“North and South” chronicles the journey of the heroine, Margaret Hale, as she moves from the gentile South to the smog-filled Industrial North. There, she encounters a disparity she has not yet been accustomed to: that of the working class poor and the affluent merchants. The divide between the two extremes have not yet been bridged by a rising middle-class.

As the movie progressess, the modern phenomena of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer is poignantly portrayed through the unsuccessful strikes leading to the demise of not only the working class proponents of the strike but also a manufacturer as others, mainly the merchants, maximized their income through speculation. Despite the abject poverty in the heart of the city, the affluent walk on by without a flinch. The level of acceptance shown by the elite of the wretched conditions afflicting the great majority of the citizens in Milton is deeply unsettling.

As I watch the movie, for probably the fourth time, I am struck by the thought that in our times, with all its advances and economic superiority, there still exists the working-class poor and the homeless. In our Washington DC suburbs area, considered one of the most affluent in the nation, we are still confronted by this disparity, though probably not as stark. Or perhaps its invisibility is not because of location or frequency of encounter but because of our own shielding of such sights, our own censureship of the harsh realities around us. Or have we become accustomed and when we go out we only see a blended, blurred image of our surroundings?

Loudoun County, VA is well known for its comfortable homes set against acres of land, rising strong and mighty amidst rolling hills. New developments are emerging everywhere as commuters to the city seek out the outlying suburbs for their rest and relaxation for a more modest price than the numbers attached to the homes near and around DC. But yet, in the middle of all this affluence, lies Willisville. Founded right after the Civil War, when a former slave bought a cabin on three acres for just a hundred dollars, Willisville is a small quaint neighborhood full of proud people. Their pride, though honorable as it is, comes at a price. Willisville has not changed much since its founding in the late 19th century. Outhouses, chamber pots, and slop buckets are still common as many of the homes there do not have indoor plumbing.

The article in the Washington Post was from 2006, whether progress has been made or not to Willisville I do not know. But I hope there is as the according to the article, despite its wretched conditions, no contractors will take up the bid to help the residents of Willisville as they do not think it profitable considering the limited means of the homeowners there and the poor quality of the land they are on.

Upon reading the article, I wonder if the affluent residents near Willisville know of its existence, if they care, or if they do care are they only thinking about the worth of their property at being near such a place and not the plight of a fellow citizen?

I recall a few Saturdays back, where I was awaiting my ride home in front of the Starbucks next door to my work. The location was prime, right on the corner of two busy intersections, and as it was a nice Saturday afternoon, many people were out and about especially hitting up Starbucks for their day’s Starbucks’ fix. Everything was of the usual, nothing was out of the ordinary, until a gentleman of about 40-50 comes into our midst. He was called the “crazy guy”, whenever he would walk by the office, most everyone would comment, “well here comes the crazy guy”. He has yelled at random people for seemingly no reason at all. Though his antics and disheveled look are out of place with his surroundings, people do not pay him any mind. He comes and goes pretty much unnoticed. Unnoticed that is, until that one Saturday. I too paid him no mind accept the occassional glance, partially out of fear that he’d lash out at me too and partially out of respect for individuality we have all been accustomed to: what I do is my business, do not intrude.

He looked this way and that, mouth moving as if he was muttering something to himself, he stopped in front of the trash compartment. He glanced up and then started rummaging through the piles of garbage people have carelessly, or carefully, laid in there. I could not help but watch. Though I know that many have rummaged through garbage before, either out of necessity for their situation (as in the case of the homeless or garbage collectors) or out of whim (as in the case of these extreme recyclers), I, in all honesty, have not witnessed garbage rummaging in person before. I have only seen it through still or moving images, in magazines or the television screen. To see this man bend over the garbage pail, then remove a few small water bottles, inspecting its contents, and then drinking out of these bottles for his afternoon sustenance is a haunting and provocative sight. I began to wonder what are the thoughts of the other people around me at this sight, how can they be at ease at the sight of extreme want and difficulties?

From my window at work I can see the streets of Montgomery County teeming with cars, many of them luxury. In a stoplight right across from my window, there stands Mr. C (I recall his last name starts with C). He has been at that post for a while, possibly even more than the 4 years I have seen him from that window. Lately, he has been bowing, waving, and even saluting at the cars who have stopped at the red light. Instead of just standing there looking grim, he has made it fun for himself, smiling at all the cars who pass him, tipping his hat to show gratitude, even if they didn’t give him anything. Little does he know that the very people he is smiling and waving at are looking scornfully at him, questioning the genuineness of his very existence, “He might not be really in need, just doing this for extra money…”

A former colleague told me of a news story done on street corner beggars, and how a few walk away into polished cars, going home to warm houses. This, he concludes, is why we should not give so easily as we do not know the actual conditions of the supposedly deprived, “I mean, they could be lying to us and taking advantage of our kindness.”

Though this may have truth in it for some circumstances, are we then to embrace a contemptuous perception of the world of the impoverished? Is this why we can walk by a scene such as the one witnessed by myself on that one Saturday afternoon completely unfazed and unmoved?

It is normal, they did it to themselves, there is nothing we can do, they won’t accept it (as in the mother in the movie), they’re just going to go crazy on us anyway.

We who could give so much close our eyes or view with scorn at those in need and dispose of our money on things we will just throw away carelessly. We limit ourselves to the amount of charities we will donate to, and cannot even donate a mere dollar (or extra dollar) to a charity that has dedicated itself to aiding babies in need. We think of our own “charities” first, of ways to nourish our own feelings of want despite our reality of living in privilege.

We complain of not having enough money for anything when we are asked to be charitable but have we really looked at our expenses with an unbiased eye? That fifty dollar meal, that twenty dollar shirt, that four dollars Starbucks all add up to a budget littered with “trash”:

The meal is flushed down the toilet.

The shirt still hangs on our closet, untouched.

That Starbucks thrown in the trash half-full.

We are a wasteful society. We discard without care, throw away without a flinch, but yet still complain about not having enough, needing more, or when we don’t get our way.

“F-ck, now how am I going to get my Starbucks now?!” yelled a Mercedes driving Starbucks customer after a visit to Starbucks on the hour it was closed for the night. Many more like him are angry and pertrubed at their inability to spend their money on a frappucino. The next day, they go on a coffee binge. But when confronted with someone who needs their help, their purses and wallets are shut tight, their eyes condescend, and they scorn those who have the audacity to ask of them to give to another who is in need.

Disparities will continue to exist, this I acknowledge, but our perceptions of them do have the ability to change and must change. Life is not a blurred mess we should drag ourselves through, but a scene to be experienced with all its distinctiveness and intricacies. To be willfully blind to all that goes on around us, shortchanges everyone.

It is very disheartening that we who have leisure to go abouts the world without want perceive the world in need with contempt and suspicion or complete blindness, while he who has little continues to smile and bow at the world that gives him but pennies on the dollar.