Dialogue: Charity begins at the office - not the home

When a New Zealand reporter had an audience with Madonna, a Karen Walker designer dress was presented to this singing superstar. When Ricky Martin went skydiving in Auckland, his record company shouted him the experience. It was a gift to the master bonbon shaker.

These acts of generosity saved these two luminaries from having to withdraw money from their burgeoning bank accounts. It must be such a hassle dealing with petty cash like that when you have a fortune with as many digits as a telephone number.

Doubtless there are plenty of children in Auckland who can only dream of having a go at skydiving or of having a decent dress to wear. Surely they are the ones who deserve the largesse, not some pampered entertainers?

Unfortunately, such examples of misguided philanthropy are neither isolated nor original. When Charles married Diana they received 10,000 wedding presents, including 300 uncut diamonds from King Khalid of Saudi Arabia. It is difficult to imagine two people who needed these baubles less.

Luxury designer Armani supplies Lady Helen Taylor with all the clothes she could ever want, just so she is wearing the brand when photographed.

It is considered a savvy public relations move. But surely there are more deserving cases than this beauty, who happens to be the Queen's second cousin?

Imagine the publicity Armani would get if the company delivered a van-load of its gear to a homeless shelter instead. At least the clothing would go to people who actually need it. The items might not be flashed all over the society pages but it would certainly lift the fashion stakes of some of London's park benches and doorways.

Closer to home - but every bit as excessive - are the corporate gift baskets presented to company executives each Christmas by their suppliers and associates.



In the festive season, many offices burst at the seams with an embarrassing array of donated delicacies. Chocolate delights, mini Christmas cakes, fancy cheeses, special sauces, imported crackers, nuts, shortbread and fine wines go free at this time of year - but only to those with the good jobs and accompanying salaries who could afford to buy the stuff themselves if they wanted it.

Sadly enough, once the contents have been rescued from the cellophane wrapping and wood shavings, they are often not as appealing or handy as you might think. Doubtless there are umpteen aged bottles of spicy apricot brandy chutney gathering dust at the back of well-stocked pantries in the more affluent suburbs.

Even so, the recipients can be territorial and snarky about their entitlements now that the corporate-hamper habit has reached epidemic proportions. Many executives have come to expect these gifts. It's viewed as part of their remuneration package - company car, mobile phone and all the white Belgian chocolate you can possibly eat.

There is little chance that the baskets will be redirected to the Salvation Army or Auckland City Mission, where they could do some good. Anyway, those hungry people don't really need liqueur-filled truffles, right?

Corporate gifts come in the name of relationship-building. Don't even think it could be bribery, okay? But the excesses certainly don't start and end with gift baskets. Free trips to the Olympics, World Cup and boxes at the tennis are all used to strengthen business relationships.



And what about free lunches? The City Mission supplies thousands of Christmas meals to the needy but these efforts are surpassed by the activities of the schmoozing corporate sector. Wine glasses clink and cutlery tinkles at the fine establishments around town while the business community enjoys its own brand of seasonal charity.

Despite its being served on white linen tablecloths instead of trestle tables, it's free tucker nonetheless.

On busy flights airlines will sometimes bump up an economy-class passenger to business class to free a seat for a wait-listed passenger. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but who does the cabin crew member choose for this gratis upgrade? A platform-wearing, midriff-baring young woman with a pierced nose enjoying a rare taste of air travel? No way.

Those picked for upgrades are the suit-wearing famous faces - former All Black captains, political and media figures, captains of industry and the like. After all, the airlines have to keep business class exclusive, don't they? Never mind that these people could have forked out for the premium fare themselves if they had considered the experience worth it.

Whoever said charity begins at home was wrong. It begins with the privileged few and seldom filters down to those who could truly do with it.

* Shelley Bridgeman is an Auckland writer.