It's not that I am unsympathetic to the difficulties of struggling people. I understand how common it is for families to fall into bankruptcy under the weight of extraordinary medical expenses. I understand that jobs can be uprooted and careers interrupted without warning. I understand the insidious power of addiction.
But I have seen far too many scams perpetrated by those who would claim to have nowhere else to turn.
I have seen people claiming to need a little help until they have a chance to get back on their feet. A year later, the person is sitting on the same street corner asking for the same thing.
I have had people ask me for ticket money in train and bus stations. I have offered on numerous occasions to buy these supposedly stranded people a ticket to their destination. In every case, they have refused my generosity. It wasn't a ticket that they wanted at all; they just wanted the cash.
I can't control what happens once I give money to someone. Will it be used to buy food, clothing, or to pay the rent? Or will it be used for drugs, alcohol, or tobacco? I prefer to donate to agencies that have a good track record of helping people in need. If the panhandler got to where he is today by mismanaging his affairs, how can I trust him to do better with the money that I give to him? It doesn't seem like a safe bet.
That said, I made an exception to my no-giving rule a couple of weeks ago. Walking up Madison Avenue, I passed a person whose physical and emotional suffering I cannot begin to imagine.
I couldn't tell you if the person was a man or a woman, or whether they were black or white. Their entire body was scarred from severe burns. The facial features were gone. The fingers were gone. The person's arms ended in scarred stubs.
There was a neatly printed cardboard sign on the sidewalk, but I was too overwhelmed to read it.
I walked on a few paces, stopped, and pulled a bill out my wallet. It might have been a dollar or five bucks; I was too overwhelmed to remember the details. As I placed the bill in an upside-down baseball cap, the person nodded in appreciation. Apparently, they are unable to speak, which shouldn't come as a surprise.
This person has help. Clearly, they didn't write the sign that sat beside them. They didn't go into a store and purchase a magic marker. Maybe a family member wrote the sign and brought them to the corner. Maybe it was a friend. I doubt that a relief agency would put the person in this position.
I acknowledge the possibility that criminals might be using the person to raise money. Panhandling scams are not uncommon. The criminals might keep most of the money that's collected. That doesn't change my mind about giving in this particular case.
I hope that whoever is involved in this person's life is treating them fairly. I hope that the person has a place to sleep, gets daily nourishment and receives adequate medical treatment. This person is truly deserving. I hope that at least some of the money that finds its way into that baseball cap goes toward helping them.
Despite my best intentions to make donations where they are likely to do the most good, my conscience does have limits. I couldn't walk past this person and leave them empty handed. Maybe they are being used as part of scam. I'm still willing to contribute as long as they are being taken care of. This poor individual has suffered unspeakably. I couldn't find it in my heart to walk by in accordance with my normal no-giving rule. Some tragedies are just too horrible to ignore. Sometimes we have to take action, even if we aren't certain that it's the right action.
May God please bless and help that poor soul, and all of the other people in this world who suffer the irrevocable burdens of unthinkable misfortune.
Copyright © 2016 Daniel R. South
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