"Hey man, got any spare change?"

People ask me all the time: 

“What should I do when approached by a homeless person for a handout?”

 

And, of course, I have no idea!

 

Oh, I have ideas, but no standard idea or answer.  Everyone is unique, including people without a place to call home.

 

So, I follow "my gut" most of the time with no predetermined, stereotypical response, just like I repsond to others who do have homes in which to live. I realize this deficency on my part drives lots of people crazy, especially professionals!  But, so be it. 

 

One thing I do know from lots of experience: I find it hard to walk on without at least “knowing"  or acknowledging a person who asks me for a little help. 

For me, my entire duty as a person is to come to know God, and in the process, come to know the people I encounter for meaningful engagement with both. 

Every encounter should be considered worth a response of kindness. 

Every person is worthy of my repsect, even if I decide not to honor their requests by providing exactly what they seek. 

What I  always can do is respond with gentleness, attentiveness, openness and respect.   

 

 

 

 

Strong backs, unbroken spirits

[A slightly edited version of the following post appeared in yesterday's edition of The Dallas Morning News.]

Homeless people are human beings.   

As such, they must find restroom facilities.  They must satisfy their hunger.  They must identify places where they can sit and rest periodically.  And, just like me, they need at least a modest amount of capital to survive, even if hand to mouth.   

Most of my friends, who experience life today without a place to call home, face tough odds when it comes to landing a job.  Earning money is a huge challenge when your home base is an emergency, night shelter or worse, the hard, mean streets.  The countless day-to-day details and challenges of poverty this deep exhaust my capacity to comprehend. 

Like all human beings homeless people make mistakes.  By comparison, the mistakes I make seem to be much more forgiving than the missteps of a person so poor that they have no place to call home.  The social safety net beneath my feet is so strong and woven so tightly that my missteps don’t affect me for very long.  Such is not the case with my very poor friends who need a place to live.   

Recently, during a Dallas City Council Quality of Life Committee meeting, we heard harsh words about some of our weakest neighbors from more than one elected official.  Frustration over “panhandlers” escalated to the extreme counsel that the city needed to get tough on people who beg for money on our streets.  “Break their backs break their spirit — that’s the only way we’re going to win this battle,” one city council member demanded of police. Referencing the negative impact the presence of beggars had on business interests in his district and extremely frustrated, this otherwise, sensible, measured member of city leadership erupted in anger.  

Homelessness frustrates everyone who knows anything about, including and most especially those who live in its terrible grip. 

I would suggest that the person I meet on the street who begs for pocket change or a meal already has had his/her spirit broken at least to some extent.  I also know that the remedy to the frustrating reality of people begging on our streets will not be found by throwing folks in jail.   

So, what can we do? 

First, we need aggressive, stepped up outreach to chronically homeless persons who live on our streets.  The goal would be to assess vulnerability and to secure every available benefit for this segment of our community, including disability income, health care, SNAP (food stamps), shelter and ultimately permanent supportive housing.  This will require political will, an increase in public funding, and additional case workers from the public and non-profit sectors who willingly work together to deliver relief and hope.  The return on such investment for everyone would be substantial. 

Second, we must realize that our jails can no longer be allowed to serve as the public mental health system for the poorest people among us. Adequate funding for our mental health system would dramatically improve the “quality of life” all of us experience on our streets.   We’re paying today for three decades of under-investment in these vital services.

Third, we must develop hundreds of additional units of permanent supportive housing for those who live in shelters and/or on the streets of our city.  No matter how effectively we may intervene in the lives of people so poor that they are forced to beg on our streets, without real housing we will not achieve the outcomes we all desire.   

Homelessness frustrates everyone who knows anything about it.  Business owners and merchants, law enforcement personnel, homeowners in crossroads neighborhoods, drivers stopped at traffic lights at busy, urban intersections, couples out for an evening downtown—all share concern and some aggravation at the presence of homeless persons who beg for assistance.  However, none are more frustrated than those who know homelessness as a personal, defining experience and reality.  

Rather than breaking human backs and human spirits, the better approach would involve us in straightening and strengthening backs and restoring spirits as a community distinguished by its radical care for all of its members. 

 

Making poverty illegal

Sunday morning as I walked across a parking lot to my car after church, a gentleman approached me. 

He asked if I could help him with a little money to help address his hunger.  I have no hard and fast, set rule on whether or not to grant such requests.  I almost always employ the time-tested "follow my gut" strategy. 

On this day my gut was telling me I needed to talk to the man, but not take part in his collection offering.  So, I began that conversation, or I almost began it. 

Before I could really engage the man, two police officers rushed across the lot on bikes to intervene on the man and our conversation that almost happened. 

One officer pulled me aside to ask if the man had requested money.  When I replied that he had, the policeman asked for my name and phone number, both of which he promptly wrote on the palm of his hand! 

As we talked, I noticed that a patrol car sped up to join the "apprehension." 

At this point it seemed a bit like overkill in real time to me. 

I tried to explain what I did on my day job, hoping to talk the policemen down a bit.  They were professional and determined.  They were not abusive toward the man, but neither was the man to them. 

The guy is very poor. 

He was very hungry.

He may be an alcoholic, though I had no inkling of that from his behavior.

Like I say, the guy is very poor with few options, save the charity of church-goers on a Sunday morning after worship. 

Lesson learned at church last week:  it is very clear that poverty is now officially illegal.  You can go to jail for being poor, if you seek assistance from your fellows around you. 

I mean there are laws to protect people like me from guys like him, and from having to face the fact that the Dallas dance just ain't playing out so well for lots of our people. 

I don't guess you can get locked up around here for telling the truth, can you?

Funding homeless people?

A friend of mine sent me the video that follows.  

Watch the video, read the commentary and then check in below for my reactions.

To give money to the homeless or to not give money to the homeless? It's an age-old quandary that an Oregon nonprofit may have solved.

Sanctity of Hope, a Portland organization, has invented a new currency for homeless people. Donors buy tokens from the nonprofit, dole them out to people living on the streets and they can then be exchanged at stores for food and other goods they might need, according to KATU.

This innovative system allows do-gooders the opportunity to give to the homeless, without worrying how they will spend the cash, and it also pushes panhandlers to spend their money wisely.

It's a model that would let donors breathe easy, especially considering stories we've seen lately about some less-than-honest panhandlers.

The people of Lexington, Ky., for example, were horrified last month when they learned that Gary Thompson, a beggar who had been getting around in a wheelchair and speaking with a slurred speech, was neither homeless, nor disabled, LEX18 reported. The story became even more disturbing when Thompson revealed to reporters that he earns about $100,000 a year.

Sanctity of Hope's token system could potentially reduce such scams.

We choose to donate money based on the level of perceived need, Derek Thompson wrote in the Atlantic in 2011. Beggars known this, so there is an incentive on their part to exaggerate their need, by either lying about their circumstances or letting their appearance visibly deteriorate rather than seek help.

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So, short of a "token" system like this one in Portland, what is one to do when a person on the street asks for money?  (BTW--I don't think many Dallas merchants would want to entertain more of the homeless in their places of business.  I hope I am wrong, but my experience tells me that I'm probably not.)

Here are my random observations:

1)  The question is really hard to answer in just one way.  Not every homeless person is the same, nor are their circumstances.  And, it takes time to learn, to discover the reality the person asking for help is facing.  

2)  If I have a relationship with a person, if I know the person, if we have some "history," I am more inclined to help out.  Or, for the same reasons, I may be less inclined.  The person I know, like Penny for example, may be really needing a few bucks for food, a bus pass or toiletries.  If so, I'll help out.  But, for a guy like Buck, I know he's headed for another night of drunken stupor.  Why invest in that?  Who does that help?  But in either case I have some basis for deciding what's best.  That all takes time.

3) I often surprise homeless persons by initiating the conversation myself.  To approach a homeless person and begin a conversation changes the dynamics of the entire interchange.  It's as if the surprise factor drives all of "the game" out of the encounter.  Honesty can pave the way for some really helpful decisions and discussions. 

4)  Honestly, sometimes my emotions dictate my decision.  That's probably not a good thing, but it is true and real.  The fact is I often don't know what to do.  

5) Above all, I try to pay attention to my heart and to how these encounters affect my inner life.  I find it hard spiritually to turn away from another person.  That means I need to do something with every request.  The worst thing for me is to ignore the person who asks.  I've done it, but it never feels right.  So in almost every case, I have to give the person who asks me my attention, as well as my honest answer.  

What are your ideas?

Truth or Lies at dusk on an urban corner

I didn't see her coming.

We were standing outside a crowded restaurant in downtown Philadelphia waiting to get in for dinner.

Out of nowhere the woman appeared, almost like she "materialized" before our eyes.

"Sir, I need fare back to New Jersey," she began an all too familiar pitch to me.

"How much is that?" I asked, not making much effort to cover my frustration--come on, it's my vacation!

"Fourteen dollars for bus and train," she spoke clearly with confidence mixed with z frustration much more deeply seated than mine.

The woman was dressed with care, a poor lady at the end of her disappointing day and her rope most likely.

"I was a fool, sir. I came over here to meet my ex and he just put me out of the car on this street and I can't get home without some help," she went on.

By now we'd attracted a crowd, all listening attentively. I motioned her aside and moved closer so we could hear without raising our voices.

After getting a few more details of her story and her need, I challenged her.

"You need to know that I work with folks in trouble and on the streets in Dallas," I informed her. "I don't think your story adds up. I think you may be lying to me," I pushed her hard.

She never wavered.

"Sir, I have told you the truth," she assured me, looking right into my eyes.

"I don't have the ability to know that, but you do," I replied. I handed her $20 and pressed again that she knew what was true.

"I would rather give you what you say you need not knowing if you're telling me the truth than to refuse your request and chance it that you might just be sharing exactly what happened to you," I explained.

She assured me again that she was speaking the truth.

"One last question," I said as we prepared to part.

"OK," she said.

"Why did you pick us to talk to out of all these folks?" I asked.

"I don't really know," she answered. "Maybe it was God."

She turned and headed toward the subway entrance into the rest of her night.

Do you believe in angels, heavenly guests?

What's a guy to do?

Conventional wisdom in Dallas says, "Don't give money to panhandlers."

As a matter of fact, there is an ordinance against begging on the streets of our city.

While I understand the logic behind the rule, I also know that this is a case where "one size fits all" just doesn't apply.

My latest example happened early one morning last week.

I stopped by Starbucks on my way to a meeting Downtown. There on the sidewalk, positioned at one corner of the store so as not to block the entrance, was a man seated in a wheelchair. One leg had been partially amputated.

As I entered the store, he called out to me, "Good morning, my man! Could you spare a little change for an old man?" His smile was wide, infectious and compelling.

"I'll try to catch on the backside, friend," I called back.

"Sure thing, friend," he replied.

When I came out with my coffee, I walked over to him.

"Where do you stay?" I asked.

"Well, I was homeless, but I've got me my apartment now!" he informed me with pride. "My place is just right over here," he explained, pointing down Gaston Avenue.

"What about your SSI," I asked, wondering if this obviously disabled man had worked out the benefits he could access.

"Yes! I've got that all set up as well," he beamed up at me.

He patted the arm of his rather well-worn motorized wheelchair.

"They told me that it would take me a long time to get one of these chairs with a motor. I'd been trying to get one for a while. But, you know, a lady came by right here and just gave me his one! I didn't have to wait, she just brought it to me," he volunteered about his form of basic transportation.

I handed him my contribution to his cause. He thanked me. We shook hands and I went on my way.

As I left, I heard him calling out to a little girl, just barely 1-year-old, walking up the sidewalk with her mother. They stopped to talk to him. He didn't ask them for anything, he just greeted them and wished them well.

Later in the week, as I drove by that same spot on my way up Gaston Avenue, I spotted my friend again, rolling along in his gift chair on his way to Starbucks, I expect.

For him, it was his work. It occurred to me that the gentleman is the unofficial greeter there! And, clearly, no one in the store enforced the ordinance.

Of course, I don't know this man's budget, nor do I know his entire story or situation. But I can imagine a situation in which he has his housing covered, but not quite all of his living expenses, including food, utilities and transportation. He's got to find a way to make the ends meet.

Maybe I'm not supposed to, but I expect I'll give him my "pocket change" again, if he asks me. After all, he is a member of my neighborhood.

What do you think?
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The disconnect of "No!"

Last Friday evening, just after I stepped onto the Red Line train to North Dallas, a homeless man approached my area of the car with a cup in his hand.

"Can you spare me a little change, brother," he asked the fellow standing just in front of me.

The guy ignored the beggar, so, he moved to me.

I saw him coming, in more ways than one, so I greeted him and exchanged a lively handshake.

"So, where are you staying?" I asked.

I heard the word "bridge," and assumed he meant The Bridge, Dallas' new homeless assistance center Downtown.

"Oh, you're at The Bridge," I followed.

"No, man," he responded, "The Bridge is too crowded and they won't let us stay there. Me and my old lady live under the bridge," he explained. "I'm trying to get about seven bucks to buy us some dinner."

"Oh, I see," I replied.

"Can you spare me some change," my new friend pressed--he had the rest of the train to work and needed a decision from me.

I dropped the change I had in my pocket from the train ticket vending machine into his paper cup.

"Thanks, brother, God bless you," he said with a huge toothless smile.

As he shuffled down the aisle, looking for others to approach, I began to think about the impact of a "No."

People ask me all of the time, "What should I do about panhandlers on the street?"

I gotta tell you, I don't have a clue. I understand all of the arguments on both sides. And, I have no consistent position or track record in terms of how I respond. At times, I give freely. At other times I have turned away with a short "No," or worse, I have simply pretended not to see or to hear.

But, as I rode the train up the rail without the burden of navigating the heavy traffic, I thought about the power and the nature of "No" when spoken to another human being.

"No" is about judgment.

"No"--there is no possible way that verdict can be endearing, connecting or anything but total rejection in a moment.

"No," especially, I think, in a chance encounter does not help any one.

I have no answer for the gentleman who approached me Friday night as we cut through the growing darkness of a busy city. I don't understand how he got to the place in life that his best option is begging on a commuter train and sleeping under a freeway bridge. I have no brilliant intervention to offer. I have no chance to really do much with him.

But it occurs to me that "No" is not what he needed to hear, and it's not what I needed to say.

As I was lost in my thoughts, the train made a stop.

Another homeless man boarded. He carried a large, thick, well-used study Bible of some variety. A backpack attached to his back, he struggled to unfold and to count a wad of dollar bills that he clutched in his hands. I suppose he had made his supper money for the evening. He asked for nothing as he settled into the ride north.

I wondered how many "No" verdicts he had dealt with before collecting the treasure that would make his night a bit less harsh.

For a personal perspective provided by a homeless young man from the streets of Denver on the whole matter of how it feels to encounter rejection on the streets, take a look here.

(Matthew 5:42--Jesus)

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