Misadventures in Blissville

A friend of mine named Kim Biondi – one of the nicest, sweetest, kindest most generous people I’ve ever had violent arguments and debates with on a daily basis had posted a story about a woman who died of breast cancer recently, but before her death, she posthumously published a video and an article – basically her thoughts and feelings about her debilitating condition, about the “pink ribbon” society, and alleged breast cancer “charity” organizations, and it got me thinking about charitable donations, where that money goes, and what is ultimately accomplished.

The woman, Laurie Becklund, a journalist, wrote for The Los Angeles Times, was dying from stage 4 metastized breast cancer. She wrote an op-ed piece before she died, and there’s an interesting little paragraph in here:

Promise me, I told my friends and family, that you’ll never say that I died after “fighting a courageous battle with breast cancer.” This tired, trite line dishonors the dead and the dying by suggesting that we, the victims, are responsible for our deaths or that the fight we were in was ever fair.

Promise me you’ll never wear a pink ribbon in my name or drop a dollar into a bucket that goes to breast cancer “awareness” for “early detection for a cure”: the mantra of fund-raising juggernaut Susan G. Komen, which has propagated a distorted message about breast cancer and how to “cure” it.

This is where most of your donations go – to something, to a beast, to an entity called “Breast Cancer Awareness”. Now, I’m aware of Breast Cancer, are you aware? Well, there you go, see? We save some money there. In fact, I’m pretty sure everybody who lives on my block, possibly in my borough of Queens, everybody in New York City with the exception of very small children are aware of Breast Cancer. See? We saved at least a thousand dollars.