This was written more than a decade ago. It’s sad that it’s still topical.

ETHIOPIA, WHY ME?

Ethiopia is a long way from here. Besides, I don’t know a single Ethiopian. And, I’ve been busy. I haven’t had much time to think about Ethiopia. How ’bout you? We’ve got a lot on our minds. We’re tryin’ to make ends meet.

Ya know, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone starving to death. I admit I’ve seen it, but only rarely, in animals. The body’s fat begins to go to work on its own protein stores. Stuff like muscles. Muscular power and activity decrease as the body continues to burn itself up to survive. The skeleton and heart muscles are about the last thing to go. Death is usually due to heart failure. But, like I said, I’ve never seen it in people.

I’ve seen pictures, though. Lots of ’em from Ethiopia. Lethargic, bloated children. Skinny adults with no hope in their eyes. I think they print those pictures to get my sympathy.

Then they run commercials showing happy diners, smacking their lips and not cleaning their plate. Then they cut to a shot of a walking skeleton: no hair, lots of flies on the person’s face. You’ve seen ’em. It’s always a child, did you notice?

Course, they are always asking for money. Send it here, send it there; all for the starving children. How do we know it’s not siphoned off by bureaucratic middlemen? How do we know it even gets to the children?

Sounds like the Ethiopians have had a run of bad luck. They need a little rain. I guess some of us know about that. Why, some of us have even applied for drought relief.

Who are these Ethiopians? Are they all starving? There must be some fat ones. Probably the ones in the front of the line—the ones doling out the wheat. They live in a country that is almost as big as Texas and Iowa put together. It is a communist country but one of the prominent religions is Christianity. In Africa, no less. I hadn’t realized that.

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore Ethiopia. Commentator movie stars, singers, politicians, columnists, and yer run-of-the-mill do-gooders keep throwing it in our faces.

What do they expect me to do—help?