spare change

I love to reminisce. So visiting Berkeley, my old stomping ground, was a real treat.

Even though I spent my three years in Berkeley as a penny-pinching law student, my selective memory initially conjured only happy memories as I roamed about town. My favorite cafe is the same as it ever was: crowded, warm and humid with espresso aroma and milk steam. My old church, thanks to a big building project, looks big and impressive, albeit a bit impersonal. I stopped by the law school. The lecture halls have been modernized. Once upon a time, there had been one electrical outlet in the entire room; now, every seat is wired for electricity and internet access. I wandered into the library, where the quiet tension and thick odor of anxiety brought a different, less happy memory to mind: studying for the Bar exam. Needless to say, I made a quick exit.

The streets of Berkeley and their homeless vanguards reminded me of inconclusive conversations about the right response to beggars. Give them money? What if they use it to buy booze? Is it up to us to judge how they use what we give them? Give them food? What if they have allergies? I absent-mindedly handed out some cash and snacks as I walked, puzzled by my own hesitation and uncertainty. I thought I had already settled this question, in favor of a literal application of this passage.

It's much easier to come up with a definitive answer about how best to interact with street people in Los Angeles, where I spend most of my time in cars and buildings, where I'm able to control and define such interactions. It's more difficult in places like Uganda, where there's no predicting (or avoiding) encounters with people in need. It's even more difficult in places like Berkeley, where the "needy" are sometimes belligerent and ungrateful.

Turns out, I hadn't reached any clarity about this issue; I had merely changed locations.