By Kate Cohen, Washington Post
I made some charitable donations recently, which I always do at the end of the year. But this year, one memory haunted me.
I was standing on a subway platform, waiting for a rush-hour train sometime last winter when a man started making his way through the crowd. He was maybe in his 30s, White, heavyset, unshowered.
He went up to each
commuter in turn and said, “I’m hungry.” Like a child would say it to a mom, urgent and whiny at the edges. “I’m hungry.”
Begging — asking for food or money — but also begging. Pleading.
He waited a few seconds for a response from a woman clutching a tote and a phone, but when she studiously avoided eye contact, he moved on.
“I’m hungry.”
It was unsettling to hear such a simple plea, to watch everyone ignore it, to ignore it myself. I had a twenty in my bag, and I didn’t need it — not for that day in New York and not in the grander scheme either.
So why didn’t I give it to him?
Did I fear, as people often do, that my money would be spent “the wrong way” — on drugs or drink?
This is the self-justifying attitude that Pope Francis, in a 2017 interview, characterized as “if I give him money, he’ll just spend it on a glass of wine.”
Not me. Even if that were true...Read More
