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Suffering

20 July 2023

6 min read

Why begging ‘bothers us tremendously’

We need a public discussion on begging which avoids the unhelpful polarization between naïve compassion and harsh cynicism, argues Jon Kuhrt.

Jon Kuhrt

Jon Kuhrt is CEO of Hope into Action, a homelessness charity. He is a former government adviser on how faith groups address rough sleeping.

A beggar sits cross legged against a glass railing holding a sign.

Photo by Jean-Luc Benazet on Unsplash.

Recently I was in Birmingham New Street station when a man approached me, saying he was homeless and asking for money for food. We were right next to a Greggs so I suggested I buy him some. As there was a queue, we got talking and he said:

‘I’m not really homeless you know, I’m just so bored and I live in a s**t-hole.’

For many people living or working in towns and cities, being asked for money like this is an everyday experience. It can often cause feelings of distress, guilt and confusion. What is the best way to respond to someone asking you for money? In thirty years of working with people affected by homelessness, it is by far the most common question I have been asked.

Earlier this month, Matthew Parris wrote in The Times about his experience of giving £25 to someone begging after being told they needed money for an urgent train ticket. The following week he saw the same person using the same story and he realised that he had been suckered. It is an experience that many of us might relate to.

I used to be the manager of an emergency hostel for young homelessness people in Soho in central London. Most of our residents had complex problems which were complicated and intensified by drug addiction. Begging was a key source of income.

Some residents used the duvets that we gave them as begging props to indicate they were sleeping rough. We would often overhear them telling passers-by that they ‘needed money to get into a hostel’. Often, they could raise large sums of money based on their articulated need for food, accommodation or travel. But none of the money was ever used for these purposes.

Matthew Parris is right when he writes ‘begging and sleeping rough bother us tremendously.’ They are some of the most obvious and visceral indicators of poverty and this ‘bother’ gives the issue considerable political capital. As Parris says:

'Any minister or prime minister who could associate their name with making a visible difference would reap a harvest.'

We need a compassionate realism about the nature of the problems which surround those who beg and honesty and bravery about how best to respond.

But as well as high profile, homelessness and begging are both very sensitive issues. Thankfully, gone are the days in the 1980s when newspapers like The Sun would routinely describe those who sleep rough and beg as ‘dossers’. Today, the public discussion is couched far more sympathetically, but this change in tone can create difficulties in talking honestly about the reality of begging. It can be a minefield where those cautioning against giving money can easily be viewed as mean-spirited or judgmental.

We need a public discussion on begging which avoids the unhelpful polarization between naïve compassion and harsh cynicism. Neither of these help anyone. And we should remember, that whilst we should avoid judgementalism, we cannot help people effectively without showing good judgement. We need a compassionate realism about the nature of the problems which surround those who beg and honesty and bravery about how best to respond.

We live in a time of severe economic and housing injustice. The years of austerity, cuts to public services, the pandemic and now the cost-of-living crisis have all deepened the challenges for poorer communities. Our country urgently needs to address the chronic shortage of affordable housing.

But does this rise in wider poverty mean that we should give money to people begging? My answer is ‘No’, because I don’t believe that it is an effective way to help people. These are my reasons.

The material need and physical destitution are symptoms of the deeper issues of trauma, poor mental health, broken relationships and the addictions.

Firstly, it is important to remember that the issue of rough sleeping and begging are related but are not the same. Many of those who beg are not sleeping rough, and the majority of homeless people do not beg. In fact, begging has much more of a direct link with addiction or criminal gangs than it does with rough sleeping. In the last 10 years there has been a growth in the coordinated use of immigrants, many trafficked, to beg in city centres. Your cash donation will not truly help the person.

Secondly, we need to appreciate that immediate material resources are not the key problem for people begging. Whilst there is a deepening crisis of poverty in the UK, there are many day centres, charities and community groups offering emergency food and clothing. The material need and physical destitution are symptoms of the deeper issues of trauma, poor mental health, broken relationships and the addictions which have developed in response. These deeper problems are often compounded, rather than helped, by gaining money through begging.

Thirdly, we need to focus on the true needs of the person begging rather than on our need to respond. Our feelings of awkwardness and guilt may be assuaged by handing over money, but this does not mean that what we have done is right. The temporary ‘feel-good feeling’ is not to be trusted. If more people gave money to people begging then it will not result in a more just world. Allowing untruthful and manipulative behaviour to succeed in eliciting cash helps nobody. It can literally be ‘killing with kindness’.

Fourthly, we need to recognise the lack of truth in the exchange between someone begging and a potential donor. Often a scenario presented is designed to place emotional pressure on the hearer to do what is being asked. For example, that money is needed to pay for a hostel bed, to get a hot meal or travel money to see an ill child. But hostels and shelters for homeless people do not charge on the door - they are either free or the rent is covered by housing benefit. In my experience, the vast majority of the scenarios presented in the begging exchange are simply not true.

Underneath these points are key principles around how we help others. Despite the retreat of Christian faith in public life, the injunction to ‘love our neighbour’ is still a foundational one in our society and culture. And authentic love is always made up of both grace and truth.

Our instincts to show compassion and care are part of what makes us human. We are moved and motivated by seeking to address suffering and hardship. We have a desire to show grace to those suffering.

This does not mean being cynical. Authentic change is possible, and I see it every day.

But this grace must remain connected to truth. We must take responsibility for how our instinct to show grace can be manipulated. The reason that begging is never a positive aspect of someone’s recovery journey is because it is a transaction rarely based on truth.

We may long for a simplistic world where good intentions are enough and where all donations given in good faith are well-used, but this is not the world we live in.

This does not mean being cynical. Authentic change is possible, and I see it every day at Hope into Action. We help people who have been homeless by offering them a quality home with both professional support and befriending in partnership with a local church. Last year we housed over 400 people and it’s a privilege to walk with people and help them on their journey of recovery. One of our tenants said to me:

‘Hope into Action didn’t just give me a ladder to get out of situation, they showed me how to build my own staircase.’

The best services for homeless people show grace in their acceptance and welcome, but from this base they explore the truth about the challenges people face. And truth is a key ingredient in all effective recovery, counselling and rehabilitation programmes.

Change is possible but truth is always a critical ingredient. It’s the truth that sets people free.

How should we respond to someone begging?

When someone begs from you, look them in the eye when you respond and speak as confidently as you can.
If you have time, stop and talk with them. Ask them their first name and share yours.
If you have the time and money, offer to buy them a cup of tea, or some food.
Research what drop-in centres, charities or churches are open for vulnerable people in the area where you live or work. Knowing what is available allows you to ask the person if they know about these and whether they have used them.
If you are worried about the vulnerability of someone sleeping rough then contact Street Link on 0300 500 0914 to inform them. This is a coordinated phone line which informs the local homeless outreach teams.

Voting is much more than a token gesture

The political practice can capture something heavenly.

Joel Pierce

Joel Pierce is the administrator of Christ's College, University of Aberdeen. He has recently published his first book.

A sign reading 'polling station' stands by the entrance to a church.

Red Dot on Unsplash.

What makes an act sacred? Who it excludes, or who it welcomes? I found myself pondering this looking at the thin metal discs in the box I’d pulled off the shelf. I’d seen their tagged under glass at Scotland’s National Museum. Now, in an archive housed in the old kitchen of our rural community’s school, I had my first chance to touch what was once called “the open sesame to the bliss of so great a mercy”, a Church of Scotland communion token. Now items for collectors, filling drawers in local history museums, they once were the necessary payment for participation in one of the rites at the heart of Christian worship. They were the coin that verified that its holder’s faith and morals had been examined by an elder of the kirk and been found satisfactory.

Holy Communion, or the Eucharist as it is called in other churches, has its origins in the Last Supper, a meal of bread and wine Jesus shared with his disciples on the night before his crucifixion. Christians may disagree on the exact meaning of the meal, but all hold that it is, in some way, sacred and central to the Christian life and the recognition and celebration of Christian community. Communion tokens were but one example of a strategy that Christians have employed time and again to ensure that the mystery and sacrality of the meal is properly recognised: stopping the wrong sorts of people from participating in it. Ironically, in this we have often been much more discerning, or perhaps discriminating, than Jesus himself. The companions he chose to initiate the practice were a quarrelsome lot. They were mostly provincial fishermen more concerned with establishing their place in the new kingdom they imagined Jesus would establish after overthrowing the Romans than in participating in the meal with due reverence and seriousness.

All who came were for that day, in that room, in that act, equal. All who came were welcome. No one was turned away.

A year later, I found myself sitting behind a table in the rear of our community’s nursery. It was election day for the Scottish Parliament, and I had added polling clerk to the miscellany of part-time jobs I had taken after finishing my studies. We had all arrived early to ensure that we had time to wrestle enough string and cable ties together to secure the polling station sign around the ancient tree that marked the entrance of the nursery’s car park before polls opened at 7am. It was the first, and only time I have worked a sixteen-hour day, and my exhaustion at the end of it probably contributes to much of it being a bit of blur. What I do remember is the flow of people: mums in smart blouse and skirt combinations with kids in tow, fitting us in first thing before a stop by the childminder’s on the way to the office; tradespeople and farmers catching us between jobs, their trousers still spattered with paint or mud; scions of the local aristocracy; proud parents bringing teenagers to vote for the first time once the school day ended; a couple with a young baby, asleep for now, arriving just before closing, “We’re not too late are we?”.

My fellow poll workers, two old hands, knew most of our customers by sight. I knew a few, mainly other parents I had met during school and nursery drop-offs, but it didn’t matter as the rite was the same for all. They would approach the table, give us their name and address, and once a line was drawn through them on our roll, they were given the elements, two ballots, one to vote for their constituency Member of the Scottish Parliament, and another to vote for their preferred party. All who came were for that day, in that room, in that act, equal. All who came were welcome. No one was turned away. All that was needed was their word that they were who they said they were. Once the ballots were completed, we made sure they put each in the correct ballot and then they were out the door, on to the rest of their day.

Perhaps it is also true that sometimes, as much by accident as intention, we happen upon a form or practice in our shared political life which captures something of heaven.

As someone who did my first voting in the United States, I was a little stunned the first time I cast a ballot in the UK. Instead of having to use a black ink pen to assiduously fill in ovals on a ballot that felt like an extended multiple-choice test, all I needed to do was make a single penciled ‘X’ on a half sheet of coloured paper and make sure it wound up in the secure box. Was that it?

As I’ve reflected on that experience and had a few more goes of voting here, I have come to appreciate the elegance of the British approach. Instead of making the voter feel like an overwhelmed bureaucrat having to make a couple dozen underinformed choices on matters as diverse as national representatives, state laws, school boards, and local ordinances, the simplicity of the UK ballot means that what is centred is the social meaning of the act itself. We may be differentiated on all other days by class, culture, income, region, or football club allegiance, but in this act we come as close in our political practices as we ever do to touching something which Christians know, something which Christians sometimes see as they share Communion, that all these distinctions are ultimately passing, that beyond them each one of us is imbued with a dignity which the greatest worldly failure cannot take away from us and to which the greatest worldly success cannot add.

There is a school of thought in political theory which says that all our most important political concepts are actually secularised theological ones. They say, for example, that our exalted ideas of state sovereignty find their origins in our forebears’ understanding of God’s. Theologians draw various lessons from this approach, some worrying that what it really reveals is that we have made an idol of the state. They may be right, but perhaps it is also true that sometimes, as much by accident as intention, we happen upon a form or practice in our shared political life which captures something of heaven. It is not wrong, I think, to accord such secular practices a certain level of sanctity. It is not wrong to call the principle of ‘one person, one vote’ in some sense sacred.

No longer are we allowed to trust that people are who they say they are. They are assumed to be imposters until they produce a piece of paper which says otherwise.

But once that sacredness has been granted, we face a very similar problem to the one faced by those early Scottish reformers regarding Communion. How do we ensure this sacredness is protected, that it does not become debased? A traditional answer has mirrored the reformers’ approach to communion: erecting hurdles to ensure that only the truly worthy are allowed to participate. The unmaking of this approach has been the slow work of centuries as the franchise was eventually extended down the social and property ladder to all male citizens and, then, belatedly, to all women as well. What I experienced at the polling station that day was a miracle secured by many years’ of struggle, reform, compromise, and collective recognition that what has made this act sacred is not its exclusion, but its welcome. In this it has mirrored the welcome of most contemporary Communion services in the Church of Scotland where participants are, to be sure, asked to approach the act soberly, having examined themselves and made confession to God, but where the default is to trust that people have done so. No longer are people considered unworthy until proven otherwise by their possession by a metal disc.

When I first heard of the possibility of the introduction of Voter IDs at polling places, my mind immediately flew to how such laws were aimed in the United States. Like here, there is little to no actual evidence of voter fraud there, but in a country where the archaic system of the Electoral College means a few thousands votes in the right state can decide a presidential election, there is a real threat that such laws will sway election results. Here the influence of such laws is less clear. While they do seem to have a small effect of driving down participation, at last year’s local elections four pre cent of eligible non-voters cited the ID requirement as the reason they did not vote, recent election results have not been dramatically out of step with opinion polling.

What I do worry about losing with these laws is a little bit of the elegance and dignity which has previously imbued the UK system. No longer are we allowed to trust that people are who they say they are. They are assumed to be imposters until they produce a piece of paper which says otherwise. It is a small change, but one which nudges the rite closer to being just one more bureaucratic transaction, a bit more like picking up a package or going to the bank, than one of our most important public rites. It is a precaution that seeks to preserve the sacredness of the act, but is chipping away at what it is that makes it sacred.
If I wind up working in a polling station on July 4th, I will dutifully check every voters’ ID prior to handing them a ballot. I will send friends and neighbours home to get theirs if they’ve forgotten it. I will be careful to bring my own. I am sure if I had lived in former times in Scotland, I also would have been careful to remember to take my communion token to church. Those are the rules of admittance and the rite is too important to skip. However, I will mourn a little for what has been lost and hope for more places where we recognize the possibility of the sacred dwelling in our practices of welcome, recognition, and trust rather than exclusion.