On Welfare

 I find that often when arguing with folks who think that people on welfare are lazy bums sponging off the taxpayers, the only argument they can come up with to support their claim is anecdotal. They know of, or heard of, someone who is cheating the system. Period. End of argument as far as they are concerned.

The trouble with relying on anecdotal evidence is that you can find a story somewhere to support whatever claim you wish to make about anything. So, to answer the argument that welfare recipients are lazy bums sponging, etc., let me quote some anecdotal evidence that demonstrates the opposite of that claim.

My introduction to poverty came relatively early. At the age of 14 I was on my own and, for the first six weeks or so, stayed at the Salvation Army Hostel at Sherburne and Queen Streets in Toronto. Anyone with a passing familiarity with that section of Toronto can recognize that that is hardly a suitable environment for a sensitive and immature lad. Toronto’s homeless men gather in front of the building, smoking, furtively drinking suspect alcohol, and cursing all day until they are let in for the evening. At the time, prostitutes openly solicited across the street. Now, you might suspect that I was a target for all the um…perverts?...and con artists that “we all know” gather in such places. However, I regret to inform you that I always felt completely safe and protected. Instead of taking advantage of this naive youth, most of the men were very protective of me and made sure that I was taken care of.

For the next seven years I lived in some of the “worst” parts of Toronto and then I moved to Montreal where, as a student, I lived in poverty in the slums for the next decade. After that I went off to a small impoverished rural community to teach secondary school.  Many of my students were bussed in from 40 or more miles deep in the woods and even more lived in what might be called “shacks” by our modern standards. Yes, I know all the stories about how First Nations, or Aboriginals, or “Indians” live off of huge government grants. Tell that to some of my students who lived in log cabins with no running water. I never, once, saw any evidence that anyone was living high off the hog courtesy of the Canadian taxpayer and, yes, I knew many of the band leaders personally. Eventually some of my students themselves came to occupy important positions in the community—and there still were no signs of immense wealth.

Skip ahead a few years to the period of 2005 to 2010 when I worked as a tax preparer in a small city in eastern Ontario. It is no exaggeration to say that at least 90% of my clients were either on social assistance or getting by on Old Age Security and the Canada Pension Plan. I heard literally hundreds of stories as I probed backgrounds in an effort to determine what tax breaks my clients might be entitled to. I heard it all. And, yep, a few of them were taking advantage of the system, some shamelessly. But, guess what? Those people were a tiny minority. Most of the clients on welfare or government assistance were poorly educated with no opportunities to ever do anything other than work in restaurants or retail for minimum wage—what the more privileged among us disdainfully refer to as “McJobs.” Many of them were ill. Some had obvious learning disabilities. Some were abandoned mothers with small children. Another tiny minority were fighting addiction problems.

“Fighting?” Why bother to fight when you can live off free government handouts? I don’t understand why those with secure reasonably-paying jobs would think that depending on social assistance is a desirable life-style. Most hate it. They hate the fact that where they live, what they do all day, who they spend the night with are of any concern of the government. But, most of all, they hate being dependent. Some find that when they try to get off welfare the system clubs them back down. If you earn any money, it gets deducted from your cheque and you could be kicked out of the subsidized housing that you depend on. They hated coming to see me hoping to get a few bucks from the tax people and hated the questions that I had to ask. I often hated it—personally I could give a damn who they slept with and for how long. And if a woman claimed that the child with her was hers, could she prove it?

You might argue that that’s the price you pay for being dependent on taxpayers for support. But try putting yourself in their position. You’re a young woman who gets pregnant, your boyfriend abandons you, and your family kicks you out. Are you supposed to take your child into a corner of an alley and wait to starve to death? You’re a middle-aged man who is injured on the job and can no longer look after yourself. Your wife gets tired of looking after you and kicks you out. Are you supposed to crawl into a dog house and wait patiently for the end? You’re anyone who faces intolerable pressure and finds solace in drugs or alcohol. You become addicted and dysfunctional.  What are you to do? Your apartment burns down with all of your possessions. You have no money, no clean clothing, no decent food. Unfairly accused of a crime or unethical behaviour and, as a result, are now unemployable? Life sometimes sucks. And bad things do happen to good people.

All the world’s religions tell us that we are indeed our brother’s keeper; that we have an obligation to look after those less fortunate; and, to face the reality that: “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Next time you are approached by a shabbily-dressed person on the street with a hand out, imagine that you and he exchange places. How do you feel now?

A possible candidate for the presidency of the United States recently said that if you are not rich and healthy it is your own fault. Well, one can just hope that he doesn’t become the victim of a dreadful accident and be abandoned by everyone he knows. That is exactly what has happened to many other people, even the “good” ones like you and me.