Homelessness Law Blog

“I’ll be around. Somehow. I used to fall asleep thinking I wouldn’t wake up. Now I know better. Now I know, honey – it goes on and on and on.”

Last February, I wrote about a woman named “V.” She’s a homeless person who sat outside our K Street office for the better part of a year. I visited with her daily, and bought her lunch from time to time. She talked about the pain she was in, her addiction to alcohol, and the vicious love of her dead father. In between, she’d point out young women on the street and insist they were looking at me.

My visits weren’t noble. I can shamefully recall a few days when I took a different path to work because I didn’t have money for her. In shielding myself from her disappointment, I denied her the human contact she so dearly coveted.

I wrote before about a man she met at church. He was kind and gentle, giving her a place to stay while she got back on her feet. Her voice swelled with pride as she described looking for a job and scented shampoo. She was sober; there was such clarity to her thoughts.

But as the weeks passed, that clarity faded. The spark of life vanished from her eyes. There were bruises on her. She wouldn’t say where they came from, but I already knew. I pressed her for information about the man she was staying with.

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It’s a summer evening in Washington and I’m leaving a downtown reception, full of drink, food and people—a typical DC scene.

Walking through downtown at dusk, making my way towards home, I’m struck by a quieter scene on the street. Block by block, corner by corner, I see solitary figures, some with luggage or bedrolls by their sides, settling in to the evening, nowhere to go, nothing to do but remain where they are.

Meanwhile, others like me are also on the street, mostly walking by, some noticing or acknowledging, most just walking, getting into taxis, perhaps traveling to suburban homes. Those who are remaining sit on curbs, benches, or walk along themselves; some ask for spare change, some explain they are hungry. One man simply dives into the garbage, eating scraps of food discarded there by others.

I wonder how I can walk by, even though I am among those who acknowledge, sometimes offer spare change. The reception I’ve just left is to benefit work for a progressive America, and I believe in that so much. Every day at the Law Center that’s what we work for. But this walk tonight is still tough. (more…)

“I ain’t got no family.  Father’s dead.  Mother’s dead.  Never had any friends.  What I got is God, and he blesses everybody – only some don’t want to wait.  I’ll wait.  Freezing my ass off, but I’ll wait.”

In November, the Washington Post published an op-ed piece called “Panhandling: the uncomfortable truths and lies.” But its true revelations weren’t about panhandlers; they were about us.

Above all else, it’s the ability to rationalize that makes the human mind unique.  When we perceive the needs of others are in conflict with our own, we invent an ethical framework that allows us to deny others comfort without the scars of guilt.

You know what I mean: he’s a wino; she’s a con artist; those shoes look new.  One fleeting thought and we’re unshackled from their pain.  And once we’re free, they vanish into nothing.

“Baby, can you do something for me?  It’s a big favor.”

I nodded, trying to look encouraging.

“You see, I’ve got this abscessed tooth on the left side –”  She peeled her lip down to show me charcoal gums.  (more…)

In today’s Washington Post, executive director Maria Foscarinis weighed in on an important discussion about panhandling, saying:

“Each individual begging for change has his or her own story. Not all are virtuous, not all are truthful. Neither are many people. But what is different is that unlike most of ‘us,’ beggars have very few options or resources…”

To read more of this thought-provoking letter, which appeared on the editorial page, click here.