the proceeds.

Probably what was most valuable to me in this story was the importance of virtue in poverty alleviation.  And how the poor can’t really, truly be helped until integrity is valued in a society.  And how we can’t expect poor people to be virtuous until the rich are virtuous as well–starting with the government, the business owners, and the elite.

‘Out of stock today’ was the nurses’ official explanation.  Plundered and resold out of supply cabinets was an unofficial one.  What patients needed, families had to buy on the street and bring in.

I don’t think that my fellow Americans really understand the level of corruption that exists in the developing world, and how much it contributes to poverty.  I certainly didn’t get it until I had lived outside of America for many years.  And I think that this is one of the main reasons why westerners’ poverty-alleviating efforts often hurt more than they help.

In newspaper interviews, Gaikwad spoke of his search for unschooled children, and his hope of giving them the sort of education that would lift them out of poverty.  His less public ambition was to divert federal money to himself.

The biggest revelation of this story comes in the epilogue.  It’s the sort of thing that I thought should have been included in the prologue, because finding out the truth of how this book came to be written made me want to start over from the beginning and read it again.  But since the author obviously wanted it left for the end, you’ll just have to trust me when I say that this book is incredibly powerful–and it will change your life.

The crucial things were luck and the ability to sustain two convictions: that what you were doing wasn’t all that wrong, in the scheme of things, and that you weren’t all that likely to get caught.  

‘Of course it’s corrupt,’ Asha told the new secretary of the nonprofit.  ‘But is it my corruption?  How can anyone say I am doing the wrong…when the big people say that it’s right?’

The subtitle of this book is Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity.  To be honest, I didn’t see much hope in this book.  It is deeply disturbing and terribly depressing and really not redemptive.  But it’s necessary, because poverty is real.  Far more real and far more prevalent than those of us with manicured lawns want to admit. And if we want to be a generation of rich people who really do help the poor, then that must start by really understanding poverty.

Among the poor, there was no doubt that instability fostered ingenuity, but over time the lack of a link between effort and result could become debilitating.  ‘We try so many things,’ as one Annawadi girl put it, ‘but the world doesn’t move in our favor.’

Though the gospel was nowhere to be found in this story, I kept thinking about the difference it could make.  In promoting the value of human life.  In valuing justice and truth.  In offering forgiveness.  In providing hope.  And it reinforced to me the necessity of the gospel not just taking root in individual’s lives, but the importance of it transforming whole societies by becoming a worldview of influence.

‘Always I was thinking how to try to make my life nicer, more okay, and nothing got better,’ Sunil said.  ‘So now I’m going to try to do it the other way.  No thinking how to make anything better, just stopping my mind, then who knows?  Maybe then something good could happen.’

Those of us whose lives are nicer, are better, we don’t often realize how powerful we really are.  Or how responsible.

The Poverty Over the Fence

A few years ago, we took the entire HOPAC secondary school to see an exclusive premier of “The Hunger Games.”  Of course, since we had to make it educational, we required them to participate in discussion groups afterwards.

Our students were shocked–shocked, I tell you–when we told them that they were the Capitol.  Of course, they wanted to identify with Katniss and District 12.  Everyone wants to be the underdog; who would ever want to be the Capitol?  Until we reminded them that they were attending one of the top five schools in Tanzania, that their families have vast wealth (even the missionary kids) in comparison to the rest of the world, and they were absolutely obsessed with entertainment.

Like it or not, we are the Capitol.

When I read The Hunger Games series, I was simultaneously reading Martin Meredith’s The Fate of Africa.  I remember being struck by the irony of the descriptions of South Africa during apartheid, and how similar it sounded to Panem.  Not only were black Africans oppressed and deprived in every way, they were forcibly confined to very specific areas and unable to travel, thus making it much harder for them to unite against the ruling minority white population.

Photographer Johnny Miller recently released a stunning series of aerial photographs of South Africa, dramatically showing the income disparity that is blatantly apparent, even decades after apartheid ended.

The following pictures all came from here and can also be found here.

I have a number of South African friends, and one told me that while growing up during apartheid, they never even saw the shanty towns.  The white population was so carefully shielded from them that they didn’t even realize they existed, making it easy to live their lives in guilt-free bliss.  Yet for some of them, all they needed to do was peek over the hedge or cross the road.  But it was easier to just not know.

Most of my readers live lifestyles like those on the left sides of these pictures.  Would anything in your perspective or way of life change if you knew that just over your back fence, there were thousands of people living in one-room shacks, with no electricity or running water?

It’s easy to see these pictures and be angry at what happened in South Africa.  And indeed, everything about apartheid should be condemned.  The poverty of those on the right was and in many ways, still is, racially motivated and intentional.

But the truth is, are we really that different?  If you think you would live your life differently knowing there were oppressed, impoverished people right next door to you, then why does it matter that they are a continent away?  They still exist.  They still are there.  Even if you don’t see them, they still exist.  Or is it just easier to forget about them when all you can see for miles is neatly manicured suburbs?

We may root for Katniss, but we are the Capitol.

Some of you who have been reading this blog for a while might get sick of me constantly bringing this up.  But I can’t help it, because I am surrounded by poverty.  I see it, literally, everywhere I look.  Over my fence.  As I leave my driveway.  As I go almost everywhere.  Dar es Salaam is different from South Africa in that there has been very little city planning.  Nice houses are intertwined with slums, almost anywhere you look.  There is no forgetting.



I must admit that many times, I want to forget.  It’s too hard.  I want to pretend it’s not there; I want to live in a blissful dream-world where everyone has indoor plumbing and enough to eat.  But it hits me smack in the face every day, and I must deal with it.  I must think hard.  Pray hard.  Look for ways to understand.  Look for ways to give generously.  More importantly, look for ways to create opportunity.

I must, because I can’t ignore it.  But really, none of us should.



To whom much has been given, much will be required.

My Son Taught Me About Privilege Yesterday

This was my boy yesterday morning when he ran his first 5K.  He is 8 years old and probably only weighs 40 pounds.  That’s 40 pounds of muscle with a few bones stuck in.  God made him an athlete, and he made him fast.

Josiah won second place in his age category, with a time of almost exactly 23 minutes.  

Josiah’s real love is soccer, but he has been training in track this school term.  However, he had never run such a long distance before, so we weren’t really sure what to expect.  Just have fun, we told him.  Let’s see what you can do.  

I was so proud of him, and even got a little teary when he roared across the finish line.  But because of the different start times, I didn’t really realize how well he had done until we went online to see the stats last night.  

There were 84 participants.  Only two were younger than Josiah.  He placed sixth out of 84 people.

Then I started thinking about all these top runners.  James?  Also adopted from Tanzania.  Alidi, Moses, and Rashid?  All boys from a slum across the road from HOPAC.  A group of men from the HOPAC community have been deeply investing in these three boys (and others) for years now, training them in both sports and the gospel.

I thought about James and Josiah and what their lives would be like right now if they had not been plucked out of that orphanage (both boys from the same one!).  I thought about Alidi, Moses, and Rashid, and how the annual 5K has become such a bright spot in a life of poverty.   

And then I thought about the millions of others like them, all across Tanzania and the world, who will never get this chance.  Even Alidi, whose favorite day of the year is probably the 5K, has to content himself with running at a small community race, instead of an all-state event in front of college recruiters.  

How many other young boys and girls are out there, DNA brimming with Olympic athleticism, or Ivy-League intelligence, or musical genius?  Yet they’ll never have a real soccer ball, or a classroom with less than 100 students in it, or a piano to practice.  

And it hit me that one of the (many) privileges of being wealthy is the ability to see my children find their potential.  And have a shot at reaching it.  

It makes me wonder how many millions of those in poverty are ignored, oppressed, or spat upon, when all they really need is a chance.  Or how often I have taken advantage of my wealth and opportunity and forgotten what a what a huge privilege my life really is.

I’ve resolved not to forget.  Or waste it.   

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