
This morning I'm wondering if I am a racist. Not a hood-wearing, racial slur type of racist. That sort of activity is abhorrent to me and I'm reasonably sure that it would be for any readers of this blog.
I'm talking about the passive racism that allows me to hear about the deaths of 2,300 Bangladeshis and talk about 10,000 or more without much of a visceral response. If I heard that 10,000 Canadians had died in a natural disaster or any other form of calamity I would immediately respond in some way.
When I think back a couple of years I realize that we did make a contribution to disaster relief for the victims of the tsunami in Southeast Asia. When I read Stephen Lewis' book about AIDS in Africa called Race Against Time I wept. But I didn't finish the book. It was easier to put it down. When I went to see the film Hotel Rwanda I was moved to tears as well. Just so you know -- I rarely "tear up" but this story of genocide in Rwanda touched me deeply as well.
But there is no points system for feeling badly about the plight of others. I have to admit that it is tempting to hurry on past some of these stories. A little voice tells me that life is not as valuable in these cultures and they don't feel the pain of loss the way we do. If I'm honest I know that these are lies of convenience to assuage my conscience.
Jesus told a story about a man who did not hurry on by when he saw someone in distress, lying in the ditch. He stopped, responded with compassion, went the distance. In a time when the planet is our neighbourhood the opportunity to be Good Samaritans is always there. I'm not going to beat up on myself, but I'm not going to just pass by either.













