A Little Drop of Everything

I was scribbling away on my canary legal pad the other night (like I do), and happened to write down this little bit of semi-inspired fluff.  It’s not very good, but it seems like the beginning of what could be something good, so here it be:

Once, during my time in Peru, I saw a moth that had one of its wings burnt off in a campfire.  It hobbled about on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to launch itself back into the night air to join its comrades.

It now occurs to me that there are millions of people in this world who are like that pitiful lone moth. Millions of people who, because of geography, war, illness, the malice of others, or simply fate, have been rendered emotionally, physically, or enconomically crippled—or a combination thereof.  These wretches of human existence can, like the lame moth, only sit miserably on the ground while their brothers fly away on the wings of their hopes and ambitions.  Admittedly, there are a few who have healed their burnt wings and taken flight once more, stronger through their trials, but what of the rest?  What happens to the unlucky majority of wingless moths?

In our Western society, we nearly always push these wretched creatures to the edges of civilization, dooming them to a life of hardship and lonliness beyond that which they have already experienced.  This practice troubles me greatly, because it is those who need our help most desperately who are denied it so basely and utterly.

What is to be done?  Shall we continue to smash these crippled moths, rather than offering them the healing and aid that they deserve?  Do we condemn a young single mother for leaving her small children alone during the day simply so that she may earn enough money to feed them?  The answer, which ought to be a vehement and collective “no” is far too often in this world a resounding and appalling “yes.”  Most of the First World has uncounsciously decided that it is not their responsibility to care for the needs of others; that if a man cannot provide for his family, then he is obviously not trying hard enough.  To this I ask: when has it ever been within a farmer’s power to control the rains?  When has it ever been the option of individual soldiers to end their war?  When has the worker had any say in when his overseer chooses to close his factory?

What is to be done, then, for those wretches of the world, these victims of war, of poverty, of injury?  What contributions can weak individuals make?