TUMBY BAY - I don’t know about you, but I’m finding the evening news a bit hard going lately.
It’s the children mostly. The poor little wretches covered in blood and dust after another bombing raid in Syria and the big eyes, matchstick limbs and swollen bellies of the starving toddlers in Yemen and the Horn of Africa.
I might have to start watching the news on the commercial stations where they just dwell on car crashes, house fires, murders and the doings of Prince Harry and other celebrity parasites.
I’m not quite sure why they keep showing us these images of stricken children and their desperate parents night after night.
What do they want us to do? Are we supposed to feel some sort of vicarious pain and stress? Do they want us to help somehow? What on earth could we possibly do to stop it all? Do they get some sort of morbid satisfaction by showing us all this horrible suffering? Are they just pandering to the warped nasties out there?
Personally, it just makes me feel more and more disgusted with humanity and increases my frustration at not being able to do something about it.
At night I dream about putting the politicians, warmongers and arms dealers up against a wall and shooting them all – slowly and methodically.
It’s not a happy dream. I should really be dreaming about rounding up all those poor little children and their shell-shocked parents and taking them to a safe place where there are no guns, no bombs and plenty to eat.
I can’t do that of course and neither can you. And even if we could, Peter Dutton would stop us.
What I can do, however, is maybe help one or two people, if not in Syria or Africa then somewhere else a bit closer to home and maybe not in such dire stress. Perhaps that might be a sop for a troubled mind. I have, after all, done it before.
Back in the 1970s I sponsored a little girl in an orphanage in the Philippines. Her name was Agnes Sotelo. I sent her a few dollars a month through a charitable organisation.
Little Agnes wrote letters to tell me how she was getting on. The organisation sent me photographs of her from time to time.
My few dollars saw her get a decent meal each day, some new clothes now and again and, very importantly, an education. Or so the organisation told me. I’ve no reason to doubt them.
I’m not sure what happened to her except that she grew up and left the orphanage.
She must be in her late forties by now, probably married; maybe she even has children of her own.
I wouldn’t do it now though, that is send an organisation money just because it says it supports orphans. Nowadays there are too many crooks around who use sophisticated tactics to trick trusting souls into supporting bogus charities.
There have always been people who spoil things for everyone else but these days they seem to be everywhere.
If there were some guaranteed way to get donations to the honest outfits I might still think about it but even the churches are suspect these days.
If it could be done, however, it would be just a tiny contribution towards healing the woes of the world and helping the poor and the downtrodden, those unlucky enough to be born into one of Donald Trump’s “shithole” countries rather than into affluent, spoiled and uncaring countries like his own, or our fat Australia.
Whether it would stop me dreaming about lining the bastards up and mowing them down is hard to tell.