Panhandlers
Every day, on my way to the bus stop, I pass a coffee shop. A panhandler has made that her spot. She sits outside there every morning. Sometimes she’s crying. Sometimes she’s curled up into a little ball. She’s a little younger than me, probably no older than 24, and dressed in decent clothes. Unlike other panhandlers, she doesn’t usually have a bag, or any stuff with her. She’s as skinny as hell, and her face is weirdly gaunt. I’ve spent time with people who have starved themselves, and her face isn’t like theirs. Their faces are gaunt and skull-like, but hers seems different. I wish I could explain how. Everytime I walk by her, I wonder if there’s anything I can do for her. Everytime I walk by, I wonder a little less.
This morning, there were two affluent looking middle aged ladies talking to the panhandler. They spoke quietly. She wailed her responses. I couldn’t hear what they said but, her answers were pretty clear. She kept saying that she just wanted to go home. She said that home was Toronto, and that she just wanted to go home.
I’ve never known how to deal with panhandlers. When I was growing up in Halifax, there were about half a dozen regular panhandlers downtown. I didn’t know them by name, but I recognized them. At one time or another, they all seemed messed up in some way: either talking to people who weren’t there, yelling and hitting themselves, or staring into space. I didn’t know what to do for them, so I gave them money. I thought that if I were ever mentally ill, and alone, I would need money. So I gave them the leftovers of my allowance.
Now I’m an adult living in Ottawa. And I still don’t how to deal with these people. They want my money. But I see many of them stumbling around downtown drunk or high. I don’t want to give them money. I don’t think it will help them. I’m afraid that money would just speed them on their way to an overdose.
As I got on the bus this morning, I saw the panhandler burst into tears and curl up in fetal position. The two middle aged ladies stood looking at her for a few moments, and then walked away.
When I got onto the bus, there was a copy of the Metro sitting in the empty seat. On the local news page there was a story about Terry Kilrea, one of Ottawa’s mayoral candidates. Yesterday he pledging that, if elected, he would hire another 78 police officers, and run the “vagrants” out of downtown. I don’t think that would help.
Those women turned their backs on the panhandler, and now one of our mayoral hopefuls wants our city to do the same thing.
Running “vagrants” out of town seems to me like the easy way out. But really where are these people going to go. The way I see it, there are probably 2 types of pan handlers. Mentally ill people how need help in to get off the streets, and the “lazy” who I would assume are the ones going around drunk or high. There may be other catagories and I’m sure that some people fit into a bit of both. Anyways, I think alot of people figure that all the panhandlers are just lazy.
That being said, if we push them out of the city, the lazy will figure something out. But the ones that really need our help will be the ones that suffer.
A better solution? I don’t know. Does anyone?
An interesting note, 2 hours before the photos of people swiming in trevi fountian, there was 2 gypsys stealing all the coins before the security from across the street ran out and blew whistels at them. This is an ancient problem that no one seems to have a practical solutions to.