LeftExchange

Operation Enduring Homeless

by

Cari Oleskewicz

I was at a dinner party with some friends who happen to be young, attractive, rich, and living in Manhattan, with a summer house in the Hamptons. Before we even hit the main course, they began speaking derivatively of the homeless population. They find the beggars and the street people still left in New York, since the Man of the Year’s quest to rid the streets of anything as unsightly as a person with no home or food, quite disgraceful. While spooning an abundance of hot meat and fresh vegetables into their mouths, they told me a story.

They used to live in an apartment building in Brooklyn, and they used to give a dollar or so per week to one particular homeless man who stood on the corner, with his cardboard sign, asking for food or money or work. Apparently, they expected this dollar per week to change the man’s life and set him on a path of happiness and prosperity, because they became annoyed when the same man was there, day after day, week after week, month after month. They were frustrated with their own guilt. They felt like they had to give him this money, since they had started months ago.

One day, they saw this man sneak out of a window in a neighboring building into the alley. He was wearing clean clothing, his hair was washed, and he carried a backpack. My friends found this outrageous. They followed him the next night, and learned that he actually had an apartment. They continued to follow him and learned he had a job on the other side of the city, in the library.

For my friends, this proved true every suspicious theory they had ever held about the homeless. Obviously, this man was out there robbing good citizens of their loose change and single dollars. Before long, these over-privileged friends of mine had made this homeless man into the worst kind of con-artist imaginable, out to make millions off of their guilt. They almost tried to convince me he was wealthy. They completed their story and looked at me with indignation, waiting for me to voice my outrage, my disgust, my intolerance. Oh, I admit, I was feeling all of those things. But not towards this man I did not know. I helped myself to seconds on the zucchini and nodded, wondering how to disagree with an entire table at once.

So he was lying to make money.

Shocking.

These friends of mine, in their Ralph Lauren pants and their Gucci sunglasses should be congratulating this man rather than condemning him. After all, isn’t it the American way? Isn’t that capitalism at work? Don’t we train people to lie for profit, and then call them successful? What’s wrong with making a dollar off of people who don’t really know what they’re paying for, they just think they have to?

Advertisers lie. Corporations lie. Whole industries lie. Politicians lie. Entire governments have been known to propagate myth in order to remain rich and powerful. We buy it all. And I’m supposed to be outraged because this one guy, who probably makes $8 per hour, moonlights as a homeless beggar? I don’t think so.

There is nothing more appalling to me than when those of us blessed to have a roof over our heads, food to eat, clothes to wear, and one or two extras - like a car or a television or a job - speak ill of those less fortunate. What could possibly validate hatred towards people who have nothing?

Believe it or not, the homeless are not out to change the world and strip the wealthy of their riches. They are not out to rule an empire or become the next Bill Gates. Maybe that’s really why they make us uncomfortable. They’re just not ever going to matter.

The homeless want precious little. They’d like to eat. They’d like medical attention. They’d like to sleep in a warm place at night. Many of them would like to work. Of course, employers aren’t usually impressed by applicants who have neither phone number nor shoes. Over half of the homeless population are mentally ill. A lot of them are children. Many of them are addicted, and rather than reach out to cure them of such addictions, the self-righteous among us use those addictions to excuse the spending of any resources on them.

Listening to these people justify why they’ll never give a dime to a homeless person again depressed me and enraged me. I left the dinner party early.

Volunteering helps. Donating what we can helps. Speaking out, even when it’s unpopular, helps. We won’t make any money off of it. Someone (probably wearing designer clothes) may accuse you of being a "bleeding heart" or "idealistic" or "liberal" or something worse.

But it still might be worth it.


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