Worried that those who believe poverty in Africa——or anywhere else——can be cured with massive rock concerts by stars whose homes could adequately house all the displaced in Africa; whose tax bill, if paid honestly, could inadequately sate just about any mad dictator, "are not hooted—down with sufficient scorn"?  Do you think "we need more articles, jokes, movies, and other popular culture on the subject" because "Aid without reform is worse than a waste. It is an enabler for tyranny."?
 
Relax.  As usual, clear headed writers and thinkers rescue us from  from the slop of fuzzy brained wailers. Mark Steyn in an article aptly titled "What rocks is capitalism...yeah, yeah, yeah" cleans up the slop by discovering that, what do you know, rock stars can be shrewd businesspeople, not throwing their money around at well, greedy governments and African dictators. They can really be  role models but not in the way most of their  equally fuzzy brained, adoring fans think.

Seven years ago, you'll recall, Sir Paul's wife died of cancer. Linda McCartney had been a resident of the United Kingdom for three decades but her Manhattan tax lawyers, Winthrop Stimson Putnam & Roberts, devoted considerable energy in her final months to establishing her right to have her estate probated in New York state.

That way she could set up a "qualified domestic marital trust" that would... Yeah, yeah, yeah, in the immortal words of Lennon and/or McCartney. Big deal, you say. We're into world peace and saving the planet and feeding Africa. What difference does it make which jurisdiction some squaresville suit files the boring paperwork in?

Okay, I'll cut to the chase. By filing for probate in New York rather than the United Kingdom, Linda McCartney avoided the 40 per cent death duties levied by Her Majesty's Government. That way, her family gets all 100 per cent — and 100 per cent of Linda McCartney's estate isn't to be sneezed at.

For purposes of comparison, Bob Geldof's original Live Aid concert in 1985 raised ｣50 million. Lady McCartney's estate was estimated at around ｣150 million. In other words, had she paid her 40 per cent death duties, the British Treasury would have raised more money than Sir Bob did with Bananarama and all the gang at Wembley Stadium that day.

Given that she'd enjoyed all the blessings of life in these islands since 1968, Gordon Brown might have felt justified in reprising Sir Bob's heartfelt catchphrase at Wembley: "Give us yer fokkin' money!" But she didn't. She kept it for herself. And good for her. I only wish I could afford her lawyers.

I don't presume to know what was in her mind, but perhaps she figured that for the causes she cared about — vegetarianism, animal rights, the usual stuff — her money would do more good if it stayed in private hands rather than getting tossed down the great sucking maw of the Treasury where an extra 60 million quid makes barely a ripple.

And, while one might query whether Sir Paul (with his own fortune of ｣500 million) or young Stella really need an extra 15 million or so apiece, in the end Linda McCartney made a wise decision in concluding that her estate would do more good kept out of Mr Brown's hands, or even re—routed to Africa, where it might just about have defrayed the costs of the deflowering ceremony for the King of Swaziland's latest wife. . . .

The system that enriched them could enrich Africa. But capitalism's the one cause the poseurs never speak up for. The rockers demand we give our fokkin' money to African dictators to manage, while they give their fokkin' money to Winthrop Stimson Putnam & Roberts to manage. Which of those models makes more sense?

You tell them Mark.

Ethel C. Fenig   7 5 05