Homeless Man With Golden Voice

First off, a grave error was made in my previous post: the woman whose voice halts violent struggles of men and angry storms in the sea is named Celine, not Celion, Dion. Of course she deserves some blame for my mistake, given how her voice makes me question what is real anymore.



Within the last 72 hours, we have witnessed our generation's social media showcase its touted ability to drive and organize social change, catapulting a homeless man with a buttery radio voice in Columbus, OH named Ted Williams to instant stardom - and as we found out yesterday - most likely a well-paid commentator position. A Youtube user uploaded Ted's interview with a reporter from Columbus Dispatch and it spread like wildfire, prompting calls from folks eager to connect him with job offers. News stations have been all over the story and report he's even fielding offers from the Cleveland Cavaliers, who, I suspect, will also ask about his interest in moonlighting as a backup point guard. Anyway it's a feel-good story, and I couldn't be happier for the guy getting a second chance. But beyond that? In the past, I would look out the window with a pensive expression (same as my sad or titillated expression), listen to some Celine Dion, maybe share the story with family members, and think to myself that the world is now a better place than before. But this particular story reminded me of something else: many of us still don't know how to feel about homelessness.

Truth be told, I can recall only one instance from recent memory in which I gave money to a homeless person. I don't feel too ashamed when I say that because my parents have worked too damn hard to support our family, and as much as I recognize the tremendous blessing and privilege I have been bestowed through no fault or merit of my own, I'm just not ready to be generous with the money obtained through such sacrifice. What I do feel ashamed about, though, is that time I did decide to help a homeless person. He was a subway performer at Harvard Square station. Frankly, I don't even know if he was homeless. His hair was disheveled and his clothes slightly grimy but the speakers booming behind him didn't look too bad. Why did I give him my two Washington's? Because I love Usher's "You Remind Me," and the man's rendition was better than anything I had heard from Usher. In most cases, even that might not have reached the threshold to trigger a generous act but I had just finished a chicken fajita burrito from Chipotle, which means I was romantically inclined at the moment. So I gave him money because he sang well. Too well to keep sleeping on the streets and entertaining passerbys. He belonged on the big stage, and I hoped he could get there.

I can't speak for the folks who reached out to Ted Williams, but I think at least some of them shared my sentiment. And though I think it's quite natural and indicative of our desire to see others succeed, we must approach it with some caution when we set out to confront homelessness and poverty. Looking through coverage of the Ted Williams story, the common theme I see tossed around is that Williams deserved and got a second chance. The senior vice president of marketing for the Cavaliers said, "We believe in second chances and second opportunities. The gentleman deserves an opportunity to explain certain situations." Kevin McLoughlin, the director of NFL films who also offered Williams a job, agreed that the "man deserves a second chance." But why exactly does Ted deserve a second chance? Many people would accept the idea that falling into hard times is a threat we all face. Life is unpredictable, and even in an economic climate better than the current, our fortune is at the whim of fate. Others would also believe that even when the misfortune brought upon a person can be, to some degree, attributed to his or her decisions and behavior that society frowns upon, the person should be presented with an opportunity to make amends - a fresh start. So they would look admiringly of Ted's triumph over alcohol and drug addiction, and point to it as evidence that the man has made efforts to get back on track.

But is Ted more deserving than other homeless people on the street? Homeless people who have not conquered alcohol or drug addiction? Homeless people who sing terribly? What about those who stand outside CVS, shake their cups around, and curse at you when you don't pay up? My answer would be no, for the same reasons we embraced Ted. Because I believe that any argument for Ted deserving a second chance must be grounded in the premise that our capacity to understand and thus judge lives other than our own as well as the people who live them is inherently limited. If we as a society agree that Ted deserves another shot, it should be because we acknowledge the generous portions of injustice and inequality that life haphazardly throws at us. Not because what we see in him - his marvelous voice and now drug-free lifestyle - leads us to conclude he is deserving. I make this distinction because our outpouring support for Ted does not crystallize our attitude toward homelessness. It only partially defeats the lingering stereotype of the homeless as a homogeneous group of lazy, incapable people, tempting us with the dramatic contrast between Ted and the more well-known, typical faces of poverty. Here is a man who actually has a talent and persevered to overcome his moral failings, unlike those other bums on the street, one may say. It is too easy for us to demand the kind of extraordinary gift and resilience we see in Ted from others, who have faced life conditions altogether different from Ted's and who, more often than not, do possess talent and gift, just of less salient forms. It is too easy for us to attach a person's worth and character to the observable reality we perceive using our simple faculties, conveniently ignoring the interplay of life's elements that lie much deeper.

Today's cadre of social activists and researchers, more than ever, are embarking on projects with an appreciation for complexity of poverty and unconditional respect for its victims. Conditional cash transfer programs, which entrust poor families with the power of spending subsidy money as they see fit (as long as they fulfill certain requirements such as keeping children in school), have gained support worldwide and achieved spectacular results. In the U.S., Common Ground and partner organizations are finally targeting the chronically homeless, a population neglected for years, by committing to provide housing for 100,000 chronically homeless through the 100,000 Homes Campaign. And as for us? We should hold close the virtues of humility, gratitude, respect, and love. We can't live alone, boys and girls. More on that next time.