compassion

I’m not a compassionate person. This might seem an odd statement considering my current profession, but it’s often true. Lately at least, my compassionate side has been hiding away in the far reaches of my soul. I’ve been too caught up in the business side of saving the world. Developing project plans, dealing with unruly employees, fighting against the view that due to my white skin I have piles of dollars pouring out of all bodily orifices, etc. Often, though, it only takes a small story, experience, or scene of suffering to jolt me back into reality and get my heart juices flowing. Usually, as I see, touch, hear, and smell poverty on a regular basis, my own experiences suffice to give me that periodic reminder, but today it came from the story a friend relayed to me.

Here is what happened:

The doctors and nurses are striking in Zambia, fighting for higher salaries. Strikes can be painful, I guess that’s the point, as pain often brings forth action. In this case, however, those that end up suffering have nothing to do with the disagreement. When there are no doctors and nurses, it’s the common public who reap the consequences. This brings us to Ruthie, a beautiful 4-year-old with asthma. Ruthie is lucky in that both her parents are alive, but they are poor, very poor. Just one of the thousands of families struggling to survive in the slums of Lusaka, the Zambian capital. Ruthie had an asthma attack last week, so her mother rushed her to the closest clinic. No nurses, no doctors, no one to help. They moved on to the next clinic, same story. She used precious resources to hire a taxi in order to find a clinic with the medical personal to help her little girl. Seven clinics in all they visited, none could offer any help. On their way to number eight, Ruthie died, in the arms of her hysterical mother, in the back of a cab, of an easily treatable condition.

This should not have happened.

Someone is to blame.

Is it the doctors and nurses, or the government, both sides too caught up in the fatness of their wallets to bother themselves with the suffering of those they are responsible to help? Or maybe it’s the western countries, whose corporate bailout packages reach the trillions of dollars, a tiny percentage of which could go to increase salaries for medical personal in developing nations, satisfying those workers. In the end, the problem is inside all of us. It’s selfishness. Lack of compassion. It’s thinking too much about our own well-being and not enough about that of others. The question I ask myself now is what can I do to keep a scenario like this from happening again. How many Ruthies have died because of my self-centered attitude, my lack of compassion? I don’t have an excuse, I can’t plead ignorance. I see suffering every day. The same story, with different characters and slight plot variations repeats itself over and over and over, right in front of my eyes. Yet I am so often unbothered, or uncaring. I must do more. I must change my attitude. I must live differently. Someones life may depend on it.