Spare Change
by Lenore Yarger
I often see advertisements in Philadelphia subway stations admonishing commuters not to give change to "panhandlers" - and to stop "feeling guilty" about it. "The more you give change, the more things will stay the same." I cringe every time I read the words.
At some time in my life, I might have been relieved to read such a sign. I distinctly remember a visit to Washington, D.C., several years ago, when numerous people confronted me, asking for spare change. One woman in particular (I'll call her Sheila, though I never knew her name) followed my friends and me, demanding that we acknowledge her: "Am I walkin' for nothing?" I was grateful for my friend, who finally nodded her head. But I felt uncomfortable, suspicious, depressed, and guilty. I wanted someone to tell me it was OK not to shell out money to folks who asked. No one did. I hated Washington.
Encounters like the one with Sheila affected me profoundly. A student at the time, I knew I wanted to do something with my life that would help poor people. I thought I'd then be better prepared to meet anyone asking me for money because of the life I'd be leading; somehow it would be easier to say no, somehow I would feel more justified.
In the years since my encounter with Sheila, I joined Catholic Worker movement and started, slowly, along the rocky road of downward mobility. But that has done little to ease my discomfort. Just the other day I went into downtown Philadelphia, and several people on the streets asked for money. I felt uncomfortable, suspicious, depressed, and guilty. Same old stuff, same old emotions. The changes in my personal life seem relatively worthless every time I encounter suffering.
It seems I'm not the only one wondering about questions of guilt and responsibility in a world of need. The subway advertisements reflect the larger debate in many cities about whether and how to discourage panhandling. A recent editorial in The New York Times asserted the right to use public transit without being accosted by so-called beggars: "The public has a right to its peace of mind." According to the editorial, panhandlers deprive us of our rights.
No matter how uncomfortable I feel when approached for money, I don't believe I have the right to be left alone. In his book New Heaven, New Earth, Richard Cleaver reminds us that "our whole notion of 'rights' is, in essence, a protective, possessive, property-bound one. We talk about depriving people of their rights as we would of their property, instead of according individuals dignity and full humanity."
Remembering Sheila, I am painfully aware of the inequalities that exist between us and deprive her of dignity - whether she is an addict, a mother, a prostitute, hungry, or simply down and out. Sheila reminds me that Jesus himself told us what to do about such inequality: "Sell what you have and give to the poor" (Luke 18:22). Until Sheila and I and every other person on the street can meet as equals, I can't claim my "right" to own any property. If we're going to talk about rights, certainly Sheila has a right to my money.
I no longer want to be told it's OK not to give to "beggars." It's important to experience the emotions and uncertainties of such an encounter, painful as they may be. I need to contemplate my relationship with the person on the street, to decide whether to give money or explain to that person why I can't help. I never know if what I decide is OK. Am I feeding someone's addiction - or depriving someone of an evening meal? Whether I give my change or not, I probably haven't changed the person's life.
But maybe the struggle is actually about changing my life. Whether or not I give money to the person asking, I need to be reminded - constantly - that my money isn't my own. I suspect that's why Christ feels the need to appear to me so frequently on the streets. He must sense my reluctance to let go, not just of my loose change but of a lifestyle full of privileges separating me from homeless and low-income people. And first among the many privileges I enjoy is a sense of relative security, financial and otherwise.
Whenever I see those subway placards, I can't help but think more appropriate signs would read "Stop paying taxes" or "Stop using credit cards." Such signs would address the militarism and materialism of our culture - the real reasons why change doesn't occur for poor people. If I really care about the person asking me for money, I will direct my energy toward rectifying the behaviors in my life that contribute to their poverty. Giving away my pocket change may be one place to start.
Reprinted with permission from The Other Side magazine. For subscriptions or more information, visit www.theotherside.org or call 1-800-700-9280.
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on the urbana.org web site are Copyright InterVarsity Christian Fellowship / USA. All rights reserved.
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