Downward arrows, shop window and reflection of Oxford Street, London.
What could you do with less? These days, many of us are asking ourselves that question.
While the family that sold their house and moved to a smaller one, using proceeds to help fight hunger in Ghana is laudable, one doesn't have to travel to Africa to find poverty. Vast pockets of impoverished people live in the United States and in most countries. Shockingly, in the developed world, the only place where poverty is worse than the USA is Mexico!
As a child growing up in the Southern United States, I saw plenty of poverty, particularly in Georgia, Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, Louisiana and Tennessee. In all these states, many families didn't have enough to eat, much less adequate health care. They sent their children to school with ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes and often lived in squalid or substandard conditions, as that's all they could afford.
Poverty, ignorance and oppression are at the root of most of the world's ills. Education, in particular, is often unavailable to the poor and this, perhaps more than any other factor, matters. Without education, people are unable to think for themselves or rise above their humble beginnings. They're unable to better their environment or make wise choices that will inform their future.
In the West, we are spoiled. We have too many material things and we keep accumulating more. We're besieged with endless advertising and marketing, suggesting we're not good enough. So we scramble to purchase a particular dress, a designer handbag, a luxurious mansion that we've been persuaded might make a difference in our lives. But the truth is, none of it matters.
We are enough. Without the designer clothes, the flash sportscar, the expensive jewelry, the fancy address, we are enough. If we have been educated to think for ourselves, be kind to others and use our talents to benefit not only ourselves, but others, we can move mountains. There's nothing stronger than sheer will and determination as a powerful force for good.
Living with less so that others have more doesn't suggest we must surrender all our comforts. It means that we deliberate more, when making decisions about how to spend our hard-earned money. In my case, I've started selling some of the antique furniture and collectibles I've accumulated over more than ten years in Europe. I'm donating clothing, furniture and money to charity. I'm discarding many beautiful pieces of decorative art in favour of useful tools, i.e. camera and computer gear that will help me generate income.
I'm reconsidering the clothes and shoes in my wardrobe and giving away items that no longer suit. Instead of purchasing hardback books (I consider books a necessity), I'm saving money by buying ebooks for my Kindle (unless the books are MacMillan's, who insist on charging considerably more than other publishers, even though ebooks cost them very little).
While still frequenting brocantes and flea markets, I'm thinking twice before buying. Am only scooping up rare things that I know I can re-sell for a profit. But I allow myself the occasional purchase, if something tugs at my heartstrings. After all, no reason to be fanatical about living with less! But for every item that comes into the apartment, something else goes out. I've adhered to this rule for over two years and it's proved surprisingly effective.
I also donate my writing and photography skills to human rights work and political causes. Sometimes time and energy can be more effective than money.
Do you see signs of poverty in your city? Have you made any major changes in your lifestyle and spending habits?
I knew Jaballa Mater personally. When I was a UN correspondent, I was introduced to Jaballa by a mutual friend at the US-Arab Chamber of Commerce in New York. The friend asked me to take Jaballa shopping for presents for his family. I remember him purchasing a wallet and other gifts at the Cartier counter at Macy's. A group of friends accompanied him to dinner at the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center and the waiter snapped our picture. Jaballa with his shock of grey hair and mustache was laughing, wearing a suit with his signature white silk fringed scarf draped around his neck. There were other dinners, always an eclectic group, whose livelihood or lives were rooted in the Middle East.
Jaballa was living in Switzerland at the time and didn't like to discuss Middle East politics; certainly not the minefield of Libyan politics, which had caused such grief for him and his family. Years later, I was dismayed to learn Jaballa had been kidnapped, while living in Egypt. Widespread speculation was that Egyptian security forces had turned him over to Libya, another victim of Qaddafi's thugs. Until reading Laila's piece today, I hadn't known Jaballa had been heard from at all during the last 19 years. It's possible he is still alive, although who knows in what condition, along with Qaddafi's numerous other political prisoners. Human rights seem to have been forgotten in the West's renewed quest for lucrative oil and business partnerships in Libya.
Another friend, Mansour Rashid Kikhia, the former Libyan Ambassador to the UN, was kidnapped from his hotel in Cairo in December, 1993. Kikhia had resigned his job at the UN and was head of the International Arab Jurists Association. Despite the intervention of the US government and the United Nations, no information about his fate has been forthcoming.
Many political prisoners died in a massacre June 29, 1996 at Abu Salim prison in Benghazi.
In December 2006, I wrote a poem, "Dead or disappeared" about these two men and other activists - and one special friend - I came to know.
Bright young thing
in New York watching
history unfold amidst chaos
key players crossed my path
some became friends
admired for their selfless courage
The last time I saw him
he took off his shoes
and put his feet on the table
at a UN press conference
so we could see the pattern of scars
calling card of the Shah's SAVAK*
He got our attention.
Two weeks later he was murdered.
The last time I saw him
he seemed a little drunk and flirtatious,
escorted by aides and guards
in an Amman hotel lobby
talking about an upcoming meeting
promising an interview
A sobering phone call followed:
felled on his front porch in a hail of assassin's bullets.
The last time I saw him
he was impassioned about
his human rights work
looking forward to an international conference
to expand the jurists' scope and focus
helping secure rights for all
Newspaper headlines reported his disappearance in Egypt;
UN and governmental inquiries produced no answers.
The last time I saw him
I took him shopping
for family gifts at Cartier
they snapped our picture at the Rainbow Room
and we went to a dinner party with friends
then he went home to Geneva
Vanished without a trace in Cairo;
more UN inquiries; no answers.
The last time I saw him
he told me he loved me
and kissed me goodbye
then boarded a plane to Amman
to do his father's bidding
and work in the family business
Less than five months later he was dead,
shot three times in the head.
For those still here
an obligation to tell their stories
remember what they held dear
the struggles and small victories
undying commitment to causes
greater than themselves
*Secret police during the reign of the Shah of Iran
Note that Qaddafi is spelled in a number of ways. At the UN, we spelled his name Muammar al-Qaddafi.
Photo of bas relief sculptures over a doorway in Amsterdam.