Unpacked is AFAR’s new advice column. Every month, our columnist Dr. Anu Taranath answers an ethical quandary that a reader recently faced. Taranath is a speaker, facilitator, and educator based in Seattle, Washington who specializes in racial equity and social change. She’s the author of the book Beyond Guilt Trips: Mindful Travel in an Unequal World (Between the Lines, 2019). If you have a question you’d like examined, please submit it to unpacked@afar.com.
Dear Unpacked,
My husband and I traveled from Connecticut to Colombia in April, and we had a wonderful time. While we were walking around Cartagena, taking pictures of the city’s famous doors, we were approached by a young mother and her baby. She pointed at the baby, and then her stomach, as if to say they were hungry, and held out her palm. My heart broke—I remember being a young mother myself once—and I immediately gave her all the pesos I had in my purse. My husband didn’t say anything at the time, but afterwards, he told me that I helped fuel a bad industry. Did I do the right thing? — Take My Coins
Dear Take My Coins,
Your question immediately brings to mind the cognitive dissonance we experience when the extreme inequities of our world are juxtaposed together. How is it, for example, that some of us, the “better-offs,” are able to relax for pleasure abroad and take pictures of famous doors, while others struggle simply to seek enough food, water, and dignity to make it through the day? Who made this system, and how do we repair it? Such questions have the potential to short-circuit the best of us.
Inequality is not only about who has what material resource; it also reflects what is both over-valued and deeply disregarded in our societies. As the Chinese philosopher Confucius once said, “In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of.” Where does that leave you, the young mother, and your pesos?
Yes, from one perspective, your actions were absolutely correct. You were moved by the scene and touched by another person’s situation. In a society that often places greater premium on accumulating profits over people’s well-being, the empathy that connected you to the young mother is beautiful and matters greatly. There’s something deeply democratizing about being able to see ourselves in another person whose experiences are different than ours. These momentary connections that travel often imbues us with can unlock our hearts and transform our understanding of ourselves and others.
There’s something deeply democratizing about being able to see ourselves in another person whose experiences are different than ours.
You were, I imagine, also motivated to empty your pockets because the young mother identified—and, in a way, called out—your relative privilege and wealth. That can feel awkward, no? She knew, and you knew, that you had more of many things than she did. When confronted with our own better-off position, we can feel quickly overwhelmed by a range of complex feelings. Guilt, shame, and helplessness merge with discomfort. While you gave the woman the money in your purse ostensibly to help her, the exchange may have also helped you discharge the uncomfortable feelings that the interaction raised.
Let’s say you had not given money to the young mother. Would that have been a better option? Your husband seems suspicious of the “bad industry” in which people either opt or are forced to beg.
We just don’t know the young mother’s situation. We don’t know if she chose to panhandle in a high-density tourist location because it pays more than other jobs. We don’t know if the pesos will offer her and her baby some solace during an otherwise chaotic day. Or might she be left with just a few centavos after she hands over the majority of what she’s collected to a criminal ringleader who controls her and her family’s destiny?
For many people in perilous circumstances without a viable safety net, a blurry line exists between choice and lack of choice. The truth is that most people who must beg for money do so out of some form of deep precarity. The source might differ across locations and contexts, but the fact remains that economic and social vulnerability is much bigger than you or I. Emptying our pockets serves as a temporary band-aid for the recipient and will not inoculate them from precarity in the longer term.
You and I and the panhandler are all small fries. We live in a larger system of inequity that perpetuates the notion that some people’s lives are worth more than others.
Likewise, turning away from someone who is asking you for money, too, will probably not help them enjoy more dignity, opportunity, and safety in their lives. Again, you and I and the panhandler are all small fries. We live in a larger system of inequity that perpetuates the notion that some people’s lives are worth more than others. The late global health activist and doctor Paul Farmer said, “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong with the world.”
You ask if you did the right thing by giving money to the young mother. I’m not sure if there even is a right answer to this situation. When I travel and am asked to give money, I often do not. Instead, I learn from my friends and colleagues in those countries how socially minded local people themselves navigate the inequities they encounter on a daily basis. Before traveling, I read about what social justice initiatives look like in the region I’m visiting. I try to find out which organizations, NGOs, or philanthropies bring relief to affected people in ethical and thoughtful ways and might support their work with a contribution. Everywhere in our unequal world, people are coming together to create more stability in their communities in both small and big ways. I might not always know what to do in any given moment, but I do know I want to be a part of this larger movement. It sounds like you do, too.
If you have an ethical travel question you’d like examined, please submit it to unpacked@afar.com.
