Tricky, with Ham

My wife Krista and I read the Bible together every morning. My family did it and I assume hers did too. In addition to a refreshing start to the day, it helps me out on those occasional biblically themed crossword hints that pop up once a week or so.
We read a story that I later discussed with a friend. It's a tricky topic, which makes it all the more fulfilling to mull over. Not terribly surprising. My wisened French Canadian grandmother admonished frequently - "Nothing easy is worthwhile."
That might be overstating the point, but I hear you Nanny.
Our conversation had a lot to do with Cain, and later on with Ham, son of Noah. These people were both cursed, and their posterity after them. Ham reportedly fathered both the African and Arab nations, which raises an interesting question:
Could it be that the dearth of agricultural plenty that afflicts much of Africa and the Middle East be a result of one person's decision, thousands of years ago?
Is such a thing feasible? Is it believable? Does it fall under the range of possibility, albeit remote?

To clarify: Everything after this point is conjecture and I claim no belief that any race of people is cursed because of their ancestry. Just to clarify there.

Initially, we are inclined to say no, for obvious reasons. It doesn't seem very loving, or gentle, or kind. Definitely not fatherly. These are key attributes of God, without which religion fails. After all, if God doesn't love us, then what is the motive to return to live with Him? Every person knows that a hovel with loved ones is better than a mansion with your enemies.
Still... there's precedence. If not for this exact sort of behavior, then similarly initially eyebrow-raising God-directed cataclysms.
There are actions which, the Old Testament tells us, warrant punishment for up to three generations.
How does this make sense?
I think the answer lies in what we call terrible.
Assuming the existence of a God who loves us, and that the basic tenets of religion (that there is a life after this one, that we are rewarded for our goodness and punished for our wickedness, etc.) are true, it's obvious many things we think of as terrible aren't all that bad.
Dying? That would be like moving someone from one room to another.
Seperated from loved ones? Ultimately, the time we are separated from loved ones would be like a blink of the eye compared to the time we might spend with them hereafter.
Suffering? Well, okay. Suffering merits further attention.

Suffering seems entirely relative. As a good example, I have a magical phone. I think it's magical. I talk at it's little plastic casing, I tell it where I want to go, and the glass cover lights up with arrows and roads, showing me where I am, and where I should drive. I see things at stores, and I don't know if they're too expensive. I point my phone's camera at it, and it reads the barcode, then in a few seconds, scours the literally trillions of possible websites that might offer me the same product, then gives me a concise readout of what they would charge for it. Oh, I also talk to my friend in the Middle East on it. That's right. Other side of the globe.
What about when I don't have my phone? I suffer. It's hard to not have my phone, and I whine and complain like a big baby until I get it back.
Ten year old me knew no such suffering. The greatest source of suffering for ten year old me? Probably that my parents didn't want to get me pokemon. No surprise I don't suffer from that anymore - pokemon is but one more feature of the magical phone.
My grandmother suffered for not being able to communicate quickly and easily with her family when she moved to my grandfather's province. This suffering has been eliminated in my life.
My great grandparents suffered to grow enough food to last them through the winter. It pains my heart to think of them, but such a concern for modern me is outright laughable. It is winter. I drove through McDonald's on my way to work and picked up a sausage and egg McGriddle. Yum.
It's not an uncommon motif to examine these strange phenomena. Many are the tv shows and movies where a modernite goes back anywhere from 50 to 4000 years and initially suffers without what he considers a commonality, then adjusts, and soon finds his quality of life equal, if not improved, by what he has learned.
That injustices exist is undeniable, but the effect they have on the respective sufferers is an assumption we make even though we are completely incapable of doing so.
How much does a hungry Ethiopian child suffer? I can't say. But I'll have a hunch that he actually suffers less than a person living in poverty here in the United States in a ghetto. Even the poor here in America have much more than many suffering in Africa, but suffering is a comparison we make ourselves rather than an objective state of being.
The starving Ethiopian knows only starvation, as does his family and those around him. It fits the status quo and so, while inconvenient and painful, it does not hinder his ultimate ability to find happiness. The poor ghetto resident often lives in starvation but is surrounded by wealth which is out of his grasp, sometimes only for the time being, sometimes for life.
The physical pain for the hypothetical Ethiopian is undoubtedly greater, an empty stomach hurts, and the emptier it is, the more painful. But in all likelihood, his happiness remains higher than an average white male in America who, though the owner of a house and car, has recently lost his job.
(Someone might interject and say things like 'Then the white man is wrong and should realize how much he has.' This statement only proves the point being elaborated here. We invite the unemployed white man to make a new comparison, and stretch the spectrum of his vision -- but we are still asking him to evaluate his suffering based on comparison.)
Individually, our power to assess the relative suffering of each individual is weak. Suffering is a state of mind.
Hopefully this realization doesn't cause us to be less empathetic to those starving in third world countries, but rather more empathetic to those suffering around us. The $1.50 we donate to a telethon probably, after all, will relieve less human suffering than we could by working on being a better listener, maybe inviting a friend over for dinner, or asking a coworker why they look blue.
After all, just like Adam and I concluded in another conversation on another day: We're not arguing that our feelings aren't ridiculous -- we're arguing that they are still our feelings, and thus, need to be addressed.