Helping the Homeless Don't Cost a Thing
I had an interesting experience last week that really affected me - so
much so that I had to wait almost a week to write about it. Every
Tuesday, I commute to Toronto to my teaching job at George Brown
College. On my first day using public transit, I counted four homeless
people in a three-block walk from Union Station to King Street. What
bothered me more than the fact that they were homeless was the way that
the people of Toronto, who appear so desensitized to the homelessness
issue in their city, literally stepped over or around these people as
they lay, sat, or stood on the sidewalks. It bothered me. A lot.
It made me think of the time a young lady approached me in the middle of
winter - she was freezing cold, underdressed for the weather and she
was literally pleading with me to give her something to eat. I had no
money or else I would have given her some - it wasn’t until I got to my
destination that I realized I had a granola bar in my purse and I could
have shared that with her.
It is hard for many of us to consider parting with our money when it
comes to homeless people because there is always the fear that they will
use the money for drugs or alcohol, and so I give money sparingly, and
not to everyone - and if I have food available, I offer that instead.
Once I offered a man a granola bar because he said he was hungry, and he
turned it down. Later that same day, I saw him strutting down the
street with a Venti sized Starbucks cup in his hand. So I get it - some
folk are “choosy beggars”.
So, after my first few weeks of commuting by bus I decided I couldn’t
take it anymore. I went to Walmart and bought 6 boxes of granola bars
($1.50 each) I split the boxes up and did up eight sandwich bags with
two granola bars each and figured that would be enough for my walk from
Union in the morning, and then for my walk to the Bay St. Terminal in
the afternoon. Loaded up with food, I headed off to Toronto.
The first lady I encounter every Tuesday morning, appears to be native.
She sleeps at the corner of York and Wellington and when I am passing
she is usually either still asleep or just waking up. She is surrounded
by suitcases and bags - all her worldly goods. She is so bundled up in
sleeping bags and clothes that you can hardly see her face. I handed her
a bag of granola bars as I walked by. Before I was across the street,
she was voraciously digging into a cereal bar. This week, I’ll give her
four bars instead of two.
The next gentleman stands on the other side of the street in front of one of the TD Bank buildings on
York. He stands soldier straight, with one hand out, staring straight
ahead. He speaks to no one. He makes eye contact with no one. Nobody
seems to notice him. He is just another fixture on the street. I handed
him a baggie with two granola bars in it, and kept on walking. Next
thing I knew, I heard him calling out to me, “Ma’am, please... I can’t
accept these. But I’d like to tell you why.”
I had to turn around. I went back and he graciously handed them back to
me. He said, “Thank you very much, but I never accept food. I’m too
afraid.” I asked him what he meant, and this is what he told me. “I am
afraid of poison, or drugs, or razors, or other things that could hurt
me,” he said. “There are a lot of people who hate the homeless and they
will put things in the food and then hand it out. That’s why even if it
is pre-packaged like this, I can’t take the chance.”
My heart broke just a little more. I asked him what he needs. Looking at
him a little closely, I realized that he was wearing a newer fleece
hoodie, and warm mittens. His bag was neatly but obviously carefully
packed. He didn’t smell; his eyes were bright and alert now that he was
engaged with another human being. He spoke articulately, and
passionately about his situation. What I know about him is this: His
name is George. He comes from a small town where you could trust
everyone. But in the city of Toronto, not everyone can be trusted, and
so he only asks for money. If he gets enough money, he spends it wisely
by going to the Salvation Army Store or other thrift shops where he can
buy quality items of clothing for very little. He would be able to get
everything he needs to survive on the streets for the winter - he
wouldn’t freeze. He uses what other money he gets to eat cheaply - a
bowl of soup at Tim Hortons, coffee, etc. As long as he got a little
money, he wouldn’t starve.
“So - tell me George, what do you need?” I asked him again. His reply
cut me straight to the heart. “A little money...” (I gave him $1.50 in
loose change - it was all I had aside from bus fare). But then he said,
“Sometimes we don’t even need money. Sometimes all we need is for
someone to acknowledge us and to make eye contact and have a
conversation.” It was all I could do to not break down right there in
the street. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “From now on,
George, every Tuesday morning, I will stop and say hello. And if I have
some loose change, it is yours.” He said Thanks. I went off to work. But
I can’t lie. I was shaken all day. To my core.
I looked at my students differently. A lot of my “kids” are in dire
straits. Some are homeless and it takes everything they have to get to
school. Some of them are living in conditions that make academic
excellence a near impossibility. Many of them come to school hungry.
Some of them, without the right early intervention could end up like
George. I suppose that is why I keep going back to GBC despite the
distance - I love teaching in the Dual Credit and School Within a
College programs, working with high school students to show them that a
post-secondary education is not just a possibility - it could be a
reality for them if they apply themselves. But they need help and
support, and I don’t know if any school supports their disadvantaged
students better than GBC.
Needless to say, I had enough granola and cereal bars left after my
encounter with George that I shared some with the students who were
clearly hungry and did not have money for snacks at break-time. What was
left went to a young man inside the subway station with a sign
indicating that he was new to Toronto and needed some help. Given
George’s fear of tampered foods, I asked the young man if he would
accept food instead of money. He gratefully accepted it and I wished him
good luck. He looks to be only a few years older than my SWAC students.
I don’t want any of mine to end up in his place.
Some people will say that giving money or food to the homeless
perpetuates the problem. But if you’ve never been homeless, you don’t
know what it is like. If you’ve never been so poor that you feared
losing your home, you have no idea. Not every homeless person is an
addict or a drunk. Not all of them are mentally ill. And only a small
percentage of mentally ill people are actually dangerous. Some people
just made poor financial decisions that ended badly. Some people were
living paycheque to paycheque BEFORE their company decided to “right
size” and eliminate jobs.
You won’t know their story unless you ask. And we must never forget that
every homeless person is still a PERSON. And every person deserves to
be treated with dignity and respect, even if life has handed them a raw
deal, you and I have the power to return some of that respect to them.
And if you are brave enough, it won’t even cost you a penny or a box of
granola bars. Sometimes letting them know that you see them as a PERSON,
deserving of acknowledgement and respect is enough.
