ripple

04Jun07

I was standing on the train in the middle of some grade school kids on their way to school last Friday.  Two beautiful Asian boys were directly in front of me with their dads behind them, forming a loose human shield. 

You can usually hear them before you see them as they solicit aid from the rush hour crowd, business suits and business casual averting their eyes and then slowly looking up as the panhandler is safely out of range.

The signs instructing New York not to comply with these requests for money or food used to be posted more often.  Giving to a charitable organization is the thing to do, don’t waste your money on the scammers or the addicted down and out. 

This man’s gravelly, desperate voice was all it took to know that he wasn’t lying about needing help.  I saw him after a couple of seconds, the gash in his forehead was freshly scabbed over and thick dark red streaks of blood, the entire length of his torso, splattered his dirty gray polo. 

The subway riders moved aside, as far as they could without appearing as if they wanted to run for their lives, like me.  He was in such bad shape, and I was terrified. 

The boys in front of me didn’t seem to miss a beat, their fathers’ backs to the crowd forming a  paternal booth for them.  Their smooth young faces chatting back and forth about transformers created a surreal foil for the specter of this broken, wretched man as he lurched past them.

I wanted to cry for this man and I wanted to make him disappear, not exist.  I wanted to help him, but knew I wouldn’t. I don’t know if he was specifically asking for money, his cries for help were gut wrenching and primal.

Somebody help me.  Please. Somebody help me.

Even if I had enough decency to overcome my fear of contagion of whatever he could be burdened with, (poverty, inconceivable sorrow, soul shattering panic) to reach out to offer him cash, the gesture would have been laughable.  This man needed real help.  He had feces smeared up the back of his shirt tail.  There was little room for him to sink any further.

I got off at my stop and looked around for someone to talk to, an MTA agent, a police officer, someone who would do something.  Not someone like me.  I walked into my office, not encountering anyone who could be urged into action, a coward.

I spent the weekend thinking of this man and I’m still uncertain about where to begin.  Giving money is a place to start, but to which organization?  Which group needs it the most or the fastest?

A random vandal started a blog with amazing images of ‘wall art’ this past weekend.  I saw the buttons on his site.  A brilliant group, ripple, has set up this system of painless contribution buttons.  Once you click, you’re asked to endure a few seconds of advertising, and then they make a contribution to Ripple.  They, in turn, donate everything to charitable organizations, although they’re overseas for now.  It’s an incredible idea and I’m hoping you’ll think so and share with other people.  It’s not enough for one person of course, but it’s a place to start.

The Ripple buttons will be at the bottom of this blog from now on. 

If you have room on your page, consider adding them on.

from Random Vandal

Filed under: give, massive transit   |  3 Comments