If you will allow me, I would like to bring your imaginations back to early December, 2004. The ground was hard, the wind biting, and activism was in the air. If you recall, a group of students planted hundreds of diminutive red flags all over the north lawn of Frist to increase campus awareness of AIDS. I admired their zeal then, and still do. The image was powerful, and has not left my memory. Lately, though, I have begun to ask myself, "what about malaria?" Surely some student group or another cares enough about one of humankind's direst foes to place thousands of yellow flags all over Frist's south lawn.
After all, is it not the purpose of humanitarian action to diminish human suffering and death? If so, why is AIDS so often lamented about when malaria — which kills more people daily than starvation, AIDS and war combined — manages to slide by us all? Our failure to worry about malaria is all the more inexcusable because, unlike AIDS, it is curable with existing medications, and research towards a malaria vaccine is making real progress. Nor is malaria the only culprit that decimates us while the politicians and student activists look away. Measles, for which a vaccine already exists, kills half a million people each year, still more people than AIDS and starvation put together, according to the Center for Disease Control. Not to mention infant diarrhea, whooping cough and tetanus.
"AIDS isn't about sex" declared a poster taped near the flags, but maybe it is. Maybe malaria can carry out its vicious genocide against humans without provoking any political furor in the United States because it is borne by bourgeois little insects and not by sex. There is no hint of scandal about malaria, no Jerry Falwell to tell us it represents God's wrath upon homosexuals. As a result, the United States budget for 2005 allots $2.8 billion for AIDS, while a mere $200 million will fight malaria. And no one plants any yellow flags.
I do not doubt the motives of the flag-planters. No doubt they are expressing genuine solidarity with AIDS' suffering victims. Their misplaced ardor, however, demonstrates the real goal of Princeton's many humanitarian organizations. The flags' principle function seems to be adding to our collective guilt. We have been told countless times that as intelligent and privileged humans, we are nothing less than morally obliged to worry about the suffering of those who do not attend Ivy League schools.
While I am opposed to worrying as such, this guilt is not entirely a bad thing. I believe all humans have an obligation to love their neighbors, and it is important Princetonians realize not all slums are built in the Collegiate Gothic style. Moreover, the guilt program is effective in that I suspect Princeton's current students will carry this burden with them after they graduate. Perhaps in the near future Princeton graduates will be known in offices all over the country for their haunted, anxious expressions. "Did you fill out the TPS reports yet?" an unsuspecting Yalie will ask a Princeton-educated colleague, to be met with a sob and disheartening statistics about world poverty. Of course, some undergraduates are immune. Neither the Princeton Justice Project nor Princeton Water Watch can touch the blithe materialism of certain I-bankers-in-training.
All the same, with some notable exceptions — last November's Evening for Darfur, which sent a substantial sum of money to Sudan, comes to mind — most of our on-campus worrying accomplishes nothing. The Biochem major who quietly forsakes a lucrative position researching fat substitutes to study malaria, measles or AIDS has already done more substantive good for humanity than all of our panels and debates have since their inception. It is action that matters, not words, and for the most part, while we are attending lectures and eating in clubs and dining halls, our actions are limited in scope. The least we could do is remember malaria. David Schaengold is a sophomore from Cincinnati, Ohio. He can be reached at dschaeng@princeton.edu.