28/3/2008

The Mouthpiece

Charity calling

WHETHER right or wrong, capitalism is often viewed as an economic system that brings huge wealth to a minority but keeps a majority in terrible poverty.

Charities, on the other hand, are perceived as angelically pure organisations that act solely to forward the interests of the destitute, the ill, the voiceless, and so on.

The moral grounding of each of these can seem completely at odds, which is why it always comes as a surprise that some charitable organisations can be the most ruthlessly money-grabbing of bodies.

And they have a wonderfully powerful and persuasive commodity that is awesome at extracting capital from our generally well-meaning society. Guilt.

At least two members of my family told me they were reduced to tears while watching the BBC’s Sport Relief evening a couple of weeks ago.

Both, pulled by their gut wrenching shame of living in relative comfort compared to Aids victims in Lesotho, immediately logged on to donate their money.

Of course there is nothing wrong with highlighting the traumas of our poorer human cousins to encourage us to donate a few pounds.

However, I think it goes a step too far when the appeals, and the guilt trips, become personal.

My worst experience with charities came a few weeks back when I was called by the child abuse prevention organisation, the NSPCC.

Without meaning to blow my own trumpet, each month I hand them £5. I had been persuaded by images of crying children on my TV screen while I enjoyed a cosy-enough existence.

Anyway, I received almost a call a day from an agency acting on behalf of the charity. Each time they called, I was at work. One evening, they collared me.

(What follows is not a word-for-word transcript, but an idea of what was said).

Them: “Mr Parker, we notice you give £5 a month to the NSPCC. Do you fancy handing over £5 a month more?”

Me: “I would love to, but I cannot.”

Them: “The NSPCC has recently bailed out Childline and needs more money to keep this vital resource open. Do you fancy handing over an extra £4 a month?”

Me: “Again, I would love to, but I can’t afford it.”

Them: “Our Childline is desperately understaffed so we need to hire and train more volunteers. We feel we could be missing the calls of dozens of children. Do you fancy giving £3 extra a month?”

Me: “Sir, please.”

Them: “It is thought that it takes a great effort to make that first call to Childline. If some children call and cannot get through on their first attempt, they may not call again, and their problem is left unheard. Can we convince you to give an extra £2 a month?”

Basically they were telling me that they wanted more of my money or another child’s abuse would go unheard.

At this point I told them to clear off. Holding me to ransom using child cruelty was something I was not prepared to tolerate, and I seriously considered ending my £5 a month donation.

I have not. But should they call again with their manipulative tactics, I may do so.

Read more of Colin's blogs here.

First printed in: Surrey Advertiser Online