I first heard the term “first-world problem” from my daughter late last year. (This term actually dates to 1995, according to the Know Your Meme website.) First-world problems are situations that those millions of people less fortunate than ourselves would not view as problems or might even welcome.
Some argue that any problem a well-fed United States citizen may have is, by definition, a first-world problem. But here as everywhere, the problems that a person faces are what defines his or her world. Let me elaborate. Unlike other U.S. citizens, I have never had a problem exercising my right to vote. I have never had to worry about having the “wrong” skin color or sexual orientation. I have never had to live in an area that police abandoned, rife with drug-deals and drive-by shootings. Unlike some 634,000 homeless U.S. citizens, I have never slept under a bridge or visited a food bank.
Unlike thousands of families in a seventeen-square-mile area of Moore, Oklahoma, I have never had my house leveled to the ground and all my personal belongings destroyed.
The United States is a first-world country in name but not in its entirety. While we can be thankful there is not widespread malnutrition and disease within our borders, our nation is not immune from natural tragedy, chronic poverty and the cultural marginalization of significant numbers of its citizens.
Whether a person is born in the so-called first, second or third world is a matter of chance. Whether a family experiences a devastating natural tragedy is also (to a large extent) a matter of chance. There is no justice in chance. The extent to which the more fortunate are obligated to share their resources with those who must face life’s more dire problems is a matter that will never be settled. It is the essential my-brother’s-keeper question.
Jesus (supposedly) said, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter into the kingdom of God.” Jesus had this way of saying things that reminds me of the Constitution of the United States: useful for expressing broad principles but in need of judicious interpretation for everyday living.
A lot of people (including me) have relied on their sense of first-world “guilt” (the state of being undeservedly luckier than others) to guide the style and extent of their outreach to those in greater need. But this attitude is culture-and-upbringing-dependent. Some of the now-fortunate grew up being taught that people get exactly what they deserve — or, more accurately, that people get what they “earn” as gladiators in the coliseum of life. This is in contradistinction to those children brought up to discount their own accomplishments and acknowledge that that they stand on the shoulders of those who went before them, while owing a lot to luck.
At this moment, I’m a first-world person with first-world problems and a first-world blog. This world would change with the bad luck of a bad storm or a bad diagnosis.
I first heard the term “first-world problem” from my daughter late last year. (This term actually dates to 1995, according to the Know Your Meme website.) First-world problems are situations that those millions of people less fortunate than ourselves would not view as problems or might even welcome.
Some argue that any problem a well-fed United States citizen may have is, by definition, a first-world problem. But here as everywhere, the problems that a person faces are what defines his or her world. Let me elaborate. Unlike other U.S. citizens, I have never had a problem exercising my right to vote. I have never had to worry about having the “wrong” skin color or sexual orientation. I have never had to live in an area that police abandoned, rife with drug-deals and drive-by shootings. Unlike some 634,000 homeless U.S. citizens, I have never slept under a bridge or visited a food bank.
Unlike thousands of families in a seventeen-square-mile area of Moore, Oklahoma, I have never had my house leveled to the ground and all my personal belongings destroyed.
The United States is a first-world country in name but not in its entirety. While we can be thankful there is not widespread malnutrition and disease within our borders, our nation is not immune from natural tragedy, chronic poverty and the cultural marginalization of significant numbers of its citizens.
Whether a person is born in the so-called first, second or third world is a matter of chance. Whether a family experiences a devastating natural tragedy is also (to a large extent) a matter of chance. There is no justice in chance. The extent to which the more fortunate are obligated to share their resources with those who must face life’s more dire problems is a matter that will never be settled. It is the essential my-brother’s-keeper question.
Jesus (supposedly) said, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter into the kingdom of God.” Jesus had this way of saying things that reminds me of the Constitution of the United States: useful for expressing broad principles but in need of judicious interpretation for everyday living.
A lot of people (including me) have relied on their sense of first-world “guilt” (the state of being undeservedly luckier than others) to guide the style and extent of their outreach to those in greater need. But this attitude is culture-and-upbringing-dependent. Some of the now-fortunate grew up being taught that people get exactly what they deserve — or, more accurately, that people get what they “earn” as gladiators in the coliseum of life. This is in contradistinction to those children brought up to discount their own accomplishments and acknowledge that that they stand on the shoulders of those who went before them, while owing a lot to luck.
At this moment, I’m a first-world person with first-world problems and a first-world blog. This world would change with the bad luck of a bad storm or a bad diagnosis.