Don't talk to strangers. It's one of the first lessons we're taught as young children, our mothers holding our hands a little tighter, pulling us a little closer to their sides as they repeat it.
Avoid uncomfortable situations. This one may not be verbalized as often, but we can't deny that we've been taught it. Walk faster when you're in a not-as-nice neighborhood. Don't make eye contact. Ignore people asking for help.
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Okay, that one's a little harsh. We're supposed to help people, right? And we do, for the most part. But not at an expense to ourselves, and certainly not when it places us in potentially dangerous situations. But where do we draw the line? How do we decide which people actually deserve our help, and when?
I want to take a minute to clarify that I'm not pointing my finger at you. If anything, my finger is pointing directly back at me. This is a conflict I've been having for a while now, and I feel like there might be a few other people out there struggling with this, too. I also want to emphasize that I don't know the right answer. In fact, I don't think there is one. This isn't a clear-cut, black-and-white, easy-to-solve problem. In fact, most things in life rarely are.
So, here's a story to better introduce my point:
I was in New York City for the first time last weekend. I tend to overemphasize this, but I'm a small-town Texas girl that goes to college in small-town Virginia, so I was, naturally, awed by the volume and pace and overwhelmingly "city" feel that make up NYC. But there was another aspect of the city I was unprepared for: the extreme poverty. Nearly every street had at least one person clutching a cardboard sign, pleading for help.
I experienced a situation on a subway with one of these impoverished people that made me actually feel physically torn. Before I delve into that, here's a little bit of background on me first so you can understand a little better: I grew up skeptical. (I want to make a note that this is in no way a reflection of my parents, rather the naiveté that inevitably comes with being shielded from life's harshest cruelties). I questioned people. Why aren't they trying to find a job instead of sitting on a street? Why didn't they just work a little harder in school? Couldn't they have prevented this? It sickens me to think that this truly was my thought process the majority of the time. I had sympathy, of course, but I was definitely nearly always skeptical. Then, last term, I took a course that focused on the underlying factors that can lead to poverty, and my perspective changed radically.
There's so much I could say about this class, but I think what I took away most from it can be summarized this way: I'm not as quick to judge people and their situations now. It was eye-opening to explore the innumerable reasons escaping poverty can be completely out of a person's control. Poverty is often a generational cycle, and in America, it's becoming harder and harder to move out of the quintile you're born into and climb the socioeconomic "ladder of success." A single mother loses her job because she has to leave work to care for her sick child. Minimum wage is truly not enough to survive on in this country, especially with the exceptionally high costs of housing. A teenager is unable to finish high school because he has to work to support his family. Healthy meals take more time and money to prepare, so it's really just easier to pick up fast food and deal with the unhealthy consequences. An older woman is physically fit, but experiences mental health problems. Without the money to buy the medication she needs, she sinks deeper and deeper into her sickness, until she is truly incapable of holding a job. There are so, so many factors I had never even stopped to consider before. After completing this course, I felt like a new person. I was no longer judgmental; I would be so much more likely to help people in these situations now. Or so I thought.
Now, back to this scene on the subway. It was crowded; a new wave of people had just boarded. As we began moving, a rough voice spoke up. "Listen up, ladies and gentlemen. I'm homeless." Those were literally the exact words this woman announced to the mass of people in our car. She then proceeded to list a series of injuries and ailments, explaining that because of these, she was unable to work. She hadn't eaten in a few days, and she needed money for food. As she spoke to us, she weaved through the car, and I caught sight of her. Disheveled hair, a gaunt face, jeans that were several sizes too large for her. A thin pair of once-white socks worn under flimsy flip-flops, like the kind they give you at a nail salon when you forget to wear open-toed shoes for a pedicure. I don't think she had a coat, and it was January in New York -- winter at its most brutal.
I knew from my class what I should do in this situation. I should have had pity, I should have realized that she had probably experienced a series of circumstances beyond her control, I should have given her some money. But I froze, and I found myself wondering what she would do with the money if I did give it to her. Would she really use it to buy food? I couldn't be sure. So instead of helping, I watched the people in the car around me and how they reacted to her. They ignored her. So I did, too.
I was disgusted with myself afterward. I knew better. I wish I would have had food with me that I could have given to her because that was the obvious solution. But I didn't, so instead, I didn't respond at all.
I still don't know what I should've done in that situation. As I said before, I truly don't think there is a "right" answer. I can try to make myself feel better and say that she might have misused the money, but I can also picture her curled up on the subway later that night, her stomach twisting with hunger pains because people, including myself, didn't give her the time of day. There's no way for me to know.
But I do know that I'll certainly face this situation again, and you likely will, too. I wish I could conclude this article tidily, giving myself and you solid advice on how to handle this in the future. I knew that wouldn't be the outcome of this article because I don't have the answers. Maybe, though, this will spur thoughts and conversations that will help us collectively move one step closer to knowing how to approach situations like this. That's all I can hope for.
