What panhandler’s are really selling
Don’t ask me for money.
As a member of the American middle-class, I’m well awarethat creature comforts in my life are unavailable to a large partof the population. I’m not sure to what degree the upperclasses think about the poor.
My sense is that the middle class citizens not only encounterthe lower classes on a more regular basis but feel a greater senseof responsibility to provide for them, owing to their own sense ofsuccess. I rarely see people of the middle class turn their eyes tothe upper class to take care of these poverty-stricken panhandlers,though.
Usually, they just look to themselves. Let me restate, though,do not ask me for money. I’ll tell you why:
The social conscience I’ve touched on just now can be usedas leverage to manipulate me. The question is how and to whatdegree or end. I often think, as I’m driving around in my VWJetta, about all the people who don’t have the comforts andpossessions that I nearly take for granted.
Thinking about those people, I feel a sense of responsibility tothem, a feeling that what I have is mine because they don’thave any.
In an economy in which scarce resources are distributed by meansof exclusion (i.e., getting a university education, which requiresadmissions and financing, reinforcing that money begets more money,etc.), I realize the lower classes have little chance of moving up— at least as little chance as I have of making it into theupper class. I don’t have to move up, though. I’m happywhere I am. At least I have air conditioning, and I can eat.
Still, this social conscience and feeling of obligation to thoseless fortunate is a part of me. And it is a part that, asI’ve said, could be used by the lower class to betterthemselves by my charity.
If I can be taken as a representative member of the middleclass, then groups of people like me, with some means to supportthemselves, would also help out the lower classes, owing to theirsense of social conscience and obligation, thankful for what theyhave, fully aware that it comes at the lower class’ expense.Panhandlers, however, sell absolution cheap.
A moment ago, while in the drive-through at Wendy’s, apanhandler gave me his cock-and-bull story about why he neededmoney. Entirely vexed, I told him to wait a minute, produced a fivedollar bill from my wallet, gave it to him and immediately feltthat same feeling I always get when I pay off one of these guys: Ihad done my civic duty in helping the less fortunate.
The fact is that this guy is hardly representative of the lowerclass and even less likely to use my money in any sort of upwardlymobile way. He said he wanted it for food, which I totallyunderstand, but it is unlikely that my money will ever be exchangedfor food.
Instead, he sold me the feeling that I had done my part toenable and provide for the poor, and he did it cheap. For fivebucks, I was suddenly above capitalist inequality. Don’t lookat me with your hungry eyes. I already gave away some money.
But the truth is that my $5 contribution to that man is nothingin comparison to the economic inequality that separates us, andI’ve done nothing to change it, nor have I contributed enoughto earn the sense of absolution, the relief of my guilty socialconscience.
I should be volunteering time at some kind of community outreachprogram or helping build homes with Habitat for Humanity, doingsomething truly helpful before returning to my comfortablesurroundings.
Then, I could truly feel as though I had earned my clearconscience and breathe easy knowing that I don’t owe anyoneanything, that I do my part.
But I don’t have to do all that because I gave apanhandler five bucks in the drive-through at Wendy’s.
