Craig Kielburger Reflects on Working Toward Peace
When
I was very young I dreamed of being Superman, soaring high
above the clouds and swooping down to snatch up all of the
bad people seeking to destroy our planet. I would spend
hours flying across the park, stopping momentarily to kick
a soccer ball in my path or to pat my dog, Muffin, who ran
faithfully at my heels.
One day, when I was twelve years old and getting ready for
school, I reached for the newspaper comics. On the front
page was a picture of another twelve-year-old boy from Pakistan,
with a bright red vest and his fist held high. According
to the article, he had been sold into bondage as a weaver
and forced to work twelve hours a day tying tiny knots to
make carpets. He had lost his freedom to laugh and to play.
He had lost his freedom to go to school. Then, when he was
twelve years old, the same age as me, he was murdered.
I had never heard of child labor and wasn't certain where
Pakistan was-but that day changed my life forever. I gathered
a group of friends to form an organization called Free the
Children.
Over the past four years, in my travels for Free the Children,
I
have had the opportunity to meet many children around the
world-children like Jeffrey, who spends his days in a Manila
garbage dump, alongside rats and maggots, where he sifts
through decaying food and trash, trying to salvage a few
valuable items to help his family survive. He dreams of
leaving the garbage dump one day.
I have met children like eight-year-old Muniannal, in India,
with a pretty ribbon in her hair, but no shoes or gloves,
who squats on the floor every day separating used syringes
gathered from hospitals and the streets for their plastics.
When she pricks herself, she dips her hand into a bucket
of dirty water. She dreams of being a teacher.
I have met children in the sugarcane fields of Brazil who
wield huge machetes close to their small limbs. The cane
they cut sweetens the cereal on our kitchen tables each
morning. They dream of easing the hunger pains in their
stomachs.
Poverty is the biggest killer of children. More than 1.3
billion
people-one-quarter of the world's population-live in absolute
poverty, struggling to survive on less than one dollar a
day. Seventy
percent of them are women and children. I dream of a day
when people learn how to share, so that children do not
have to die.
Every year, the world spends $800 billion on the military,
$400 billion on cigarettes, $160 billion on beer, and $40
billion playing golf. It would only cost an extra $7 billion
a year to put every child in school by the year 2010, giving
them hope for a better life. This is less money than Americans
spend on cosmetics in one year; it is less than Europeans
spend on ice cream.
People say, "We can't end world poverty; it just can't
be done." The 1997 United Nations Development Report
carries a clear message that poverty can be ended, if we
make it our goal. The document states that the world has
the materials and natural resources, the know-how, and the
people to make a poverty-free world a reality in less than
one generation.
Gandhi once said that if there is to be peace in the world
it must begin with children. I have learned my best lessons
from other children-children like the girls I encountered
in India who carried their friend from place to place because
she had no legs-and children like José.
I met José in the streets of San Salvador, Brazil,
where he lived with a group of street children between the
ages of eight and fourteen. José and his friends
showed me the old abandoned bus shelter where they slept
under cardboard boxes. They had to be careful, he said,
because the police might beat or shoot them if they found
their secret hideout. I spent the day playing soccer on
the streets with José and his friends-soccer with
an old plastic bottle they had found in the garbage. They
were too poor to own a real soccer ball.
We had great fun, until one of the children fell on the
bottle and broke it into several pieces, thus ending the
game. It was getting late and time for me to leave. José
knew I was returning to Canada and wanted
to give me a gift to remember him by. But he had nothing-no
home, no food, no toys, no possessions. So he took the shirt
off his back and handed it to me. José didn't stop
to think that he had no other shirt to wear or that he would
be cold that night. He gave me the most precious thing he
owned: the jersey of his favorite soccer team. Of course,
I told José that I could never accept his shirt,
but he insisted. So I removed the plain white T-shirt I
was wearing and gave it to him. Although José's shirt
was dirty and had a few small holes, it was a colorful soccer
shirt and certainly much nicer than mine. José grinned
from ear to ear when
I put it on.
I will never forget José, because he taught me more
about sharing that day than anyone I have ever known. He
may have been a poor street child, but I saw more goodness
in him than all of the world leaders I have ever met. If
more people had the heart of a street child, like José,
and were willing to share, there would be no more poverty
and a lot less suffering in this world.
Sometimes young people find life today too depressing. It
all seems so hopeless. They would rather escape, go dancing
or listen to their favorite music, play video games or hang
out with their friends. They dream of true love, a home
of their own, or having a good time at the next party. At
sixteen, I also like to dance, have fun, and dream for
the future. But I have discovered that it takes more than
material things to find real happiness and meaning in life.
One day I was the guest on a popular television talk show
in Canada. I shared the interview with another young person
involved in cancer research. Several times during the program
this young man, who was twenty years old, told the host
that he was "gifted," as indicated by a test he
had taken in third grade. Turning my way, the host inquired
whether I, too, was gifted. Never having been tested for
the gifted program, I answered that I was not.
When I returned home my mother asked me, "Are you certain
you aren't gifted?" I realized that I had given the
wrong answer. I was gifted, and the more I reflected, the
more I concluded that I had never met a person who was not
special or talented in some way.
Some people are gifted with their hands and can produce
marvelous creations in their capacity as carpenters, artists,
or builders. Others have a kind heart, are compassionate,
understanding, or are special peacemakers; others, again,
are humorous and bring joy into our lives. We have all met
individuals who are gifted in science or sports, have great
organizational skills or a healing touch. And, of course,
some people are very talented at making money. Indeed, even
the most physically or mentally challenged person teaches
all of us about the value and worth of human life.
I think that God, in fact, played a trick on us. He gave
each and every person special talents or gifts, but he made
no one gifted in all areas. Collectively, we have all it
takes to create a just and peaceful world, but we must work
together and share our talents. We all need one another
to find happiness within ourselves and within the world.
I realize, now, that each of us has the power to be Superman
and to help rid the world of its worst evils-poverty, loneliness,
and exploitation. I dream of the day when Jeffrey leaves
the garbage dump, when Muniannal no longer has to separate
used syringes and can go to school, and when all children,
regardless of place of birth or economic circumstance, are
free to be children. I dream of the day when we all have
José's courage to share.
Biography
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