Open Writing

It just goes on and on, invading almost every aspect of a person’s life. The requests for charitable donations. Wake up in the morning to a telephone solicitation, open up your newspaper to an invitation to buy something to support a cause, pick up your mail and sort through all those envelopes filled with personal mailing labels, calendars, notepads, greeting cards and other paraphernalia promoting service agencies, and sit down to dinner only to be interrupted by another friendly telephone canvasser. Check your e-mail and find various messages suggesting that you send money for one catastrophe or another. There is simply no end to it.

I have accepted this intrusion into my privacy with some forbearance. It seems to be a fact of life. I realize when I use my credit card to pay for one subscription or other, or buy something on-line, there is a strong possibility that I could become prey to all those entrepreneurs waiting to add my name to their lists of persons-to-call. I have hoped that by not responding to their calls, they would eventually cease and desist. But no, persistence is their trademark. On occasions, I have returned their complimentary items, only to be 'rewarded' with more junk.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not against giving to charity. I think we all have to give in whatever way we can. But I would like to make that decision myself without being hounded into it. And I am particularly leery of the number of business ventures that thrive on the misfortunes of others. Fund-raising has evolved into a very profitable activity, with some fund-raisers taking a big percentage of the donations they collect on behalf of the organizations they represent. When you think you are contributing to a worthy cause, you are in fact, increasing the profits of some well-run business outfit.

Living in the heart of a large city, I also have to deal with the challenge of panhandling. As I thread my way on the crowded sidewalk, I am usually accosted by an assortment of regular panhandlers who lunge at me, cap in hand, from their appropriated spots at the entrance of shops and malls. Over the years I have realized that making eye contact with my confronter is not a very good idea. It then becomes quite difficult to turn away. That soulful look sends a stab of guilt right through me. On the other hand, pretending that I didn’t hear the plaintive 'can you spare some change' leaves me feeling rather numb. What is a person to do?

I have reasoned with myself that panhandling is a job, like any other. Except it is a rather precarious one. And it must require great fortitude. To sit in the same spot day after day in all kinds of weather, with outstretched hand hoping that someone would drop a coin or two into your cap, must be quite draining. On the positive side, it says a lot about trusting in the generosity (or gullibility) of your fellow-human being. Still, panhandling must be a profitable pursuit, judging from the number of participants it attracts. Or are people simply driven into it as a last resort? I could hardly think it’s a matter of choice.

Perhaps there is a ray of hope in all of this. That people care enough to stop in their tracks and acknowledge that we do share the human condition. I watch passersby from all walks of life drop coins into caps and tins and Styrofoam cups throughout the day, sometimes stopping to exchange a friendly word with the recipient. In spite of the constant bombardment. I would like to think that although we can never stem the flowing tide of poverty which washes over so many people, one simple act of kindness might make a difference. But I still wonder, 'where will all this end?'

© Lytrice Adams