If people are asking for money, what kind of people would you be willing to give? Each time I moved or traveled to a different country, it is a question that always bothers me. Most people might not notice it as a problem. My mom never thinks about it, for her principle is that we don't give any money to the poor people on the street. But for me, I just can't simply move my eyes from them.
In Taiwan, most poor people sell tissues, toothpicks, chewing- gum and pens on the street. Nine out of ten sit on wheelchairs peddling their wares, and I think some of them are not cripples. In Indonesia, poor people sell drinks, crackers, peanuts, and cheap toys on the road or near the tollbooths of superhighways. They stand on the traffic islands during green light. Then they rush to the cars, knocking windows to call for attention during red light. In Singapore, I never see any "poor people." Maybe they all are locked by the government. In China, I can only use the word "horrible" to describe what I've seen. I've met a child around five years old with shabby cloth in the winter asking me for the cabob in my hand. I will never forget that scene.
In America, things become more tricky. Poor people in New York make money by singing, playing instruments, or dancing on the street or in the subway. Sometimes, you can't distinguish them from artists. They give me a better excuse to donate my money, not because they are poor, but because they entertain me. Neil Postman writes in Amusing ourselves to Death that television presents all subject matter as entertaining, and we can't have any serious discussion on TV. Maybe entertainment is the essence of American culture, for even mendicity becomes a show business.
In Taiwan, most poor people sell tissues, toothpicks, chewing- gum and pens on the street. Nine out of ten sit on wheelchairs peddling their wares, and I think some of them are not cripples. In Indonesia, poor people sell drinks, crackers, peanuts, and cheap toys on the road or near the tollbooths of superhighways. They stand on the traffic islands during green light. Then they rush to the cars, knocking windows to call for attention during red light. In Singapore, I never see any "poor people." Maybe they all are locked by the government. In China, I can only use the word "horrible" to describe what I've seen. I've met a child around five years old with shabby cloth in the winter asking me for the cabob in my hand. I will never forget that scene.
In America, things become more tricky. Poor people in New York make money by singing, playing instruments, or dancing on the street or in the subway. Sometimes, you can't distinguish them from artists. They give me a better excuse to donate my money, not because they are poor, but because they entertain me. Neil Postman writes in Amusing ourselves to Death that television presents all subject matter as entertaining, and we can't have any serious discussion on TV. Maybe entertainment is the essence of American culture, for even mendicity becomes a show business.
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