I don't give to beggars. It's just one of those things I won't do, like voting NDP or eating raw fish. Okay, I have done both of those once, but to paraphrase Voltaire, if I do it once I'm a philosopher, if I do it twice I'm a pervert. I may indeed be a pervert, but I have more enjoyable perversions than the NDP and sushi.
It isn't easy ignoring beggars, because I do feel for them. I am sure that some of them are quite legitimate, people who have been kicked in the teeth by life and reduced to their present state in the struggle to survive. But how do you separate these from the con artists and careerists? I remember when the famous "shaky lady" was outed by Mike Strobel of the Sun. Some people were offended at his invasion of her privacy. I'm sorry, but when you make a public spectacle of yourself for money, you abandon the right to privacy, as athletes, entertainers and politicians are well aware. I was thankful that I could ignore another panhandler in good conscience.
We don't have much in the way of begging in my neighbourhood, although it comes and goes. We're a little off the mainstream of the city for that. But I work in downtown Toronto, where beggars proliferate. Surprisingly, we only seem to have two working my line of travel between the subway and my office and back. On the street in the morning is a man, probably in his 40s like myself, in a bright yellow waterproof jacket. The first time I saw him, I thought he was a worker who stopped for a smoke break, until his hand darted out. I don't think I've ever heard him ask for money, but the request is certainly understood by all. He must be doing okay, because he has been around for most of the last month or two. He disappeared for a bit, and when he returned I was actually relieved to see that he was okay. I've been staying on the indoor route this week since it's gotten colder, but I think I'll go outside tomorrow morning to check if he's still there.
After work, in the tunnel between my office and the subway is a woman, 50 or so, whose never-changing pitch is "Can you spare some change?" It's said very firmly, with no hint of shame or anxiety. I expect she is a veteran at this, and I don't even look at her. But the man's silence seems to suggest embarrassment at his lot, or maybe he's just a better actor than she is. I can't say I don't appreciate her approach. If you're going to beg, it's far too late to be feeling shame. It's about survival now, and I respect that. But I won't support it.
I'm not hard-hearted. We give to charities, so I at least know that any money I donate is blown is on administration rather than alcohol or drugs. But until someone develops a way to distinguish the legitimately needy from the professionals, the dimes are staying in my pocket.
It isn't easy ignoring beggars, because I do feel for them. I am sure that some of them are quite legitimate, people who have been kicked in the teeth by life and reduced to their present state in the struggle to survive. But how do you separate these from the con artists and careerists? I remember when the famous "shaky lady" was outed by Mike Strobel of the Sun. Some people were offended at his invasion of her privacy. I'm sorry, but when you make a public spectacle of yourself for money, you abandon the right to privacy, as athletes, entertainers and politicians are well aware. I was thankful that I could ignore another panhandler in good conscience.
We don't have much in the way of begging in my neighbourhood, although it comes and goes. We're a little off the mainstream of the city for that. But I work in downtown Toronto, where beggars proliferate. Surprisingly, we only seem to have two working my line of travel between the subway and my office and back. On the street in the morning is a man, probably in his 40s like myself, in a bright yellow waterproof jacket. The first time I saw him, I thought he was a worker who stopped for a smoke break, until his hand darted out. I don't think I've ever heard him ask for money, but the request is certainly understood by all. He must be doing okay, because he has been around for most of the last month or two. He disappeared for a bit, and when he returned I was actually relieved to see that he was okay. I've been staying on the indoor route this week since it's gotten colder, but I think I'll go outside tomorrow morning to check if he's still there.
After work, in the tunnel between my office and the subway is a woman, 50 or so, whose never-changing pitch is "Can you spare some change?" It's said very firmly, with no hint of shame or anxiety. I expect she is a veteran at this, and I don't even look at her. But the man's silence seems to suggest embarrassment at his lot, or maybe he's just a better actor than she is. I can't say I don't appreciate her approach. If you're going to beg, it's far too late to be feeling shame. It's about survival now, and I respect that. But I won't support it.
I'm not hard-hearted. We give to charities, so I at least know that any money I donate is blown is on administration rather than alcohol or drugs. But until someone develops a way to distinguish the legitimately needy from the professionals, the dimes are staying in my pocket.
posted by George @ 7:23 p.m.
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