GROWING up, my dad had his unique way of grounding us in reality. He’d say, whenever we went to the post office or to the supermarket and met someone sitting outside, begging: “You know, this guy could be us.”
Through these encounters, he illustrated that homelessness wasn’t a consequence of moral or intellectual shortcomings, but a reflection of systemic issues, economic disparities, and the fragility of life.
Each person he helped carried a story that defied the myth of the tramp, “le clochard” – someone who is undeserving, who probably brought this situation onto themselves, and, in the words of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, made a lifestyle choice. This myth, perpetuated by societal biases, dehumanises individuals experiencing homelessness, creating an insidious barrier to the empathy and compassion they deserve.
To truly address homelessness, we must confront and debunk this myth with the same vigour we apply to dismantling stereotypes affecting other communities.
My father, a factory worker, and my mother, a nursing assistant at the time, represented the backbone of my working-class hometown, Issoudun. We, and everyone we knew, had this acute understanding that hard work would not shield us from vulnerability, that the security enjoyed by the middle and upper classes wasn’t a given for us.
We didn’t inherit wealth, and the ladder we climbed felt precarious. The stability we longed for wasn’t guaranteed. We had this awareness of the thin line that separated us from those ending up begging in the streets.
My father’s words echo louder now than ever. Homelessness is an ongoing tragedy, claiming lives irrespective of seasons. However, as winter approaches and festivities like Christmas and Hogmanay loom, the juxtaposition becomes particularly poignant – and all the more difficult to accept.
The warmth and joy associated with these celebrations intensify the stark reality that many endure the cold without shelter or companionship. Personally, I can’t help but feel a sense of helplessness and shame that I enjoy comfort while someone nearby shivers in the cold. The latest figures in Scotland are horrific: 244 homeless people died last year, almost half of them are people under 45.
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Switzerland, a country with the highest density of millionaires, boasting one of the world’s most advanced economies, is no stranger to this struggle.
The Swiss city of Basel has come up with an unusual way of dealing with the issue – offering beggars one-way tickets to other European cities. According to a local newspaper, authorities are offering homeless people rail vouchers to any destination in Europe as well as 20 Swiss francs (about £18). To get the voucher, the individuals must sign a written contract promising not to return to Switzerland for a certain period of time. If they are caught returning, they risk being deported from the country.
Geneva too had its way to tackle this issue. Is it reasonable to fine and imprison someone for simply asking a passerby for help? The city used to think it was. But in 2021, the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) unanimously declared that such actions constituted a violation of human rights. The court confirmed that a Roma woman, facing clear vulnerability, had the inherent right, based on human dignity, to express her situation and try to meet basic needs through begging without fear of legal repercussions.
Due to an inability to pay accumulated begging fines totalling 500 Swiss francs, the woman received a five-day prison sentence in Geneva in 2015. The ECHR, recognising the severity of the punishment given her precarious situation, condemned the custodial sentence as likely to worsen her distress and vulnerability.
Consequently, the court ordered Geneva to compensate the woman with more than 900 Swiss francs. The ECHR clarified that while begging may pose a moral dilemma, it certainly does not constitute a threat to public order, which was the reason for these fines.
During the Covid lockdowns in France, fines were handed out to people with no place to call home, revealing an especially heartless side to our societal response. The irony is tragic and, frankly, infuriating. It’s like kicking someone when they are down and expecting them to get up.
These fines are the symptoms of a much deeper problem – political inaction on homelessness. Rather than investing in real solutions, our political leaders are opting for punitive measures. It’s a misguided attempt to sweep homelessness under the rug by punishing those experiencing it.
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These fines do more than hurt people’s pockets; they deepen the cycle of desperation, trapping individuals in a never-ending loop of economic struggle and legal trouble.
Cities, in their inventive attempts to drive away the homeless, have embraced a peculiar form of creativity – anti-homeless architecture. This manifests in the deliberate installation of uncomfortable street furniture, strategically placed to render public spaces so unwelcoming that those grappling with homelessness find them inhospitable.
Benches designed with dividers and armrests to deter anyone from lying down for a moment’s rest, slanted surfaces making it impossible to sit for an extended period, deliberate noise pollution to make it impossible to sleep. It’s a calculated move to push the issue out of sight, further stigmatising those already marginalised.
We’d rather punish and hide the extremely poor than do anything to lift them up. Even in Paris, led by socialist mayor Anne Hidalgo, the homeless are being driven out of the city ahead of the Olympic games next summer – 5000 emergency housing places have been lost in the capital as hotel owners prioritise profit from tourism over providing essential shelter for those in need.
Many homeless individuals in the heart of Paris are not only victims of poverty but are asylum seekers who have fled war, violence, and persecution in regions such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and beyond.
These individuals, predominantly isolated men, find themselves in precarious situations not because of personal choices but due to the restrictive policies imposed on asylum seekers. They are barred from the job market, leaving them unable to earn a living properly and perpetuating their vulnerable status.
Worse, there is no real political will to address this issue: they are dehumanised as homeless people, but also as foreigners. The hysteria and racial agitation surrounding immigration issues create an environment where addressing the needs of asylum seekers, particularly the homeless among them, is perceived as unpopular.
To tackle homelessness effectively, we must redirect resources from punitive measures to comprehensive solutions. This means investing in mental health support, affordable housing, and social services.
The goal is not just to alleviate immediate challenges but to break the cycle of homelessness by addressing its root causes, and make sure that if people do lose their homes, they will get the help they need, fast.
The narrative around homelessness needs a radical shift. Instead of perpetuating stereotypes and punitive measures, we must focus on empathy and solutions. Let’s listen to the stories of people who don’t have anywhere to call home, challenging preconceived notions and fostering a collective understanding that homelessness is a circumstance, not a characteristic.
As I reflect on my father’s impactful words and the state of our societies today, it’s clear that we need to understand homelessness as a shared vulnerability to reframe our approach.
It’s not charity; it’s an investment in the well-being of society as a whole. It’s a recognition that our collective strength lies in lifting each other up, eroding the divisions that perpetuate the cycle of homelessness.
I have a lot of grievances against my dad, but for this, I will always be thankful: he taught me to see myself in those who are less fortunate. I’ll never forget his lesson – that the person on the street could be us.
The battle against homelessness is about policies. But it’s also a call to action for our shared humanity.
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