The Internet is filled with post-Covid bucket lists. Lockdown has only enhanced wanderlust it would seem, as people muse about the places they are going to explore, whether it is vacation spots or simply parties and concerts and sporting events. Much of this is premised on economic capability, of course, and leaves out many citizens of the world for whom long term hardship is in store.

If dreams, as Freud tells us, are the “royal road to the unconscious,” then many of us dream of escape, of heading for more temperate climes or foreign adventures. But for those left behind who cannot just exit their small living spaces and depleted bank accounts, the fantasized future looks very different. Enough food to eat. Not being evicted from my small apartment. Clothing for my kids. A safe return to schools. A violence free home. Belief in any kind of future.

Has the pandemic altered our view of those less fortunate? Years ago, I put the following question to my students: “Should there be a system where we force people to give charity and make them feel guilty if they do not?

This question, in somewhat modified form, was the opening to Professor Peter Singer’s book, The Life You Can Save. In his vignette, someone on the way to work in the morning passes a very young child who has managed to fall into a very shallow pond. No parents are around, and if you do not walk in and save the child—but ruin your new shoes and be late for work in the process—the toddler will drown. What do you do?

Easy choice it would appear. Only a heartless monster would watch a child die in order to save a pair of Pradas or even those nice Cole Hahns. At this point, Singer turns the tables and connects this seemingly obvious decision to global poverty, citing UNICEF statistics that nearly 10 million children under five years old die each year from poverty related causes. Then he swings the hammer at us:

“Now think about your own situation. By donating a relatively small amount of money, you could save a child’s life. Maybe it takes more than the amount needed to buy a pair of shoes- but we all spend our money on things we don’t really need, whether on drinks, meals out, clothing, movies, concerts, vacations, new cars, or house renovation. Is it possible that by choosing to spend your money on such things rather than contributing to an aid agency, you are leaving a child to die, a child you could have saved?”

I presented this dilemma to my students. If you don’t help here, I wonder, are you less of a good person? Daniel [all names have been changed] is unimpressed, to say the least, and I am a bit surprised, and intrigued, by his vehemence.

“I think that if Singer wants to give his money away, good for him. But there are so many poor people out there and you can’t save them all,” says Daniel. “Eventually I won’t have enough for myself.”

“Enough for yourself?!” says Rebecca angrily. “Come on, everyone here could give something. That’s ridiculous. Enough for yourself?!”

Daniel is undaunted. “When I save the girl in the pond, I can 100% see that I’ve saved her. If I give money to a charity, I don’t always know where it’s going, I don’t even know who receives it. It’s not the same.”

“So what you are really saying,” I interject, “and I am not judging you, is let them die.”

“Dr. Malamet, I’m sorry,” says Jonah, “but it just doesn’t feel the same when it is someone so far away and you can’t see them. And if I save that child, then what about all of the other ones?”

Though Rebecca may think of Daniel and Jonah as heartless, they are not alone in seeing the whole problem as hopelessly overwhelming. “We are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable…” gently chided the British novelist, E. M. Forster, in Howard’s End. But despite Forster’s irony, the truth is that the problem of mass poverty, of seemingly endless and virtually unliveable conditions on a grand scale, has a paralyzing effect. Too many people, too many problems to overcome, the mind freezes. Where to start? Does it ever finish?

“So you shouldn’t do anything at all?” I ask. “Isn’t that taking it to an extreme so that in the end, no one gets any help? Like if I can’t save them all I won’t even save one?”

“You’re right” Jonah says, “but it just feels totally different. And anyway, this is about forcing me to give charity. It’s like not my choice anymore. I should have the choice to do what I want.”

“But if your choice is not to help, then basically it’s like stating, if only by default, we should let them die.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t want them to die.”

“But you’ll let them.”

“Hey, how is this all on me?” he asks, grinning and yet bewildered by how the world’s mess suddenly got dumped on him on a sunny Tuesday morning. “Look if you could prove it, like show me that my money is going to buy food and they will end up eating it, and it saves their life, so maybe –“

“Maybe you would feel differently?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, I hear. But until then, until I bring you the documentation you require…we let them die.”

He is, understandably, just a bit annoyed with me, and irritated at my repetition of that three-word phrase. What did I do? Why is this man accusing me of something akin to murder? I’m obviously not a murderer…

“I am not killing them,” Jonah says.

“I didn’t say you were. But Singer is saying that you, and I, are not prepared to prevent their deaths.”

“NO, that’s not what I mean. I can’t stop them from–I mean one, maybe, sure–but there’s millions of them!” We are all quiet for a moment.

“I don’t see the big deal of giving up a few bucks so that kids can eat,” says Eric.

“So would you volunteer some of your money to do this?” I ask.

“Well I wouldn’t have thought of it, if that’s what you mean.”

“But now that I’ve raised it, will you give away some of your money?”

“I don’t have a lot of money.”

“Ok. How about using just a bit of it?” I can see that he had intended whatever funds he has for other purposes. True for most of us. I can’t say that I have ever sat down with my paycheque in some deliberate and consistent way at the end of every month and said, ok, this is for the mortgage, this is for the phone company, and this is for the Third World kids. So it is a little bit absurd that I am bugging them about stuff I don’t do either.

“I don’t understand,” says Lisa, “isn’t that why we pay taxes?”

“But will our taxes solve their problems in Africa?” I ask.

“Will my three bucks solve their problems?” asks Daniel, and then, with a bit of edge in his voice, he adds, “people need to help themselves. I get it, it’s not a big deal to give them three bucks a year. But am I helping them, like really, or just making myself feel like a good guy?” He is still carrying Rebecca’s rebuke.

“Why is this even a discussion?” says Eric. “Give them the three bucks. What’s the big deal?”

“I know this sounds awful,” says Ryan, “but why should I be expected to support people. Like it’s nice if I do, but your question talked about feeling guilty. Why should I feel guilty?

“Because you were born with a lot more than they were,” says Taylor.

“How do I know that’s true? Maybe they just … made bad choices and so they’re on the street.”

“How do I know he won’t just spend it on drugs or something?” says Emma.

“Emma, what if we give people charity and they misuse it. Does that mean we made a bad decision to give it in the first place?”

“No,” she says slowly, and stops. She is only half convinced.

“They’re people, ok.” says Sophie. Sophie is typing as she talks. I am not sure if she is taking notes of this discussion or doing something else completely on her computer. Perhaps she can manage the poverty question at the same time as various other tasks. “Like, think about homeless people. They sleep on the street. They don’t have a job or even a family. Or a car. Or… money. How would you like to be on the street with no one to help you?”

“I would never let it get that far,” says Ryan.

“How do you know what happened to this guy?” Sophie says. “Stuff happens.”

The bell rings. Saving the world would be put on hold for 24 hours.

I think now of the Sophies and Daniels, Rebeccas and Jonahs, and the world which we have bequeathed them. How will they look at poverty and want in the next few years? Will they look out for #1, or scan the far horizon of inequality with a longing for justice? We can vaccinate people against corona, but it may be that moral weariness and hardwired self-interest are the hardest viruses of all to contain. Here’s hoping we put universal compassion and charity near the top of our list of post-Covid dreams.