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AN interesting debate has been taking place in the Nigerian Senate for the past several weeks. At issue is whether a ban on begging, which has been instated by the city government of Lagos (Nigeria’s largest city), should be extended to all cities in Nigeria.
In Lagos, the police have rounded up all people found begging in public spaces and asked them to pay a fine. Since most cannot pay the fine, they are put in prison and remain there until they can come up with the money. According to government officials in Lagos, April saw over 1,300 people taken off Lagos’s streets in this way. A little over half of them were eventually released. Another report found that between March and July, the state government “evacuated” over 400 “lunatics” and beggars from the city.
The Nigerian example raises some important issues in the South Asian context, where begging is just as prevalent. According to the Guardian, there are now more than 400,000 beggars in India, and 40,000 in the Bangladeshi capital, Dhaka, alone. While there are no fixed numbers for how many beggars are plying the streets of Pakistan, it can be assumed that the figure is just as daunting, and increasing every day.
The issue of what must be done about begging is a controversial one in any society.
Any citizen who walks or drives through Karachi or Lahore or Peshawar is sure to be accosted by a beggar. If they are in the process of making a purchase of some sort, the beggar will employ guilt and shame to obtain a share of the transaction.
The issue of what must be done about begging is a controversial one in any society. One’s opinion depends on one’s idea of personal space and who may be considered entitled to use it. Those who think public space should be free and open to all cannot object to beggars who are, after all, expressing themselves (and their needs). Those who think that the state can and must control who and what operates (and what can be said) in the public space could argue that begging can and should be banned.
In Nigeria, the proponents of the ban have argued that beggars are a nuisance to tourists and others inhabiting the public space, abridging their movements, intruding on their activities and generally creating a negative view that goes against the bustling, progressive image that Nigeria would like to project to its own people and to the rest of the world.
As in Lagos, if the ban passes, those among the beggars who are truly destitute or mentally ill would be moved to a “rehabilitation centre”. If the Lagos example is truly the model, then it seems that part of the objective would be to relocate these people somewhere other than Lagos so that they cannot return to the streets.
As most people know, begging, even though it involves the poorest and the mentally ill, is nevertheless a sort of business in Pakistan. Over the past several years, numerous exposés in Pakistan and in India have revealed how begging mafias operate, how small children are kidnapped or hired out by parents so they can beg, how these young beggars and often others must make a certain amount of money that they then hand over to the real, behind-the-scenes beggar mafia bosses.
In simple terms, begging has its own economics, with turf divided and defined carefully, and law-enforcement officials paid off so that they can ply their trade. Given all of this, it follows that if a begging ban was to be considered as an antidote to begging in Pakistani cities, it would depend crucially on whether law-enforcement officials could be held accountable for enforcing it.
There are other problems with bans that relate particularly to the South Asian concept of charity. One technique used in cities to deter begging is the use of public-awareness campaigns, in which those people who give money to beggars are encouraged to donate money to well-respected charities instead. This sort of attitude seeks to end begging while not denying the fact that those who beg truly need the help and assistance of those who give money to them.
They underscore the reality that when charity is given to a well-respected organisation (instead of to an individual) it is far more likely to be used for the right purpose and not for padding the pockets of the behind-the-scenes beggar boss who will take the bulk of the cash.
Unfortunately, this last fact, that it is better to give to a charity rather than an individual, is often met with scepticism in Pakistan. Many people in the country give money to an individual after actually witnessing his or her pain and misery. Giving money to a well-respected charity like the Edhi Foundation, which has of late reported a decrease in donations after the demise of its founder, requires trusting an organisation and respecting the dignity of the needy. Few in Pakistan are willing to do this; charity, like all other forms of piety, must be public in Pakistan, so that the giver can feel fortunate in the giving, and enjoy on some perverse level the fact that they can, in fact, give and need not beg.
Those reading this article are likely to be accosted by a beggar during the course of the day. Most may feel harassed by the encounter, its manipulations, its theatrical appeal to guilt and to shame. It is easy to dismiss it all as the fault of the beggar, and harder to remember that the manner and mien of the industry exists because there is a demand for it, because it works.
An end to begging is possible, but it requires Pakistanis to move away from publicising every good act, to believe in the dignity of the needy and to be amenable to giving charity even when no one can see.
The writer is an attorney teaching constitutional law and political philosophy.
Published in Dawn, December 14th, 2016
