It was in the news recently that Donald Trump talked about redistribution. If I understood the news correctly, that talk was about government sanctioned redistribution of wealth.
I am talking about something else here.
Here is an American situation.
The era is the 21st century. The United States of America is reputed to be the most prosperous nation in the history of humankind.
In this era and in this reputed prosperous country, a countless number of homeless people live.
Several days ago, by a mere chance, I saw an unbelievably large private mansion. It defies the meaning of a shelter for a family.
I have asked myself the following question many times before seeing that mansion: What kind of a soul sleeps with a peace of mind in that giant mansion knowing full well that less than twenty miles away from it, so many people live in the openness of nature as homeless people, day and night on a daily basis.
One can’t help asking if there weren’t enough rooms in the nation for every soul in it if they were redistributed with a human touch.
I am not talking about government sanctioned redistribution of rooms here. I am talking about the souls living in such mansions going out on their own volitions and meeting the souls of their own country who live on the streets as homeless people.
May be I am asking this kind of question because of the tradition in which I grew up about a half century ago in a modest country home in Ethiopia.
There was a big Saturday market in nearby town.
Country folks flock to the market from far away places to sell their produce in the market and buy groceries they don’t produce.
For many of them, the travel takes more than a day, which means that often times, they would need to rest overnight at some country folk’s home.
My family’s modest country home happened to be one of them. The family generally expected guests on Saturdays.
The following kind of simple exchanges (with a rough translation to English in brackets) happen when the guests arrive.
Guests: ወረ መነ ከና (Family of this home)
Family: ኦ (Yes)
Guests: ኑት ዽዬ ኑ ቡልቻ (Dusk is upon us, may we spend the night here)
Family: መን ከን ዋቃ ጎራ ቡላ (The home is Waqa’s, come in and spend the night here)
After this simple exchanges, the country folks are let in, usually along with their caravan of horses, as honored guests.
They are served dinner from what the family had to serve. Children in the house washed the feet of the honored guests before they were provided a place to sleep. I have washed the feet of country folks as honored guests. I don’t know if any of my brothers or sisters hasn’t done it ever while growing up.
The guests left promptly when it dawned.
May be it is the juxtaposition of these quiet different experiences in my mind that make me conflicted in trying to understand what kind of a soul sleeps with a peace of mind in a private giant mansion when other country folks sleep in the openness of nature as homeless people.
It is hard for me to imagine if Donald Trump has ever driven on any street where so many homeless people are so visible and failed to imagine redistributing rooms with a human touch.
It is also hard to understand if he couldn’t ask for at least a virtual tour of this American situation of so many people living in the openness of nature in the 21st century in the most prosperous country over which he has been presiding.
Ever since I unexpectedly came to realize about this American situation, I keep asking myself how it gets to such a point and how much it is difficult to solve such a problem.