That was the question that the BC government asked online, via mailouts, in advertising for its supposedly forward-thinking, action-oriented Climate Action Dividend program. Essentially, everyone who was a resident of BC as of Dec 2007 (like me) received a $100 cheque from the government (called the Climate Action Dividend) that we were, in theory, to spend on combatting climate change.
For instance, we could buy a composter. We could go to the market and get organic foods. We could purchase some energy-efficient light-bulbs. Etc.
It was great in theory. $100 to propel BC residents into environmental action. And, as an environmentalist and someone who truly loves and cherishes all things green and gorgeous on this planet, I appreciate and respect the initiative.
But aside from winning over a few votes and even more criticism, the Climate Action Dividend was, I think, a failure.
The Vancouver Sun polled BC residents. Most people said they would spend it on gas (uhm... the ULTIMATE anti-environmental purchase). After all, at $1.52/litre in BC, it costs about $100 to fill up the tank.
So as I read and watched people misusing their $100, i fiddled with my cheque. Looked at it from time and time. I wondered, what can I do?
I mean, I already have a composter, nylon grocery bags, a bicycle, energy efficient lightbulbs, and, ironically, a full tank of gas.
What could I do / we do to use that money in a way that saw immediate results for our community.
Then it donned on me and Paul. It had been almost six months since we had walked down to East Vancouver to feed the homeless. Las time, on $50, we managed to feed 24 homeless people with gourmet sandwiches, oranges, and cereal bars.
Imagine what we could do with $100!
We got our friends on board. CJ donated her time, money, and sandwich making ability. She also donated her sunshiney attitude and generosity of spirit. Others donated money.
$107.31 later, I came home with 10 loaves of bread from the local bakery -- freshly baked sourdough, multigrain, olive, and french breads; freshily sliced pastrami, honey ham, and peppered turkey; two cooked chicken breasts; three cans of tuna; 12 tomatoes, 2 heads of lettuce, 4 bricks of cheese; and a bag full of Ziplocs.
Courtney showed up minus her $100 but plus 48 Five Alives, cereal bars, cookies, and tangerines.
Together, the three of us started sandwich-making, packaging, and ... uhm ... sweating.
An hour later, we had 70 care packages. Each with a gourmet sandwich, an orange, two cookies, a cereal bar, and a Five Alive.
We wrote messages on every bag, like "You are important" and "You matter".
We packed the car with four tubs of goodies and made our way to the East Side.
After we parked, we loaded the sandwiches into big nylon bags. And started our trek into the thick of poverty.
The first person we saw was so high on drugs she was crying and flailing her arms. CJ offered her a snadwich and she smiled with peace in her heart and warmth in her grin, and danced off.
Our two-block walk was dotted with 5 or 10 people who graciously accepted our care packages. One man, so delighted at the look of the sandwich, said "WOW! This looks GRRRRRRR-EAT!"
The three of us exchanged small smiles.
Then we hit Pigeon Park.
Not so much a park as it is a concrete corner littered with graffiti, the stench of rotting food and feces, and a good portion of the city's miscreants. Probably over 100 people, all in this corner, lying in the hot hot sun. Doing drugs. Yelling. Sleeping. Throwing up. Shooting up. It's a scary 100 metres squared.
But here's the amazing thing:
We showed up. I walked up to a woman clearly out of it on a bench. She was leaning against a bearded man who was sticking a needle in his arm. She was in and out of consciousness.
"Would you like some food?" I asked.
She forced a smile. And quietly, in a grateful whistper, said "Yes yes. yes please. I would. Please I would."
It was desperate and appreciative at the same time.
And then, the storm hit.
Paul, CJ, and I spread out within this mass of poverty, and when word got out that we had sandwiches, we were all but mauled.
But not in a threatening way. Everyone waited their turn, said thank you, and moved on. No one took more than one. No one faught with anyone else. When we ran out, and had to say "Sorry, that's all we have," no one got mad. No one had animosity. The ones who ended up with nothing said "Thank you anyway."
All 70 sandwiches, gone in 3 minutes.
I gave care packages to:
-A 50+ year old woman in a neon green bra top and leopard pants. She called me honey. And she had a snake tattoo on her arm. Maybe, I thought, she won't have to sell herself for food tonight.
-A kid, he was maybe 17, hat pulled down passed his eyebrows. He couldn't look me in the eye. He had track marks up and down his arms. But he said "thanks miss" when I gave him the sandwich.
-A native man with piercing blue eyes and a wry smile. He picked up the care package in one hand while clutching his crack pipe in the other. He bowed "thank you" and brought his hands together like he was praying.
Courtney and Paul were having their own experiences.
One man had a needle in his outstretched hand as he begged for a sandwich from Courtney.
Paul shook the hand of a welder, who lost his job three years ago, and has been on the streets ever since.
Every one has a story.
We walked back to the car in silence.
On the way back into the West End of the city, Courtney broke our silence:
"I feel so grateful" she said.
It was profound.
"I have never been that desperate for a sandwich," I said.
We're lucky, we concluded as we shared small tidbits of what we'd learned in those 5 minutes.
"Doesn't the government realize that those are people out there?" Paul asked. "They are people."
For a little over $200, we managed to feed 70 grateful people. 70 people.
The government mailed out 4.4 million $100 cheques to a population that most likely spent the money on gasoline, food, beer, fun, etc. that's $440 million.
if BC has $440 million to give away, I suggest that perhaps next year, they spare me and every other upper and middle-class resident the $100 and give that money to the residents of the east side. Feed them. Clothe them. Bathe them. Educate them. De-drug them. Give them tools. Give them chances. Care for them. Embrace them. Love them. Show them that there is a light.
Guide them to success. Help them to reach their potential. And stop ignoring them.
They are people.
And every time I take a small bit of money and time out of my life and give it to them, I always receive 100-fold.
