I couldn't help but be struck on a recent re reading of Nelson Mandela's autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, by the analogy he used to describe his condition when confronted with the death of his father.

He described himself as a sapling, uprooted in a thunderstorm and left to drift downstream without direction. It is an extremely emotive and compelling metaphor which seeks and, I think, succeeds, in recreating the drama of his early existence. And it is a metaphor which holds the echo of helplessness, of hopelessness, for all those who face similar situations.

In reading his story, I was reminded of others' experiences and the multiple crises of their situations; the stories unravelling for those many people faced with famine, civil disturbance and internecine strife, with displacement. In the past few months, for example, the media have devoted much space to reportage on the circumstances of the Rwandan refugees in eastern Zaire.

Indeed, I read only last week that the Canadian government, originally the arbiter of international aid, considered this particular crisis at an end I hope that its reading of the situation is true that the momentum of displacement has truly been stopped. And while I have little doubt but that the situation on the ground remains critical, there is something about the sudden movement of up to 400,000 refugees going home that, in defying logic and confounding logistics, is uplifting. It is the stuff that epics are made of hardship, resilience and ultimate triumph.

But not all stories end in triumph. What of those whose lives do not, perhaps, have the eloquence and clarity of Mandela but who, nonetheless, experience and share the sense of disassociation that once was his? How can they contribute to a society from which they feel alienated and marginalised, and in which they feel ill at ease? The President, Mrs Robinson has often spoken of the Diaspora abroad. But what of those who are dispersed within the boundaries of this State, who move ever restlessly seeking shelter, work or welfare? What of those whose names are synonymous with the dispossessed - our homeless, our travellers, our refugees?

Michael MacGreil SJ, in his latest study on Irish society, Prejudice in Ireland Revisited, suggests that while role models such as Mandela have had a positive influence on our attitudes to certain minority groupings, our prejudices are hardening. He describes our attitude to members of the travelling community as being a good example of this. Of those Irish people interviewed as part of his research, three quarters admitted a reluctance to buying a house next door to a traveller, while ones in 10 suggested denying them citizenship. How can such attitudes be in keeping with the democracy in which we live?

Why is it that, over and over, we find that the principles of equality enshrined in our Constitution are not in keeping with the practices of our society?

Nell Joyce was a traveller. She had tried to settle, had tried to accommodate her way of life to our notion of acceptability. But in the end our lack of acceptance left her dead in a car park in the inner city of Dublin last June, wrapped up as best she could against the sudden cold of a cloudless summer night. Her situation was not, is not, unusual. We perpetuate the myth that we live in a country of equal opportunity but, according to a report released last June, only one traveller out of 20 will reach his or her 50th birthday.

It's a bleak picture to paint at this time of year, I know. But it is at this particular time of year that people ask me what can be done to stem the tide of social despair. Sometimes I find it hard to find an answer. There are so many voluntary organisations out there trying to make a difference, all of whom could do with being better resourced, and yet the problems become ever more insurmountable.

On one Christmas past, Sara was forced to wander the Phoenix Park, with her children, because she was temporarily out of home, between addresses, resident in a hostel, with nowhere to go, no one to see, and no family to share greetings with on Christmas Day. And there are many other people, in similar situations, eking out an existence in the bright Christmas lights of our big cities who will fare no better this year.

Like others I have wondered what the present, let alone the future, holds for that young man in distress, barefoot and rocking back and forward on O'Connell Bridge in Dublin. What has brought him there? Though, at the end of the day, does that really matter?

What is important is the fundamental attitude of our society to allow such distress to continue. Why is it that, during 1996, the number of young people homeless and known to the emergency services of the Eastern Health Board increased by over 150 per cent on last year? Why is it that those of us working with homeless people know children as young as 12 living on our streets?

So when you are approached while doing your Christmas shopping, by a woman in black, of foreign origin, appealing for help, not for herself but for her three children, do give whatever gift you can. But then don't turn away duty done. Look her in the eye and take some time out to ask about her children, about their lives, about her story.

And when you feel overwhelmed this Christmas by the begging letters, by the barrage of collection boxes thrust under your nose, think of the people whose problems they will be helping to solve and give generously.

But please don't turn off, then, either. For when the hustle and bustle, and the glitz and glamour, of Christmas present is over, the people and the problems will still remain. That will be the time to look into the wider society, to scrutinise its values, to campaign for change.a

So ask me again what can be done to stem the tide of social despair and I will say ask not only when stirred to action by the season of goodwill, but also in the weeks and months beyond.

Don't allow a glut of generosity now to family and friends preclude you from future action. Don't leave it to others to seek to redress the imbalance that is part and parcel of this society of ours, the "them and us" scenario. And when, in defining "them", you wonder about whom I speak, I will refer you to no better definitive than the words of William Blake: "Oh why was I bomb with a different face/ Why was I not born like the rest of my race/ When I look each one starts/ When I speak I offend/ Then I'm silent, and passive and lose every friend".