My guiltiest secret: I hate being asked for cash. I feel lousy giving it; I feel lousy not giving it. My mom keeps a few dollar bills ready at all times, in case someone needs them. I think that’s lovely, and I don’t know why I don’t do it too.
Actually, I do know: I’m selfish about my cash, delighted when I have some and keenly aware of the little that’s left when I’m low. I’m stingy—unless tempted to some indulgence with friends—and strangely rigid and moralistic when it comes to panhandling. I don’t like this about myself. I hear all the rationalizations rise up, about how somebody will just buy liquor and how it’s a lousy way to get by and I’d only be perpetuating their dependency … and I know these things are both true and false. True logically, false emotionally—because my real reason is not maternal concern. My real reason is that I guard my cash jealously, and I don’t think strangers should ask me for it.
And yes, I do know that this goes against every major world religion and contradicts everything I believe about how we’re all connected and what we’re called to is empathy and compassion.
Like I said, I’m not proud of it.
Of course, I’m not alone, either: There are ordinances all over the country prohibiting panhandling—including the hard-fought one that brought a strained peace to the notoriously liberal Central West End a while back. And even wise spiritual leaders often say no—albeit for reasons nobler than mine.
“I am not sure that all the people who panhandle are homeless,” The Rev. Kathleen Wilder, pastor of Centenary United Methodist, told me when I was researching this month's story on homelessness. “Some work it. And it really strips away someone’s human dignity for them to have to do it. I typically say no. It perpetuates the cycle.”
For a staff retreat intended to rejuvenate an exhausted staff before they turn jaded, St. Patrick’s Center once brought in comedian Mark Lundholm, who spent years on the streets and is now using that misery as material. “Look at me!” he’ll urge crowds. “Do you really think, looking at me, that I will spend your money more wisely than you can? Giving me money is like giving a machine gun to a monkey!”
Every once in a while, Jay Swoboda, editor and publisher of What’s Up Magazine, which is sold by the homeless to give them income, says yes to panhandlers—like on his birthday, when he gave away the huge sum he’d just won at the races. But he can’t forget the time he gave money to a woman who then died of a drug overdose, so now he gives less directly, by publishing a magazine the homeless can sell to support themselves.
“More than half of the individuals panhandling are doing it so they can go get high,” Swoboda concedes. “The person so motivated they are willing to ask another person for a quarter, especially approaching people in situations where they know they shouldn’t—has an addiction to feed. And this is coming from a guy who hugs homeless people all the time.
“Of course,” he adds, “sometimes it might also be to get a hotel room, or split one with a friend, shower, stay as long as you can, call for a late checkout just the way we would …
“If only we could just avoid all the judgments,” Swoboda blurts. “You leave either feeling empty and weird or deciding that they are just going to use the money for drugs. There has to be a better social structure that allows us to identify people who are in need of help and help them.”
I agree fervently. I’ve been gathering these quotes around me like a blanket, using them to reassure myself that my instinctive “No” is in fact a wisely considered and compassionate choice.
But there’s one difference.
These people are giving in other ways, offering even more help.
I’m just shoring up defenses.
—Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer
