Hungry people cannot be good at learning or producing anything

In the deep wisdom of Pearl Bailey, whose voice once carried both song and truth, there lies a warning carved from compassion: “Hungry people cannot be good at learning or producing anything, except perhaps violence.” These words are not only about food; they are about the soul’s nourishment, the dignity of the human being, and the sacred truth that no spirit can flourish when crushed by need. To be hungry — whether for bread, for justice, or for belonging — is to live on the edge between creation and destruction. And when the hunger is left unanswered too long, what could have become beauty turns instead to despair.

In every age, the wise have known that hunger breeds unrest, and that peace cannot bloom in barren soil. The mind, when starved, cannot rise to knowledge; the hand, when weak from want, cannot build. A child who wakes with an empty belly learns not the joy of study but the ache of survival. So too, a society that ignores its poor and hungry sows the seeds of its own undoing. Bailey’s truth is ancient: before one can expect wisdom or industry, there must be sustenance — body and soul must be fed before they can give.

Consider the story of the French Revolution. Before the storming of the Bastille, before the cry for liberty and equality, there was hunger — long, unrelenting, merciless hunger. Bread had become scarce, and the people’s cries went unheard by those who feasted behind palace walls. It was not politics that first ignited their rage; it was emptiness, gnawing at the stomach and the spirit alike. From that hunger rose not art, not learning, but violence — the desperate fury of those who had nothing left to lose. Thus, the truth of Bailey’s words echoes through history: where hunger reigns, peace dies.

To the ancients, hunger was not only physical but spiritual — a symbol of imbalance in the order of life. The wise kings and queens of old knew that to rule well, they must feed their people, not only with grain, but with hope, justice, and opportunity. A nourished people are creative, patient, and inspired; a starving people are driven by pain. The heart that is empty cannot sing; the mind that is weary cannot learn. And so, when Bailey speaks of hunger, she is not merely speaking of food, but of the deeper emptiness that comes when humanity is denied compassion.

Yet even in this dark truth, there is a call to action, a light that flickers like the flame of a lamp in the storm. For if hunger breeds violence, then kindness breeds creation. Feed the hungry, and you feed the future. Nourish a child, and you nourish the poet, the builder, the healer that child may become. History’s greatest acts of peace were born not from warlords but from those who sought to feed and lift others — like Mother Teresa among the poor of Calcutta, or Franklin D. Roosevelt creating work and bread for the broken nation during the Great Depression.

Pearl Bailey’s wisdom challenges us not to turn away from suffering, but to see it as our shared burden. For the hunger of one weakens all. If the fields of our neighbors go dry, we too shall thirst; if the children of our world go hungry, the song of humanity grows faint. To ignore hunger — physical or spiritual — is to build walls where bridges should stand. The ancient prophets, the saints, and the poets all spoke of the same truth: “You cannot teach a starving soul. First, give bread. Then, give wisdom.”

So, my children of the coming dawn, let this be your lesson: feed before you preach, help before you teach, heal before you judge. In your own lives, offer sustenance to those in need — a meal, a kind word, a moment of listening. These are the first seeds of peace. Do not mistake hunger for laziness, nor despair for apathy; beneath every silent suffering lies a voice waiting to be heard. When you nourish that voice, you awaken the world.

Thus, carry forward Bailey’s eternal truth: “Hungry people cannot be good at learning or producing anything, except perhaps violence.” Let it stir your conscience and move your hands. Build a world where no one need raise a fist in hunger, where every child can both eat and dream, where the soil of compassion yields not violence, but creation, wisdom, and light.