Recently I found myself in a bit of a hurry. I was headed to my mum’s, and had forgotten the clothes I’d packed so, instead of the subway, I called an Uber since I was running late. Being driven to Union station felt like a treat I seldom experienced. Relatively speaking, I rarely even need to take transit since I live in the downtown of a major urban centre. Needs must, however, and so on this occasion I did.

It sounds silly since lots of people take Ubers and taxis, but I felt quite posh being driven around by someone else, especially as I went through the financial district. And, of course, not having to think at all about where I was going, I had the opportunity to experience the city in a way I wouldn’t do normally.

As I was looking around, however, we drove past a homeless man standing in an alley, looking at me. It was more than an alley, mind! It was actually more like a tiny street, and there he stood in the middle of it, looking at passers by.

Who was he, I wondered, and what’s his story? Is he hoping for someone to stop to give him money or something? Interestingly, I felt myself wanting to look away, but I didn’t. I simply passed by.

His image stuck with me, though, since he was precisely what you would imagine a homeless man to look like. Tattered clothes and unkept features, with something indescribably “off” about his composure, perhaps because he’s an addict or suffers other mental health afflictions. Still, the eyes are softly focused in front of him, on the scene in which he must feel like a ghost!

How many people do you think walk past him in a day? How many people do you imagine take the time to look at him as one would to acknowledge another’s humanity? How many people do you suppose would rather just look away? And when they do, what do you think they’re feeling? Guilt? Contempt? Confusion? Fear? Nothing at all?

For the sake of our collective conscience, our societal sins, it’s important we consider these questions, I thought. And yet, we don’t need to. I could just look away, or perhaps even have him moved away. It’s far easier to ignore what is undoubtedly a stain on a society as wealthy as ours than it is to solve it. We don’t need to do anything about it, and if it makes us feel better, we can bitch and moan about how imperfect our fellow human beings are, as if a human being could be anything else.

All the while I’m sure the downtrodden would continue to watch out of necessity as people pass them by. How else could they survive? They are the true mendicants, dependant upon the generosity of others to survive. Once there was a time when monks and friars would survive just like this. Now, however, the vows of poverty prove a far wiser financial decision, whilst the poor vagabonds claim this inheritance stripped of its dignities. They are dependant: they must reach out, they must be present, they must be receptive, else they’ll starve to death or resort to acts of desperation. They cannot look away from the world that’s disinclined to notice them. And then it struck me: this, I realised, is what privilege is: to be able to look away.