How to be poor

Everything is supposed
to be done for the poor; the working man is the finest, the most wonderful
creature. All the power and all the riches of the land belong to him. If he
doubts that, he will be imprisoned or murdered as a traitor to his class. The
factory belongs to him, so he is working for his own benefit and for his fellow
workers. It is all right to strike against a capitalist exploiter but to strike
against oneself — against self-exploitation — is stupid and criminal. And
indeed, it is nonsensical to want more when you have everything. Except that
they have nothing.
    Every system has produced its rich
and poor, its oppressors and oppressed. In every system a tiny minority has had
to persuade the vast majority to accept its lot, to be cheerful and, on top of
that, to love its oppressors. But there are differences.
    1. Under socialism the poor person is
as poor as a church-mouse. Under capitalism he is also as poor as a church-mouse
but church-mice are considerably better off under capitalism.
    2. Under capitalism church-mice are
allowed to squeak. Under socialism they must shut up.
    Occasionally this poor oppressed
creature — who is told that all power belongs to him — is called upon to fight
for the privilege of keeping his chains. That is cruel. If history teaches us
anything, it teaches us that humanity loves changing its chains.

Tempora
Mutantur

     
    At the bar in my club a member remarked,
speaking of an absent fellow-member: “Wretched fellow... He’s so badly off that
— as they say — he can’t call his hair his own.”
    A third member, scratching
unobtrusively the top of his wig remarked: “Nowadays you have to be pretty well
off to be able to call your hair your own.”

The Poverty
of Animals

     
    “Only man is
poor.” I have met this statement
several times during my thorough and indefatigable researches for this tome. It
is enough to compare some poor, hungry, persecuted stray dog being chased from
door to door, with the spoilt pet of some silly lady being shampooed and
manicured twice a week, to see that this statement is untenable. I have also
seen it stated that only man can be a true Christian.
    Both statements are false. What is true is that animals’ poverty is always induced by man while their Christianity
is instinctive. My ginger cat used to be very poor; he is also a good
Christian.
    Five years ago I published the
biography of my then one and only cat, Tsi-Tsa. (The other day I was standing
in front of my house with Tsi-Tsa at my feet when two ladies passed by. They
paid no attention to me, indeed, ignored me studiously. One of them told the
other: “There is Tsi-Tsa.” The other replied: “Don’t be silly. Tsi-Tsa can’t
still be alive.” Well, Tsi-Tsa is very much alive. She is getting a bit of an
elderly lady at the age of thirteen, but — like many other elderly ladies — she
is youthful, beautiful and full of fun.) The book ( Tsi-Tsa , André
Deutsch) is dedicated to three cats, all personal friends of mine. The
dedication runs: “To Harry, an Errol Flynn; to George, an Albert Einstein; and
to Ginger, a saint among cats.” Ginger, who is my second cat now, Used to
belong to a neighbour and was always pathetically hungry. He looked terribly
neglected; his hair was rough and prickly; he was covered with revolting sores;
and he had a begging, hungry look in his eyes. Ginger’s poverty was undoubtedly
man-induced, but his economic situation was undeniably appalling.
    I started giving him breakfast every
morning. As Tsi-Tsa was madly jealous, I fed Ginger outside, on the patio. On
second thoughts, I cannot put all the responsibility on Tsi-Tsa: I did not want two cats. I did not want Ginger to spend too much time in the house.
Then an ugly little kitten — locally known as Beelzebub — I turned up. He was even more miserable and
forlorn than Ginger, unloved, despised and chased by other cats, unwanted by
everyone — except Ginger. Every morning they came to my patio together and
poor, hungry Ginger, willingly — indeed courteously, like a perfect host — encouraged
Beelzebub to share his probably one and only meal. This was the most Christian
deed I have witnessed in the last twenty-five years — not forgetting all the
deeds and utterances of that popular Polish show-biz personality in Rome.
    Poor Ginger eventually became rich
Ginger. Beelzebub joined the BBC (he got a job as a mouse-catcher at the Lime
Grove studios) and, at about the same time,