I will never forget those eyes. The guy was standing at
the rear of the tram and all of the people knew right away that a homeless
person just entered the tram judging from a distinctive smell. It was Saturday
two in the morning and most of the people there were traveling home from a
party. Quite close to this man, there was a bunch of drunk guys starting to
have a go at him, calling him names, shouting at him and all sorts of stuff.
All the people in the tram were covering their noses and commenting on him
which encouraged these guys who started to attack him. This homeless guy was
what you would call a poor thing. It was exceptionally cold January night and
he was shivering, silently standing there with his shoulders down, folded arms
in front of him as if in a desperate defence. All of a sudden all the tram was
supporting the bunch of guys who demanded him to get out of the tram, scolding
him and poking him out. Four girls, myself being one of them, defended him,
trying to compel the guys to leave him alone and just bear with the smell
somehow. No use of course. At the next stop the driver came out of his cabin,
came to the guy and pushed him vioently out of the tram, swearing and
humiliating him in front of all those people. I was looking at the man all the
time, right into his face. He wasn’t old at all, must have been in his late
thirties, long black hair, dirty face, but his eyes were sparkling. Sparkling
with sadness and humiliation. Like a dog’s eyes. A stray dog wandering through
streets silently asking for any help, and if that weren’t possible, at least
for a nice word. A hand that would not beat, a word that would not scold, a
gaze that would not despise. The man didn’t utter a word during all this. He
surrendered to the dominance of us all, of us who know nothing about him, about
his ordeal, about his misfortune.
A month ago I was walking down a crowded shopping street.
There was a man sitting in front of a closed down shop with his dog. First I
passed by him but after 20 metres something’s drawn me back. I searched my
pockets for some pennies and approached him, leaning down towards him with my
arm reaching out. When he noticed this he looked at my hand, startled and
frightened and then his eyes met with mine, still scared for a fraction of
second for he didn’t know what I was up to. But then when he had seen me,
petite little girl, he relaxed. He knew I was no danger. I handed him the
change and stroked his dog for a little while, he thanked me and off I went. But I
will never forget those eyes. Those were the eyes of a vulnerable creature, who
for a second or two thought I was about to hurt him.
Living on a street must be a tough job. People are
pointing their fingers, scolding, scorning. Those who know nothing about how
hard it is to be alone, pennyless, not having a bare necessities to live a
decent life, judge them, act like they know better, say they are just a bunch of lazy
good-for-nothings who rather than stand up and going to work drink cheap wine
all day and beg for money from those who honestly and deservedly earn money in
a normal job.
But is it us who have the right to judge them? Have we ever walked in their shoes?
I don’t think it is so easy to stand up strong and self-conscious, determined to start over after all they lived through. People bring them down, humiliate them to the very bottom of human dignity, until they cease to be able not only to look into other people’s eyes, but nor into their own. Have you ever noticed this? They almost never keep an eye contact with anybody passing by. They protect themselves from all those judgmental and detesting eyes which look at them as though they were an insect, a plague, something that needs to be got rid of. No surprise then they like dogs as their companions. They never judge, they never hate.
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