Liberal Guilt

So, I happen to live in a part of town where it is a regular occurence for me to be asked for money by strangers. Now, I lived in Boston for a time so I became seasoned to it. The truly homeless were my neighbors--I recognized them and they were glad to have the warm meals we sometimes brought out from my old boyfriends' fraternity house. But I am talking about the group of n'er-do-wells that hang out in strategic locations all the time with nothing visibly wrong with them--they're not handicapped or physically disabled, they don't have schitzophrenia or other noticeable mental health problems like my neighbors in Boston did. In fact, they pretty much resemble the Deadheads who sell crystal necklaces. Minus any efforts toward capitalism. They just hang out there, day after day with their buddies, drinking liquids out of paper bags, smoking, and holding up cardboard signs declaring their tragic hardship. I've become a bit cynical about them.

I was driving down the road the other day, and had the misfortune to be stopped at the red light at their intersection of choice. Due to the fact that I drive an older-model vehicle and it wasn't viciously hot outside, my windows were down, and one of the regulars hollered at me for some money since he and his friends, apparently out-of-towners, were stuck here until they could get gas money to go home.

Give me a freakin' break. Hello, guys? I live here, like, right next door? I see you every damn day. You are not "stuck here" on some road trip from St. Jo or some shit like that. Let's see you be honest and say, "hey, bitch, give me some change so I can go score a forty." Then, I might, maybe, consider giving you some change.

Well, he hollered in my window and I responded with my well-worn, practiced response of "sorry, man, all I have is my debit card." The invention of plastic was the best thing in the world for people wanting a non-confrontational excuse for panhandlers. Usually this response is 100% true for me, but on this particular day it was a lie, as I happened to have $5.00 in my purse. Dissatisfied with my response, the gentleman in question actually said, "well, why don't you come down to the ATM with us, and then you could get some cash out."

I looked out the window at him with a look of shocked disbelief on my face until honking brought me out of my reverie. The light had turned green. Furious and affronted, I drove off, thinking the usual litany of thoughts one thinks in this situation. "I work hard, forty hours a week. I barely make ends meet as it is. I drive a '91 Mercury for heck's sake. When i was in Atlanta, I was hungry at times--I worked three part-time jobs to keep a roof over my head. And I never sat out on the corner asking for change." blah, blah, blah. The man's nerve and gall had really started me on a conservative rant about the laziness of "those people."

I should mention at this point where I was headed: the local Wild Oats grocery store. Not exactly the budget option in my neighborhood. Well-frequented by liberals, it's staked out (literally) by a contingency of local homeless men who approach shoppers in the parking lot for spare change or bills. In my infuriated state of righteous indignation, I pulled into the spot closest to the store, hoping to avoid interaction. Unfortunately, right at the bottom of the stairs was a man (with his arm in a cast) who, after wishing me a pleasant and blessed day, moved in for the kill, asking if I had change to spare for bus fare. I gave my standard response.

Once in the air-conditioned interior of the store, I browsed the organic produce, the Fair Trade chocolates and coffees, and bought my usual supply of soy milk. Thinking about the wholesome dinner I was planning for my boyfriend, I started to feel a bit. . .guilty? Buying a container of my favorite juice from the refridgerated case, I picked up an orange juice for the man outside. After all, how can he work with a broken arm? Paying with my debit card, I slid the $5 bill just under the plastic label of the juice. On my way back to the car, I slipped him the OJ, saying, "sir, would you like a cool drink?" I dashed back to my car, but before I got the lock undone, he was already hollering his thanks across the parking lot, which somehow made me feel more ashamed and guilty. It's as if I wanted to prove that I was a good person, and his thanks, however well-meaning, reflected my own worst desires--to be recognized as upstanding and righteous rather than just helping a suffering human. Red-faced and ashamed, I made my way home.

Pulling into my parking spot on the street in front of my house, I witnessed a familiar neighborhood figure. A man who I often see on foot around the corner by the gas station approached a car directly in front of mine, which had a single occupant and was sitting with the engine running. He leaned in the window and they chatted for a moment. I stopped my engine and made a big production out of taking forever to gather my bags. The two men continued glancing at me as I wrote down the car's license plate number. . .I will be damned if I let deals go down IN FRONT of my house! Confirming my worst suspicions, the man on foot gestured around the corner to the guy in the car, who promptly drove off in that direction. The man on foot, my neighbor, in fact, casually called out "hey, how's it goin'?" as I got out of my car, glowering at him. I have since seen him passing an envelope to our ice cream man (no friggin' joke, ok?) and the man in the ice cream van passing him a plastic taco bell bag. Sure, maybe his friend the ice cream man had bought him the burrito special for lunch but give me a break.

What exactly is my point? Well, for one thing, when should you give panhandlers money or assistance? Never? Only in certain circumstances? What should motivate it and how should one do it? I do believe it is a sin, of sorts, to ignore the suffering of fellow human beings and not try to alleviate it, but how do you do so without contributing to social ills? How do I know that the man with the broken arm didn't fall down the stairs after smoking whatever it is my friendly neighbor is dealing? And how can I get him to stop dealing it? There are a lot of kids in my neighborhood--young men I don't want to see caught up in all of that. I know it's out there, but he doesn't need to be doing it at their bus stop. I want to know that the young men I pay to mow my lawn aren't going to get suckered out of their money (which they save to buy cool shoes for school, new basketballs) by some smooth-talking hustler who does NOT have their future in mind AT ALL! And how can I get this guy to stop dealing on my corner! I can't prove anything, I don't know his name or where, exactly, he lives, just that it must be close because I see him EVERY DAY.