In one of my attempts at a college education a short story or short novel was mandatory, maybe the author was Shirley Jackson, can’t really remember; it was a simple story that had a large impact on my view of the world and morality.

The story was this: A stranger happens upon a charitable family with a failing farm. A seemingly simple man, he works for food, he works hard, he introduces them to cheese-making, he shows them the way to prosperity. He is gentle and saves the family without asking for anything in return. The man becomes a savior.

Another stranger comes to the farm and claims the stranger is wanted, he is a killer, that they are in fact in danger from this man who is guilty of absolute sin. The facts of the case are blurred, he may have a good reason to kill or not. The farmer knows the loss of this man may jeopardize his family, his livelihood, his way of life. The farmer’s decision in saving his family is difficult to swallow but it brings to the forefront an idea supported in law and bible and philosophy worldwide, an idea of the sinful, of the unspeakable being justified.

A confession: I am a criminal. As a child growing up poor in a wealthy city, surrounded by functioning families who could feed and clothe their children, my single mother could not. Single rooms with up the stairs and down the hall shared bathrooms with electric and heat often cut off and dinner consisting of toast with evaporated milk mixed with water and sugar or lentils with spaghetti or Wheaties with tea. Unlike Lincoln I read by candlelight in a huge apartment building. Desperation led to stealing hamburger from the supermarket, learning to stuff rice in my pockets and snatching candy bars. My mother and I went door to door for the march of dimes and gave nothing to the charity.

At Catholic school my mother could not afford I felt the guilt and came to a simple conclusion: I will not starve and care little for laws that would keep me from surviving. I would lie to my mother about where the food came from, claim a small job or luck or charity. Bit by bit a disintegration of moral truth and character and faith in the world. And a world view that makes me feel closer to the Ghetto struggles than my lawyer neighbors and rich friends.

The desperate will do desperate things, it is not about morals, it is simple survival something we, in our now secure social safety nets have little understanding.

Looting?

Can we be that far from understanding our own natures? Or even our own short history.