Mendicant Mafias

In which we look at the moral dilemma of giving to street beggars: damned if we do and damned if we don’t!

Image courtesy of Sofia Bilgrami

In all poor countries beggary is a fact of life. It has even become a nuisance feature of plush first world cities like London and New York. Its not an exaggeration to say that every foray out into the streets of Karachi is fraught with waves of maimed beggars, scruffy kids, shrouded women thrusting swaddled babies at cars, wizened crones sharply rapping windows, elderly bearded men clutching sibhas (the Muslim rosary) importuning you piously, gaudily made up hijras (transsexuals) clapping their way down the lines of cars at traffic lights and now, the most recent trend, kids and youths pouncing upon windscreens with squeegees dripping with corrosive soapy water. Woe betide the latter should any of them dare besmirch my driver’s carefully polished car, for then his usually controlled demeanour quickly disintegrates as he starts to unclip his seat-belt and make as if to get out and beat up these extorters of conscience money.

This is a menace that will never go away. I’ve blogged before about the humbling upside of encountering the disabled and the destitute. But survival strategy dictates that while living here one develops a modus operandi if one is to avoid being sucked into paralyzing guilt or flying into rages of irritation. Giving to charity and helping the poor in some meaningful sustainable way obviates most of the guilt and is simply good citizenship. Better to support a bona fide foundation that deploys resources in constructive ways (like the Zubeda Khaliq Memorial Trust, or Panah) than to drip feed a few rupees to anonymous beggars. 

In a country where poverty abounds and the disabled are almost invisible to the state (vocational training is scarcely available), perhaps giving to the disabled begging on the street is more easily justifiable. But there are layers to the phenomenon of beggary that point to deeply disturbing social fault-lines: mafia operations, abduction of children and enforced beggary, drug addiction, and the lack of effective social welfare infrastructure. The most twisted aspects of beggary are maiming and trafficking. What Egyptian novelist Naguib Mahfouz wrote of so hauntingly in his book 'Midaq Alley' also happens here.

It staggers the mind that beggary is actually considered a ‘career’. There are whole tribes in rural Sindh who live by the proceeds of urban beggary. Every Ramadan, the month in which most Muslims are brought closer to their consciences, the numbers of mendicants on the streets swell and sidewalks become their temporary home. Some generous households in rich neighbourhoods become feeding depots for crowds of them as long strips of table cloth are laid down on the pavements outside and covered with dates, fresh fruit, sherbets, pekoras and samosas. During the rest of the year, every Friday after congregational prayers, the faithful have to wade through clusters of beggars as they leave the mosques. It is heart-wrenching to see hordes of kids being forced to beg on the streets; given the chance any one of them would prefer to be in school or anywhere else but live such a hazardous street life.

The whole issue of giving to beggars is a thorny one. On the one hand Islamic moral heritage teaches of the high value placed on charity and helping the indigent, shoring up instinctive human philanthropy with religious imperative. The Prophet is known to have said, ‘Give to a beggar even if he comes on a horse’. Charity is central to our faith. It's bad form to say no. The Qur'an says, 'Never will you attain true goodness until you give of what you love, and Allah is aware of what you do.' (3:92).

The very notion of Islam's wealth tax – the zakat – is to ‘purify’ wealth of excess storage and hoarding and should result in its redistribution where it is most needed. Imam Ja‘far al-Sadiq was once asked why zakat was calculated at two and half percent, and his reply was that out of every thousand people, there would always be 25 indigents incapable of earning their keep. Implicit in the principle practice and very lexicography of zakat is the idea of individuals and societies being rendered 'purer' - i.e. healthier (for the Arabic also implies increase and growth) - by the very act.

On the other hand it seems charity doesn’t really help stem or end beggary but  encourages it. In which case the question arises: are you making the situation worse? Does the so-called good deed invert into a bad one? And as far as zakat is concerned (as distinct from charity or sadaqa) it involves not only the collection but also the responsible disbursement of funds. It is here where it seems the greatest weakness lies: we simply don't have confidence that our zakat is going to where its most needed, unless we deliver it there ourselves. 

Furthermore, there is another moral principle espoused by Islam: that of not asking at all - at least not of creation, but only of God. The truth is that ultimately we do not own anything for ourselves, we are merely guardians and stewards of wealth given to us. 

The Indo-Pak sub-continent has a long history of honorable beggary, however, in both Hindu and Islamic traditions. In one manifestation common in South India Shiva is the supreme beggar-ascetic (Bhikshatana), one of his four arms holding out a skull-cup to receive alms. Hindu sannyasin were often labelled as ‘fakirs’ (an Arabic term absorbed into the Anglo-Indian vernacular) and there has always been a strong tradition of Hindu ascetics staying near the shrines of prominent Sufis like Sultan Bahu, where they would be equally welcomed and tolerated alongside Muslim mendicants, and like the inevitably present majdhubs (enraptured lovers of God). 

In the esoteric tradition of Islam, wandering dervishes, or ‘fakirs,’ (faqir: literally, a poor one who recognizes his utter need of and subsistence in God) were worthy recipients of people’s charity for they had chosen to rely on providence for their sustenance, and this was always recognized as a noble, if not exactly imitable, way to live a godly life. Giving to them was always considered a way of drawing upon oneself God's favour and blessing. Much has changed, however, and nowadays most such characters are deemed a parasitical nuisance.

When I was a young bride learning how to cope in Karachi, my mother-in-law showed me one way of handling the onslaught. She would regularly challenge able-bodied women who approached her saying, ‘Come and work for me!’ Invariably the answer was ‘No, why should I? I earn more this way!’ And off my mother-in-law would go, cursing these lazy good-for-nothings. While I would look on with a bit of remorse, she had no such compunctions of bourgeois guilt at privilege, because she had lived through the difficulties of partition and the sacrifice that went into growing this country.  She and her husband had helped to support their entire family as they came over here and settled, sharing with them whatever they had in their hour of need. Pride and a staunch work ethic had seen them through the toughest of times. Laziness or greed was inexcusable. Now, as an elderly woman, it is her utter delight to spend all she has on worthy causes.

How I wish I could be as firm-minded as her and less wavering. Sadly I grew up in a more pampered way, but still with a strong sense of duty to give and share. Keen awareness of the favors I’ve been blessed with propel me to reach for my purse. Irritation at the increasing invasiveness of their asking makes me put it back. I may be merely assuaging my distress at the relative misfortune of others or demonstrating my gratitude for my own good fortune. I don’t know. I cannot deny the element of guilt that creeps in. My ears are not immune to the cleverly worded  and intoned entreaties and prayers peppered upon them. My guilty charity changes nothing. I feel complicit in these cankering games of extortion. It just perpetuates the gross oppression of man-made injustices – and generates more guilt in the form of self reproach. And this is of course what the mendicant mafias bank on. Literally!