Desensitized

July 24, 2014

Recently, I was out for a morning walk with Wilson, my Springer Spaniel. As it often happens in the early morning, we passed a homeless man on the street. From across the street he spoke to me, though I’m not quite sure what he said, and I simply nodded my head in acknowledgement that he was speaking to me but, essentially, ignored him and continued walking. On our daily walks, most often the first walk in the morning, Wilson and I encounter many homeless people. Colombia_streetYou see feet sticking out from under vehicles or other locations, bodies bundled up in alleys, alcoves, and doorways. On a given morning, during a 30 minute walk, it’s likely we will encounter at least six to eight homeless men. Some will still be sleeping, others will be digging through the trash, and still others will be making their way down the street with a bundle of belongings over their shoulder or pushing some kind of makeshift cart. It’s pretty easy to distinguish who is homeless, as I live in a middle class neighborhood and these men not only look out of place, but are usually covered with layers of dirt, have matted hair, are wearing ill-fitting clothing, and if they have shoes they’re usually in pretty bad shape. And, of course, those are just the obvious people. As most of us know, not all people surviving on the streets are readily identifiable and many make themselves invisible. For example, it‘s estimated that over 5,000 children live under the city of Bogota. In an attempt to protect themselves from further victimization, most only come out at night.

As I passed the man on my walk with limited acknowledgement of his existence, I found myself pondering whether or not I am becoming desensitized to poverty. I see a great deal of it every day. One day, during this cold rainy season, I passed what appeared to be an elderly woman curled up in blankets sleeping in an alcove. On another occasion, I saw a bundle in the corner of a building. As I got closer, I noticed the bundle had feet. On yet other occasions, I’ve passed middle-aged women begging for support for their children, men defecating in a public park, and men digging in trash cans looking for anything they can eat, reuse, or sell. Even if I don’t see people, I see signs that they are in the neighborhood–scattered trash, for example. Yes, there are many stray dogs in the city who could be the culprits. But it’s been my experience that in the majority of cases the trash has been scattered by humans, not animals.

One time I was walking Wilson and a woman came running up to me in tears. She was running between people on the street … to anyone and everyone. She said she had a young daughter who was ill and didn’t have the money to purchase her medicine. She seemed frantic, so I couldn’t help but reach into my pocket, though I tend not to carry much money on me. I explained that I only had ~$10, and handed it to her. She grasped my hand, thanking me, and ran to the next person on the street.

Each time I as much as look at a homeless person when I’m with my colleagues and friends, they rebuke me. They say it’s too dangerous to give anything to someone on the street. You attract the attention of others living on the street when you give a hand-out. Sometimes people will follow you home. You might also find yourself being pursued by thieves, having just demonstrated that you have sufficient money on you that you can give some away. You may be attacked by someone who is mentally unstable, or who wants to take greater advantage of the fact that you have disposable funds. The list could go on, but you get the idea.

It breaks my heart to walk past people who look innocent and in great need. I feel guilty for what I have, and also guilty for treating people like they’re invisible. But I’m aware that my friends and colleagues have a point about the dangers, and am also aware that I’ve given my life … or at least a few years of it … to try and make a difference in some people’s lives. While my work is in an office, it’s in service to the poor … single mothers, political refugees, children, those displaced by injustice, political conflict, and natural disasters. And intellectually I know I can’t help everyone. But it doesn’t make it any easier to see poverty daily, to not be able to respond to it all of the time, and to know that in some cases there is probably nothing I can do. It also doesn’t make it any easier as I ponder the possibility that I may be becoming desensitized to the poverty around me through my daily encounters. I guess all I can do is pray for God’s help in keeping my eyes open and aware of the poverty around me. I also pray that God gives me the strength to do what I can do,  and the grace to accept what I can’t.

One Response to “Desensitized”

  1. Dianne Smith Says:

    Oh, Ted. Thank you.

    Like


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