No room at the Inn

In Britain, there is a scheme whereby homeless people or those in insecure housing or those getting themselves together for whatever reason can sell a magazine called ‘The Big Issue’. I buy it whenever I can, as a lot of the money you pay goes directly to the homeless person selling it. Due to the nature of the project, it’s also an interesting read and has a lot of alternative politics in it- things you should read even if you disagree. The adverts at the back are for social work and for donations to homeless charities and similar.

Every year one homeless shelter in London runs adverts with a picture of a young homeless woman, with the text, ‘Would you give Mary a bed this Christmas?’.

I was walking on my way to a concert a couple of days ago, when I passed a young woman in the street, with an eighteen month child stretched out across her lap, fast asleep. The woman was dressed in such a way that I’m sure she is Eastern European, and had a McDonalds cup in front of her, with a few coppers in it. She had hollowed out eyes full of sadness. I walked past, for about a hundred metres.

Would you give Mary a bed this Christmas?

I walked back, gave her three pounds, wished her a Merry Christmas and all the best, and hurried off, wanting to cry.

Jack said to me, “You’re such a nice person.” But I’m not. £3 is nothing to me. I did it as much to make myself feel better as to help her. I gave her all the pound coins in my purse (which happened to be 3), gave her the money and ran away from her as fast as I could. This makes me a more hypocritical person than someone who just walks past without meeting her eyes. She has a little baby. I should have given her £50. I should have gone to the cashpoint and got it out and given it to her and sat down and asked her how she was, asked her where she was staying, what her plans were, and how I could help.

If Mary and Joseph walked down Oxford Street today with no where to stay, and ended up sitting in a doorway, hundreds of us would all hurry past. Hundreds of us would tut under our breath if they asked for money, and feel inconvenienced, and feel bad, and rush away from them and our consciences.

Please don’t leave me notes about how homeless people spend their money on drugs and drink – I give to homeless charities as well (not as much or as often as I should), I think you have to do both. And far be it from me to judge the behaviour of people who have experienced things I will never go through because I have a loving family who will always give me a roof over my head.

I am feeling lovely and festive at the moment. My world is warm, candle-lit, fire-toasted, full of baubels, pine cones, and smells of cinammon. Christmas cake is on the table downstairs, the pantry is full of food, crackly presents are all around the house wrapped in shining reds and golds.

But as I type this, in my parents’ nice warm study, there are people outside in the cold with nothing to eat. And this is not right.

yours sadly,
therumtumtugger
xxxx