Block that kind heart!

Guest blogger: Grouchy Dad

On one track, my wife and daughter listen to their generous natures; on another, Grouchy Dad reads economists arguing about the historical roots of Haitian poverty, the best near-term measures for relief and the long-term keys to development in the Western Hemisphere's poorest nations.

The tracks intersect this morning when I see the eldest daughter carrying a torso-sized package of toilet paper off to school for a Haitian relief drive. Along with toothpaste. Both items were specifically requested by the organizers of the drive. (And, to her credit, granola bars, which at least are a relatively compact form in which to transfer calories to a suffering population.)

Absent any information on the organizers of the Haitian-relief drive, the most charitable speculation I can manage is that one or more church groups in northeast Indiana, where Haiti is a frequent mission destination, are extending their experience with the usual poverty-stricken misery of Haiti into these most unusual circumstances.

"Apocalyptic" is about right to describe what's going on there now. U.S. troops can’t hand out enough prepackaged meals and bottled water to satisfy demand. Tens of thousands of Haitians are waiting for a ship that might take them to a less-devastated part of the island. Because there aren’t even enough tents available, homeless Haitians live beneath bedsheets suspended over their heads. The aftershock moved some hospitals to evacuate their injured patients into the open air. Even before the aftershock, hospitals didn’t have fuel for generators, oxygen -- not even morphine to take the edge off the agony of people whose limbs were crushed by falling buildings.

Given such appalling conditions, people who round up toilet paper and toothpaste for the disaster don’t seem to know what they’re doing. Tidily wiped butts and virtuous regimens of oral hygiene fall far behind water, food, shelter and basic medical supplies in Haitian priorities today. The generosity that moves people to collect toothpaste for a population in barely imaginable crisis is like the generosity of relatives who’ve given me countless sweaters I don’t wear and ties that gather dust: well-intentioned but wasteful.

Deciding how a small contribution for the benefit of Haitians can have the best effect requires some research. “Good Intentions are not Enough” is a good place to start.