Dialogue: A bleeding heart is always at risk of being bled dry

Nearly every day a letter from a charitable organisation tugs at our chequebooks. Where, KATH O'SULLIVAN* wonders, might it end?

Have you ever experienced a feeling of frustration after the postie has been?

Do you rush out eagerly to collect your mail, only to find that the big fat envelope contains not a newsy letter from old so-and-so who went to school with you, but a big, thick begging letter from a well-known charitable organisation?

Did you ever wonder why it is when you have sent them one voluntary donation, they think they have carte blanche to keep asking you for more and more?

Have you ever thought, "To hell with them. If they can afford to print all this fancy rubbish, they must have money to burn, so why should I send them my hard-earned cash, which would only be considered a pittance at best?"

Have you ever felt embarrassed and mean, your conscience raw and bleeding, when you have thrown the missive in the rubbish bin?

If you are retired and living on a pension, or it is that time of the month when your mortgage payment is due, or the children need new shoes, or the power bill has gone through the roof, or you have just paid the dentist for root canal treatment, have you ever muttered, "It's not fair. I can't afford to donate any more. Why do they continue to pester me?"

Have you ever viewed a long, elaborate advertising segment on television, with film clips of Third World countries beset by flood, famine and war, and wondered how much it has cost the charity to produce it, and how much they were charged to show it on air?

Have you ever watched a well-known personality reporting back from some miserable corner of the planet surrounded by starving children, and wondered how many meals his or her airfare and hotel accommodation would have bought - not to mention those of the camera crew?

Have you ever pondered what percentage of your donation actually goes to those desperately in need, and how much is spent oiling the wheels of the organisation itself; on the salaries of employees and directors, on office equipment, on business lunches and dinners, and on travel?

Are there strings attached to the handouts to a starving family, an unschooled child or a waterless village?

Does the dollar you give go to them regardless of race, creed, religion or politics, or does it only go to those deemed worthy of assistance by that particular organisation?

But despite these thoughts, you weaken. Conscience doth make cowards of us all, said Shakespeare.

You relent. The letter comes out of the bin, you scribble a cheque or write your credit card number in the space so conveniently provided, and drop it in the nearest post box.

Your generosity knows no bounds. Why, you even choose to stick a stamp on the outside of the envelope, regardless of the fact that it is free-post.

Afterwards, as you treat yourself to a well-deserved cup of tea and a biscuit, your conscience feels like a well-stroked cat purring gently on someone's lap.

But hope lies eternal in the human breast. The following day you are once again starry-eyed as you tug open your mailbox and look for a friendly old-fashioned letter.

To your horror, there is another fat envelope from a different charity.

This one is seeking help for sick children here at home and that really tugs at your heartstrings.

Out comes the chequebook.

The next day the letter is from an organisation needing money to help animals in distress or endangered species, and once more you respond.

The next day? Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm sure you know the routine by now.

Sometimes it seems there are as many charities vying for funds as there are days in the year, and that these letters will continue to arrive until the day you die.

Was it not Jesus who said: "The poor you will always have with you"?

The crunch comes at the end of the financial month when the letter in your mailbox is from your bank warning that you are badly overdrawn.

This is followed by a credit-card statement showing that the amount you owe them is more than you earn in a month.

Perhaps the time is drawing close when you should seriously consider turning on the computer at work and rattling off a few begging letters of your own.

How would this sound?

"Hard times have descended on the household of John Smith, his wife Mary, and their three school-aged children, Blake, Hannah and Caitlin.

"The proverbial wolf stands outside their door eagerly licking his chops.

"The debt-collection man is fast approaching in his late-model European car, and the bailiff is not far behind him.

"This family can no longer afford the luxury of hot water, an electric heater or a clothes dryer, and since the power is likely to be cut off very soon, they will have to resort to candles and an open-air barbecue.

"Their telephone was disconnected months ago. May we beg your help for this beleaguered family in their time of great distress?

"Please place a tick in the box that shows the amount you are willing to donate - or you might consider pledging a regular monthly donation. If so, please indicate the amount you are prepared to pledge on the line below.

"In conclusion we would ask you to bear them in mind when you draw up your last will and assignment.

Yours with sincerity,

John Smith.

(A person of conscience)."

* Kath O'Sullivan, a retired primary teacher, lives on Waiheke Island.