Are you satisfied?

There’s a small box of rivets sitting in the pickup shelves at work.

The  order for the rivets arrived by mail with a cheque stapled to the form. The selected method of communication was unusual, but otherwise there was nothing to question. The value of the goods however was so low that shipping on our courier service would have effectively doubled the cost of the transaction. I explained this to the customer by phone, and was assured that someone would drop by and collect.

That box of rivets has waited nearly a year to be collected. And it’s unlikely now that it ever will be: the cheque was banked, and – so far, anyhow – the payer has raised no query. The goods have been paid for and forgotten.  Follow-up calls and faxes have failed to provoke action.

The customer is a prominent Perth charity, and every time I see that box of rivets I wonder how many of these financial free kicks have been passed to the charity’s  suppliers. I thought of it again when I found this article in the Australian last month. Given the numbers quoted, Australians can hardly be described as stingy when asked to open our wallets. But the suspicion is growing stronger that we the donors are being dudded.

To donate is to deprive oneself in a small way so that others might benefit. Every taxpaying citizen donates indirectly, and the sums involved are sizable. Social security and welfare accounts for the largest single share in the 2009-10 Federal budget. Canberra estimates foreign aid will top AUS$3.5 billion this year. A rather long way from Mother Hubbard and her bone-deficient cupboard. Still, we find it hard to say no when someone shakes a tin at us outside the supermarket. It’s only a couple of coins, and it might just make the difference for some poor hungry homeless soul.

We want to feel that we are doing good of our own choice, and charities understand this very well. They tug at our consciences as they have long done – but while our emotional structures have remained more or less unchanged, many charities have been quietly becoming major enterprises. They have a product to sell us, and that product is hope. Although the hope may be that one day they will lose your address. I’ve grown tired of seeing my donations come back to me through my letterbox as begging letters – I gave to help those who can’t help themselves, not to keep some office supplies firm solvent. And some charities think on a larger scale than mere mailouts. They buy billboard space, or even run ads before the movies at the cinema. Simple rule of thumb: if they can afford to advertise in that style, they don’t need any help from me.

I can’t – I won’t – put dollars in your tin if you all you have to show me are pictures of pain and hardship. Africa has received $2.5 trillion dollars in aid over the last fifty years. Children are still starving and murderous thugs still travel in chauffeur-driven limousines. Charities are trying to play on both sides of the fence. When they take, they’re a major force for good in the world. But when they’re asked to account for what they’ve taken, oh gee, we’re just this humble little band of helpers. Don’t pick on us.

What becomes of the hope you purchase? Is it long-lasting? Would you go back and buy it again from the same people?

Are you satisfied?