Nearly three years ago, my friend’s mother died – with no warning, no tell – tale signs that anything was wrong. She had recently retired from  many years teaching,  and she and her husband had  made the decision to pack up their comfortable lives in England and move to Cambodia to serve the poor. One evening,  this much loved woman, one week after her 60th birthday, said goodnight to her husband, went to sleep – and never woke up.

For my friend, the phone call from her dad, telling her the news, changed her life in every conceivable way.

However, that evening several weeks ago, she shared something else with me. almost by accident…

We had been talking about many things, one of them a common topic amongst volunteers here at Crossroads – how we were doing in our support raising, and managing from week to week on no guaranteed finances. I asked her how everything had gone with the sorting of her mum’s estate, and she replied – so casually – ‘Oh, yes I received some of my inheritance..’

“And…” I persisted, “Can you use that to pay for all your college fees this year?”

There was a tangible pause in the conversation.

“Well, no…. ”

I guess we are good enough friends for me to not feel like I was prying by even pursuing a conversation like this. The questioning look on my face must have been enough. My friend, with a casualness that was in itself stunning to me, said, ” I gave it away”.

I’d like her to share with you, in her own words…

‘I was working at a children’s home in  Andhra Pradesh, India.  Mum had just died and we were sorting things like inheritance etc. Dad emailed me to say that I was to be given 20 thousand pounds now. I was excited thinking I could do all sorts of things with it.

I’d been very  ill for a month and a bit, most of it was spent  in bed, so all I could do during that time was pray and read the  Word.  BEST thing I could do eh? During this time I began to be convicted   that I was  to give my inheritance to the children’s home. Whaaaaaaaat!!!??!

So I reasoned myself out of it, but the conviction kept growing, consuming my thoughts and all the personal desires that were whispering all the things I could do for myself with that amount of money.

I couldn’t sleep,  couldn’t  do anything while I was trying to work out what I should do.

In the end, the money became almost dirty to me, I needed to get rid of it all and quickly! There became an urgency.

So I spoke with the  guy in charge of the children’s home.  He was shocked. I told him I felt the need to get rid of the money urgently. In the end, I begged to be able to give him the money!.

The money was used to buy clothes, food and educational stuff for the kids. At this time, there was much strife and persecution  in Orissa state, so we were able  to help many people there as well.  Many other orphanages and children’s homes were helped.

it was truly amazing.

I think that’s about it.‘

How profoundly simple those  words – ‘I think that’s about it’. My friend had given away her inheritance of 20,000 pounds ( that’s over AUD $33,000 on today’s exchange) because she had been convicted to.

And following that, she then returned to Hong Kong to work as a volunteer for a further 2 years.

Now I know, truly I know, that some of you reading this will quite understandably have mixed reactions – ‘Wow’, you’re probably thinking,  ‘that really is an amazing thing to do, but did she have to give it ALL? Especially, when she herself was going to be a volunteer and in need of financial support herself?’

Well, in my friend’s case, I think her story, told in her own words, makes it clear that, yes, she had to give it all – no matter what the personal outcomes were for her. And the only person she told, apart from the director of the children’s  home, was her dad – and he  totally supported her decision to ‘give it away’.

I believe we are all being convicted of certain things right now. If we have not allowed our hearts to be hardened by the self -  obsessed societies we live in, we WILL be seeing the legitimate needs of others – in many cases right under our proverbial noses. And as we see them, and are moved by them, and have fitful sleep because of them, and perhaps even begin to weep for not caring enough for our ‘neighbours’ – THEN we will begin to make the hard – but oh so beautifully liberating -decisions. For my friend, it was giving away her mother’s inheritance….. what will it be for us?

One phone call in 1999 began a journey with one song, called  ‘They Told Me This Is Africa’, which continues to shape my music – and the journey of life itself.

Another phone call in 2002 was the first seed sown, in a tilling and ploughing of ‘heart ground’, which brought myself, Jim, and our two children to Hong Kong to serve as volunteers with Crossroads International.

And yet another call, made in 2006 in the upper room of a printing press in Chiang Mai, Thailand, led to a  meeting with the leader of the Free Burma Rangers, which has continued to thrust me into issues and situations about which, before then, I virtually knew nothing – and cared the same.

The power of one!

I recall a movie of that title, and an interesting summary of the theme is  ‘it  is an intriguing story of a young English boy named Peekay and his passion for changing the world.’

The individuals who made the calls in the examples above, have many standout qualities. But perhaps the one that rises above them all is Passion. All are passionate, and have invested their whole lives into a Cause grander and richer and more majestic than simply earning a living and making sure one is set for a ’secure’ retirement.

All in their unique way desire, and daily work, to see situations change in a world where the majority are powerless to change anything. Not one of them defaults to the position – ‘It’s someone else’s problem’.

THEIR passion I have found irresistible..and this ‘power of one’  continues.

One ‘chance’ meeting with two Kachin refugees in Malaysia, in October 2007, has led to 4 trips back to KL and the priceless blessing of being a small part of a huge story that continues to unfold, and draw in more lives from around the world, who will be the power of one in their circles of influence to bring change and restitution to these people.

One conversation, one book, ( even one paragraph of one chapter of one book), one song, one ticket to somewhere…. be ready to be surprised at how ‘little’ the ‘one’ can be that will alter your perspective, and actually, change your life.

Oh dear, what’s the hoo-ha

there’s  another genocide somewhere in Africa

We’ll all talk about it for at least 10 minutes

Then get on with eating dinner

And thank God that we’re not in it

Blacks are killing blacks

The world is nonchalant

There’s something in the paper

In small neat font

People being chopped

But I’m blasé

After all, this is what happens in Africa today.

Oh dear, let’s  get our head out of the sand

Now the whites are at risk in that godless land

send in the convoys and the military clout

Gotta act fast, get our nationals out!

Cause blacks are killing blacks

The world is looking on

Now there’s a news report come in

they’re butchering priests and nuns

Orphans left to die

But that’s ok

After all, this is what happens in Africa today

Oh dear, what’s the hoo-ha

Seems there’s been a slow genocide for 50 years and more

We’ll all talk about it for at least 10 minutes

Then plug into our I phones

And thank God that we’re not in it.

And the army’s moving in

The world is nonchalant

There’s something in the paper

In small neat font

Families displaced

But that’s ok

After all, this is what happens in Burma today.

Oh dear, what’s the hoo-ha

Thousands of refugees are crossing borders

We’ll all talk about it, gotta get our facts clear

But all we end up doing ’s  saying…

Oh dear, what’s the hoo-ha

Thousands of refugees are crossing borders

We’ll all talk about it, gotta get our facts clear

But all we end up doing, all we end up saying

All we end up doing, all we end up saying is……..

Steve is a dentist from the USA and we met by ‘chance’ in a bookshop in Kowloon. Our conversation began with him asking me a question, and several hours later, after having migrated to the nearest Starbucks, we continued to be engaged in what has been another life altering meeting.

A  shared meal 2 days later…and several more hours of conversation, followed by a long chat over the phone after his return to the States. I feel I have known Steve longer – and deeper – than some people with whom mutual hellos and ‘how are yous’ have been exchanged for years!

Steve is a dentist, but his passion is helping the people of Mainland China – it oozes out of every pore of his soul. He has a ‘holy discontent’ to be continually pushed out of his ‘comfort areas’, and his realisation that our life here is short – and fragile – spurs him daily to be investing his time, skills and resources into what counts.

What counts! Not necessarily in the short term, but what is REALLY going to matter when we face our final moments on this mortal coil?

Steve is challenging me, even in the daily work I am doing as  a volunteer in Hong Kong, to push harder and more persistently against what is familiar and comfortable. As I recall what we have talked about, and as I anticipate the next conversation, I am marveling again at how these truly extraordinary people walk into our life – and from that moment begin to change it.

As Steve has shared stories of his work on the Mainland, new windows have opened in my mind and heart onto people and situations I knew nothing about. But Steve has not only  educated me – in fact, this is the least gift he left me with.

He has enlarged my heart’s view on certain truths and issues; he has, in such a brief acquaintance, bequeathed me a legacy. A legacy of a passion for a cause that is deep and real and beautiful, a passion that doesn’t waver and burn out when the first obstacle blows across the flame.

Steve’s passion and commitment is for the long haul – in fact, for life. It is a passion that truly ‘ENABLES’ him – enables him to leave his practise in the States, and all the comforts that lifestyle affords, and venture into territory that has no guarantees – only the promise that a difference will be made – to individuals and  communities in China – because he went.

I am learning that the truly ‘great’ people in this world don’t think they are. Their energies and passions are  focused on something other than themselves – and this is what shines out from their hearts and faces and conversations.

I am also  learning that these truly great individuals will most likely never be read about in a popular magazine, or be featured in a prime time news story.

But how incredibly amazing that every now and then, one of these true heroes is brought into our life, and a relationship is born that leaves us not the same as we were before.

Adjustment! All of us who were guests at this wedding will, I’m guessing, never forget what the bishop spoke on, as this word was mentioned in every second phrase, yes literally!

In December a friend and I made a quick 4 day trip to Malaysia to visit our Kachin refugee friends. We were able to take, because of the generosity of many people, several suitcases of clothing, toys, vitamins, first aid supplies and mosquito coils.  We were also given a sizable donation of money, which we were able to pass on for schooling and accommodation needs for the refugee women and children.

For me, this was my 4th trip to the Kachin, and I have come back with another ‘adjustment’ to my perspective.

We met and spoke with a woman who has 3 children – and whose husband has ‘disappeared’ somewhere in Burma. You see, the  military had come to their town for labour conscription and when this woman  voiced her opposition, the soldiers beat and kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. When her husband found out and made a complaint to the authorities, he was arrested. She and her children fled Burma and are now trying to survive as refugees in Malaysia. She doesn’t know if her husband is even alive.

As we listened to her story I started thinking…..it is one of the easiest occupations for us all to complain about and criticize our government, political leaders and ALL the aspects of our home countries that irritate or even anger us. In fact, I have noticed of late that for some people I know, this is a daily part of their conversation.  Interestingly though, these individuals all reside in countries where not only do they daily experience political and social freedom, but also are privileged to have ALL their needs, and certainly most of their wants, fulfilled.

Ironically, it is BECAUSE they have been born,  and live in countries where they CAN express their dissatisfaction with those who are in leadership positions, that these people have become totally comfortable with living in a permanently dissatisfied and unthankful attitude.

And so I have been reflecting on the fact that for most human beings in this world, complaining or even respectfully voicing one’s opposition to something, is not an option – certainly not the preferred option.

And in countries like Australia and the UK, one can still ‘complain’ – whether it is in an armchair or with a placard outside Parliament House. We can voice what we think about this or that politician or policy, we can badmouth, we can belittle – and there is probably a good chance none of us will be complaining about our husband or boyfriend or father being forced into unpaid labour to serve the needs of a totalitarian regime, or our teenage son being taken from us to be a child soldier.

While we fill our stomachs with good food and lie down in our warm comfortable beds, most of us reading this probably won’t go to sleep wondering if the police are going to come and arrest us for speaking against the government. We won’t be tortured by thoughts of having to run and leave everything, and seek refuge in  another country because MAYBE we have said, or not said, something that will be seen to be disloyal or anti government.

This young Kachin woman sitting on the floor and quietly relating what has happened to her family, funnily enough was not complaining – she simply shared what had taken place, with no negative imputation towards those who had beaten her and taken her husband.

I have asked myself  ‘why’ – why do these refugees not barrage me with a litany of personal and national grievances, and why do they not seem to be eaten away with anger and bitterness for what they have suffered?

Is it because this is the way it has been for so long, and that to suffer incomprehensible hardship and persecution is what is ‘normal’, and all the privileges I take for granted because I am Australian are, in fact, privileges for which I should be hourly not only conscious of, but heartfeltly thankful for.

As a result of being repeatedly kicked in the stomach, this Kachin woman cannot work because of continual pain and bleeding. And when one is a refugee, medical attention is also not the ‘normal’ outcome that I, as a citizen of Australia, expect when I am unwell.

What I see as normal needs that SHOULD  and ARE met by my government, such as medical care, schooling and basic protection of my rights  to live securely without harassment, are definitely and absolutely not the normal expectations, or even ideals, of people like the Kachin, or the Karen, or the Somali, or the Sudanese.

When one is simply struggling to provide enough rice for a meal for one’s children, one is not in the privileged position of sitting back and griping about a government policy that raised the price of cigarettes or alcohol.

When a woman is beaten and kicked and then chooses to run from the country she loves and calls home, so that her children can live, then she probably isn’t too upset by a ’stupid’ comment some politician made in a radio interview.

Perspective! Mine received a much needed adjustment yet again – and that is one of the many reasons I am passionate about doing trips like this.

The proverbial ‘penny has dropped’ rather loudly for me – the realisation that complaining and badmouthing are the luxury of the privileged – the well fed, the well clothed, the well housed…..

Of course, there is a time and place to see and even discuss the deficiencies we perceive in our societies and leadership figures – human nature is everyone’s common denominator.

But let’s realign our perspective to truly and deeply realise that we have so  much more to be thankful for than to complain about, and that in our very blessed circumstances  WE CAN be the tangible blessing to someone who has so much less.

When reflecting recently on the privilege of choice, and all the limitless opportunities that brings to me personally, I began to hear in my mind, like an echo, this little phrase – ‘to whom much is given’ – and the echo continues to build in crescendo and intensity, accompanied by the equally arresting PS – ‘much shall be required.’

‘Whom’ is such a profoundly simple word that encompasses everyone.

Every human being alive is a ‘whom’ – in whatever particular context he or she is placed. And I am struck anew by the fact that the concept of whom lets no one off the hook!

Of course, we can all argue until the day we die that ‘much’ is a subjective and relative concept. I know people back in Australia who, by all objective measuring, are wealthy and yet would possibly not even consider that they were the ‘whom’ to whom much has been given. You see, they do not compare themselves with the 90% plus of the earth’s population who have very little or nothing, but with the 2% plus who live obscenely extravagant and excessive lives – on that scale of reasoning it becomes much easier to justify in one’s heart a general and ever deepening apathy and detachment from truth and reality.

But I am not writing this to finger point – because the echo in my head and heart is MY echo and it is convicting and chastening ME. I do not have to think for too many seconds to know that I know that I am the ‘whom’ to whom not only much has been given, but who is the undeserved recipient of unlistable and indescribable bounty.

For me, this word ‘much’ is assuming the properties of one of those children’s gimmick toys made of foam – the ones you put in water as very tiny, compact, shapeless items that then literally, before one’s eyes, swell and expand and de- extricate themselves into unexpectedly larger, and far more interesting items.

As constricted balls of foam, these toys give no clue as to what the real shape will be until they are placed in water.

So I am learning with the word ‘much’. Up until recently this word had been packaged for me by others – mainly by the perceptions of the society and culture I have lived in for most of my life. ‘Much’ took on the meaning of ‘excess’, and  primarily of material needs and wants being fulfilled.

Somewhere in my head was the instilled belief that X number of dollars and what they can buy equated to ‘much’.

How wrong I have been.

This little word that contains within it such huge concepts – and consequences – has been swelling and expanding and de- extricating itself from all my perceived notions, and before my very heart is growing into something not only so much larger and defined, but  into something which is challenging the way I actually look at my moments and days and how I am practically and visibly living out the echo –‘to whom much has been given, much will be required.’

You see, the ‘much’ in the phrase ‘much will be required’, is the same ‘much’ that is in ‘to whom much is given’.

And if I am convicted that my personal ‘much’ is huge and ever expanding, then what is being required of me is equally huge and ever expanding. It is not a static, set in concrete realisation. The more I am given, and indeed the more I am awakened to how much I am being given, the more I am held to account.

And so, I am reflecting on the fact that I can read! I have taken this for granted, like breathing – I can read shop signs and advertisements and newspaper articles. And more amazingly still, I can not only read but have unlimited access to literature, past and present, and I can actually choose to fill my mind with extraordinary beauty and spirit nurturing concepts.

Is this a ‘much’ in a world where the majority of thinking human beings cannot read and may never have the opportunity to learn?

I pick up my passport – again something I have had for so many years now, that it means very little, or should I say, until very recently, it was simply something I possessed, by right. Not too much to get excited about if you are Australian.

But as Jim and I spend time with asylum seekers and refugees who are without passports, here in Hong Kong and places like Malaysia,  that irrepressible echo in my heart is saying, ‘to whom much is given’ and enabling me to realise how incomprehensibly difficult and restricted my life would be without a passport.

Last week I shared a coffee and conversation with a German couple who were passing through Hong Kong. It is an hour I never want to forget.

In December 2004, when Jim and I and our children were enjoying a few days on the mid north coast, by the beach over the Christmas break, this couple heard the news that a tsunami had devastated areas of Thailand, as well as many other countries in the region. On that day they lost their son and daughter and three grandchildren. Their family were enjoying a holiday as well.

This man said to me, both our son and daughter died -we have only two grandchildren left.

And so the echo won’t fade. Simply because I was NOT in the wrong place at the wrong time, I am one to whom much has been given.

The fact that I am not at this moment suffering the shattering loss of loved ones through tragedy, be it a tsunami or a car accident, places me, by default if you like, in the ‘to whom much has been given’ category.

And what is a ‘default position?

One interesting definition I found was from the computer science world:

‘A particular setting or value for a variable that is assigned automatically by an operating system and remains in effect unless cancelled or overridden by the operator.’

So, my setting or value (‘given much’) was assigned to me (a variable) by a particular operating system (my nationality, culture and family)   automatically the day I was born. And up until now, this ‘setting’ has not been overridden or cancelled by national calamity or personal tragedy or misfortune.

Most people I know were also assigned this ‘value’ when they came into this world, and so to ‘have much’ is the only reality we understand and operate in.

Another very enlightening definition is: ‘A situation or condition that obtains in the absence of active intervention.’

And the question I am asking myself is – If outside circumstances ensure that my life remains in this default setting, then what am I going to do to make the most out of my much?

‘To whom much is given, much will be required!’ I believe this to be a true statement. By default, or blessing, I have much – in fact, too much.

What am I doing about it – daily?

And the question that won’t go away is – how am I fulfilling my obligations, as much as it depends on me, to meet the needs of those individuals who are placed in front of me?

For you see, there is another definition of ‘default’ – and that is, failure to perform a task or fulfill an obligation.

In our current economic climate, thousands have defaulted on their loans and mortgages.

How many more millions are defaulting on their responsibilities to do much more with their personal much?

These are the words to a song I wrote some time ago, called Frightened -

I’m just like you

I play with my friends, I go to school

I cry when I graze my knee

I like ice cream

Are you like me?

I’m just like you

I ‘ll gasp at a rainbow and scuff my shoe

I still wish we’d have chocolate for tea

don’t like homework

are you like me?

I have lots of questions

no one can answer

sometimes I have nightmares

do you have them too?

the grownups are crying

airwaves are dancing

another suicide bomber

I’m frightened

I’m just like you

just watch what I’ll  make with some paper and glue

I’ll climb through a window when mum’s lost her key

why cant we be friends?

you and me

I have lots of questions

that wait to be answered

dark are the days

I wonder what’s true

wailing and crying

the Grim Reaper’s dancing

more landmines were planted

I’m frightened

I have lots of questions

no one can answer

sometimes I have nightmares

do you have them too?

wailing and crying

the Grim Reaper’s dancing

tall towers tumbling

I’m frightened…like you

Today, for me, is like every other day here in Hong Kong.

16 years is a long time in our speed oriented world when so much happens in our lives in just a week! Going back to this other home, which I have missed deeply since I lived there for a year in 1991, has proven to be another hugely significant experience. Many of you would know about the email we received from Jenny N. telling us that her husband John, and 2 neighbours, had been arrested and faced the penalty of death by hanging. This email set a chain of amazing events into being, which resulted in me flying to Harare on the 27^th May.

After many delays, and an aborted South African Airways flight, that turned back to Johannesburg at the Zimbabwe border because of engine trouble(!!!) (many of you know how much I enjoy flying!!!!), I finally walked through Harare immigration, after buying my 30 day visa in US dollars, and was met by John – a little older, a little thinner, but the same wonderful, exuberant John who was closer than a brother to me and remains so.

16 years! Where do you start?

Seeing Jenny again, the 3 children – Shannon, Kim and Lana – now all married, AND meeting  6 grandchildren, really was like going through a time dimension. I had last played with Lana, now 24, when she was 8.  As we sat at a very large table under a thatched roof, the years literally disappeared and truly I knew I had come home.

In the 2 weeks I was there, there were many conversations about memories and events from so long ago, and all that had happened, especially this year. Can you imagine being wakened at around 2am, with no warning of what was to happen, for your youngest daughter to answer the door and have an AK47 shoved in her face, and then to have military personnel storm your property – over 400 special forces had cordoned off the area surrounding John’s property -  and to see helicopter gunships hovering over your home, as you were thrown into the back of a truck and taken to an unknown destination for questioning?

John described his time in a maximum security prison, in a cholera, HIV, lice infested cell. Around 10 prisoners die a week here, and many times the bodies are left in the cells for several days before they are removed.

Many prisoners were severely beaten, and John told me that he would lie on the cell floor at night waiting for the door to open and for him to be taken out for similar punishment. It didn’t happen. When John became so sick that he was finally allowed to be taken to hospital, he had 5 armed guards accompany and guard him in intensive care, and leg irons chained to him.

His case was brought to the Supreme Court in early March and thrown out by the judge. And it had all started with someone wanting to take over his neighbour’s land!

John and Jenny have established and run for some years now Tree of Life adventure camps. It is an incredible enterprise which I was able to witness in action when I was there. The accusations against John and his 2 neighbours were directly linked with these camps- that instead of adventure, activities of a more subversive kind were taking place.

As John and Jenny reminded me again This is Africa.

The suitcase of medical items I brought with me from Crossroads, Jenny and I were blessed to be able to take to a medical clinic in Harare. Everything Veronica (in our medical department) had given me at the last minute before I left, was not only very useful, but in some cases was miraculous provision of desperately needed equipment, such as catheters and sterile dressings and bandages. Jenny and I spent an hour and a half with these wonderful nurses and staff. One of the most urgently needed items is colostomy bags which are needed for fistula and other patients.

After the medical facility, Jenny drove me to an HIV and Aids clinic, also in Harare, where I was invited to go through the entire process of pre and post counseling and HIV testing as a patient. This was an amazing privilege and one that I certainly did not anticipate. I have never had an HIV test  and never imagined I would experience one in Zimbabwe, where, in the words of a UNICEF spokesperson:“Every day children in Zimbabwe are dying of HIV/AIDS, every day children are becoming infected, orphaned, and forced to leave school to care for sick parents”.

In 2006 a Zimbabwean doctor explained to reporters: “Put simply, people are dying of AIDS before they can starve to death”

At present, the average life expectancy for women, who are particularly affected by Zimbabwe’s AIDS epidemic, is 34 – the lowest anywhere in the world. Officials from the World Health Organisation have admitted that since this figure is based on data collected a few years ago, the real number may be as low as 30.

According to UNICEF, Zimbabwe has a higher number of orphans, in proportion to its population, than any other country in the world. Most of these cases are a result of parents dying from AIDS.

Another highlight of my trip, was visiting a consignee in Bulawayo to whom Crossroads will be sending a container soon. Jenny and I shared the driving between Harare and Bulawayo, approximately 6 hours each way, and were able to visit dear friends in Kadoma, where I had lived and taught in 1991. After a night’s rest in a lodge, Jenny and I visited our consignee, a delightful home where orphaned and abandoned babies are loved and cared for.

This work, overseen by a passionate young guy from Port Macquarie, Australia, has many facets, including a home for street children, a soup kitchen and a medical clinic. To meet a fellow Aussie – and from our home area – was more than a treat.

Before leaving Zimbabwe, John extracted one promise from me – that next time Jim, Isaac and Georgie would come as well.

A particular joy for me was being able to give him and Jenny the 4 albums of songs which have come out of the last 16 years,  beginning with “They Told Me This Is Africa”. There is a line in the last song on that album which says,

‘one day my child will feel my Africa’s embrace’.

Jim and I believe and hope that will be soon!

Myanmar. Already suffering and isolated, within hours became even more so. The world’s cameras took us all there in those initial horrific days, and for a very few symbolic moments, we mourned and our senses were appropriately shocked.

We watched and listened and waited for the expected reports of aid getting in, and when we were told there were delays and humanitarian efforts were being hindered, we were outraged. But a week or so later other news items hustled their way into the centre of our attention, and we began to hear and see a little less of this tragedy. Bodies, a week before, living and working and going to school, became a series of numbers in our perceptions of this disaster. And our inevitable default to a clinical assessment of another horrendous event, ensured that we could slot this catastrophe into its rightful folder in our global disasters filing cabinet,  under the convenient heading of  ‘One of the worst natural disasters in recent years.’

A friend of mine commented last week, “My mum died two years ago and I can get my head around that -  its one person. But 100,000?! It’s meaningless, it’s just a number. And when the press packs up and moves on to the next newsworthy story, the meaninglessness of such a number is affirmed.

Another friend introduced me to the line, ‘Numbers have faces and faces have names’. But it seems it’s always the numbers we will remember, and be able to quote in a conversation or a web post! When the cameras leave and we, in a very real sense, leave with them, the question that is haunting me is – What DON’T we see and hear, and therefore what DON’T we continue to want to be informed about, to care about, to do something about.

Has the 21^st century’s privileged access to greater and better technology and media presence, fashioned us all into nothing more than head shaking voyeurs, who are horrified for a few moments, and then distracted by the latest mega million Hollywood divorce settlement? Should the cameras and the reporters not only stay at the disaster for more than the obligatory 3 or 5 days, but KEEP coming back so that WE will keep coming back, and keep being outraged when suffering is not alleviated, and more faces unseen, unknown- silently morph into a mere statistic, or a graph on the page of someone’s honours thesis.

100,000 people killed.

A year on, will that fact harness our attention as much as Mel Gibson’s marriage woes? Do we really want to see photos from rural Myanmar that testify to the continuing effects of Cyclone Nargis? Or would we rather see Angelina Jolie pregnant again?

Two weeks after the Myanmar cyclone, the press converged on the province of Sichuan, China. This time an earthquake. Big enough to hit every headline and halt a country of 1.3 billion people. Again we watched, shook our heads, horrified. And again we caught hold of the numbers – all the dead and missing people who hours before had faces and names.

A week or so later, aided by the press, we filed this tragic event away in the same filing cabinet in our minds, also under the heading, ‘ One of the worst natural disasters in recent years’. And we made sure we could at least quote a few salient statistics if a conversation came up.

Was it just a year ago?

There are still families in Sichuan who are waiting to bury their only child, if ever found. And there are still over one million internally displaced persons in Myanmar who struggle daily to live. For them the disaster didn’t end when the cameras left. They are the faces who have names, identities, life. For them, the tragedy will never be passe. It is ever present, always reminding, never receding into a blurred memory, punctuated by a statistic or two.

What is the responsibility of the press in all this? Especially when it has been proven that the length and intensity of media coverage DIRECTLY affects the amount of funding flowing in for a particular disaster.

And what is our responsibility? Perhaps it’s time we begin to change the media’s perception of us – the perception that we would much rather find out what Paris Hilton didn’t wear today, than how the people of China and Myanmar are faring a year on from their respective calamities.

Below are the lyrics to a new song

Little left to say

Was it just a year ago
Our world was stilled
Tried to get my head around
Flick the channels
Who’s been lost and who’s been found
100,000 people killed

Myanmar
I don’t know what to say
What to do
Don’t know how to pray for you

Was it just a year ago
We cried again
Try to get my heart to feel
Flick the channels
Somehow seems unreal
A city gone, people dying in the rain

China
I just don’t know what to say
What to do
Don’t know how to pray for you

Is it just me asking why
The camera has so much to say
Just after all the children die
But even tragedies are now passe
The fourth estate packs up its bags
And goes away

Zimbabwe
don’t know what to say
What to do
Don’t know how to pray for you

Is it just me asking why
The press will stop for one whole day
Or maybe five
To weep and give and want to know
But then there’s little left to say
And we’re all dying to find out what Paris Hilton wore today.

CNN I don’t know what to say
What to do
Don’t know how to pray for you