Rich Man, Poor Man ....
- Details
- Written August 2020
Russian incursions across the Finnish border unsettle the Erikson family towards the end of the 19th century. They migrate to South Africa and continue their boat-building there. A son, Andreas, sustains a serious head injury at work, leaving his wife and four young children struggling for survival in a wood-and-iron house. They’d fallen on hard times. The embryonic Salvation Army nearby rolls up its sleeves and the family gets absorbed into the movement. Andreas spends the rest of his days confined to a psychiatric hospital, with just one visit from a few family members some years later. When his grandson wants to know more about him, they tell him: ‘He seemed content - happy helping in the garden. After just a short while he said to us: “I need to get back to work now.”’
Three hundred years earlier, J P du Plessis, a prosperous French surgeon in Poitiers, becomes a victim of persecution for his Protestant faith and flees the country. He and his family eventually find themselves in South Africa. It takes him a while, but that’s where they settle. A grandson many generations later would have loved to know more about them.
Down the generations things don’t go well for one strand of the du Plessis family. Death of the father, Paulus, followed by the depression of 1929 and they struggle. Once again The Salvation Army comes into the story. An Erikson marries a du Plessis, son of Paulus, and in time that marriage gives me my heritage. All goes well with slow but steady improvement in social and economic standing for the family, but once again illness strikes with a devastating stroke. ‘Will we ever be able to afford the doctor’s fees, let alone bread on the table?’ must have been in our mother’s mind. But we survived, and I suspect with family bonds even stronger as a result. Adversity can destroy; it can also strengthen relationships.
Then there’s a different but relevant strand to the story. Alec Brooke, himself of humble beginnings, enters the burgeoning world of Port Elizabeth’s motor industry in the 20th century. Local boy makes good selling cars and he bequests his estate to endow bursaries for engineering and medicine - academic ability and financial need are the qualifications. It marked the beginning of another chapter in my own story. I would not have managed a university education without that scholarship.
So we’d had a taste of poverty (and charitable support) in our own family; furthermore I’d grown up in a country where the colour of one’s skin tended to determine social and economic standing; but then long years of close contact with, and listening to ‘the poor’ attuned me to some of the realities of their lives. Subsistence farmers in the Zambezi valley, the outcaste Dalits of India told their own stories. What, if anything, could I do to help them in their quest for dignity and well-being? There were subsequent a decade of international visits for me. Mostly I witnessed contentment. People were generally happy where they were, content with their lot in life. But for others there was a restlessness for something better, often attracted by the bright lights of the city or the flickering screen of television advertisements. Some wanted them - desires quickly flourish; others reacted angrily about perceived injustices heaped on them by the rich exploiting them, sometimes with bonded labour, or the capitalist world nurturing desire for their manufactured goods. When the rich become powerful, things can go badly wrong. The same can be true for ‘the poor’ when aspirations get out of hand. Some respond fatalistically; others were, and still are, determined to find their way to some other land of hope and glory. Will they be content when they arrive, I wonder.
The gospel offers good news for the poor. A rich man is quick to dismiss it. The poor wonder if it really can make a difference. I remind myself that it’s a message for both - rich and poor. It’s not just the promise of ‘pie in the sky when you die’. It’s about building a better world for all, upholding the value and dignity of all, of mutual respect, of caring for and sharing the resources of the planet equitably. It’s about learning that there’s more to life than things. The end result is not only bread on the table, but peace and harmony - contentment.
One of the themes of the Poverty Conference was about avoiding dependency and encouraging self-reliance and at the same time offering charitable support. How do we nurture and encourage both? I recall a conversation with the director of a community development programme in Gujarat, India. This Amul Dairy Model has been applied across India. International funding was occasionally necessary then. ‘We’re happy when it’s given in humility,’ she told me, ‘Then we can receive with dignity.’
One of the observations that emerged from the Poverty Conference was the discovery that so many of us had similar stories. We rather reluctantly, and perhaps with a tinge of embarrassment, admitted that it’s not only ‘them’. We too are ‘the poor’. We may not be wealthy in economic terms, but at least we can be contented. I’ve been the recipient of charity over the years. I’ve been able to receive it with dignity. If I’m able to give to others, I must remember to do so with humility. After all, even the poor can be generous.
August 2020