I OFTEN see them when I’m having a morning cappuccino in my favourite Melville coffee shop. It seems to be a man’s job only, for it’s only men I’ve seen. They vary from young and strong to much older and more fragile, but they have one thing in common.
They are pushing or pulling a sack or a container on wheels. Normally the wheels are attached to a small wooden platform, which holds the sack. The makeshift contraption is pulled by a piece of strong cord. Sometimes it’s a shopping trolley, but increasingly I’ve noticed these home-made carriers. The sacks seem to be filled with junk – stuff I wouldn’t need, anyway. Bits of cardboard boxes, scraps of metal. But it’s not junk. Because it is being transported with a dogged determination. This is work for these men. And I know where they are going. To the squatter camp around the corner from my house. They must have a very specific use for the scrap they are carting. Perhaps to patch up the wall of a shack, perhaps to strengthen a door, I don’t know.
What strikes me as I sip my coffee is how very divided our country still is. And yet how much we actually have in common. I may finish my breakfast and head off to an air-conditioned office, but these roadsters are also employed. Self-employed admittedly, with very little in the way of long-term career prospects, but the work ethic burns bright. In fact they are hard at work before I have even started.
The worst thing that people of privilege can do when confronted with poor people is assume they are any different from them. Yes, of course, the circumstances are sharply contrasted, but judging another by their lot in life is very unwise. Do that and you miss the person in the middle of that lot. I would agree that circumstances sometimes make it easier to commit a crime or get sick, but pitying the poor is pitiful in itself.
I see these men’s dignity. I don’t regard them as poor victims, though I’m sure many them have had some terrible experiences. I admire their innovation in building a job around their needs and creating order out of chaos.
On a more general level it worries me that we are getting used to the massive divide between rich and poor in our society. It’s become the norm to see the begging children at the traffic lights. The problem is that those of us who are in a position to make a difference are becoming numbed. Confronted with too much suffering, many of us will turn away because of guilt at our good fortune or a sense that we can never really make a difference.
Now I know the idea of the rich helping the poor might be contradicted a by our cart-men who seem quite capable of doing it for themselves. I think what is most admirable is that these men, who really should be assisted by society, are able to make a plan for themselves and their families. But not everyone has that ability.
Increasingly as privileged people (and frankly if you are able to read this article, you can be classed as privileged), this country is challenging us to just reach out a little more and try to help. But the way in which we help is crucial. See the problem not the person and you will be defeated and desensitised. See a fellow human being who could do with a favour and you will help without patronising.
Beyond the individual difference that will be made, a greater line will be crossed. For a country that has evolved on division, we cannot allow poverty to create another separating line. Maybe you don’t believe in handing out money on the street to a beggar. That’s fine. How about a quick conversation about the weather? It’s not ridiculous, it’s you treating someone as your equal, despite your different circumstances.
Cart-puller or coffee shop visitor, this is our country, and poverty is our problem. We can make a difference by reaching out in some small way to touch fingers with someone on the other side of that divide.
It’s a challenge that is coming at me everyday – are you feeling the same?