I asked a friend, whose professional judgment I respect, why he thinks that many people seem to resent or dislike homeless people and encampments, and this is what he said. “It’s because the homeless are perceived to have broken the social contract.”
Now, this friend wasn’t saying he thinks homeless people have broken the social contract. He was inferring what he believes goes on in peoples’ heads. The term “the social contract” is the title of a book by the 18th century French philosopher, Rousseau, but its origins are as old as The Bible, the ancient Greeks and Confucius. In essence, the social contract means that, since humans are obliged to live together in close-knit proximity, each of us has a moral responsibility to behave in civil ways based on codes of law and conduct. If people ignore this social contract, then society reverts to a primitive state, resulting in lives that would be (in Thomas Hobbes’ words) “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.”
The social contract is why, in theory, we don’t steal from each other, or rape or murder. That happens in raw nature, which is “red of tooth and claw.” In civilized society, humans create cultures (or are supposed to) that tame mens’ bestial instincts so that we can live together in peace, harmony and social progress., according to mutually-agreed customs.
What my friend meant, I think, is some of us look at homeless people and conclude (whether consciously or at some deeper level) that these individuals have broken the basic agreements the rest of us hold sacred. They refuse to play by the rules. My friend, who has known many homeless people, even suggested that some homeless people enjoy “sticking it” to the rest of us, because they’re so angry at a society they believe has kept them down. “You don’t like my tent? Tough shit.” We—those of us who are housed, have jobs and income, and attempt to live productive, law-abiding lives—may see the homeless as a threat (or insult) to the social contract. Far from being victims of a brutal capitalistic society, as homeless advocates maintain, the homeless are deliberately fraying the threads that hold our society together and have bound us since Homo Sapiens became self-conscious. The homeless choose to be outside the pale.
If you think about it, this is an odd, conflicted way of thinking. Most of us, I would wager, accept the notion that most homeless people are so, not due to any personal failure on their part, but because of things like the high cost of housing, or the economic collapse caused by the pandemic, or mental illness, or inadequate government spending on relief. Most of us, I believe, consider ourselves compassionate and empathic. And yet, there is that kernel of resentment towards the homeless. It’s as if we’re asking them, “Who are you to tear our society apart, and why shouldn’t we be pissed at you?”
I count myself among those who are conflicted. I concede feeling that resentment. I think of human culture, from when we were cave people to now, as a long, slow process of maximizing civilization. We take two steps forward and one step backward, and we occasionally get things very wrong (for instance, the election of Donald Trump). But “the moral arc of the universe bends toward justice,” and one way or another, we make steady progress. And then along come homeless people who are speed bumps on our long, millennial march forward.
My heart and mind are mixed up. I wish I had an answer; I wish there were an answer. “The poor you will always have with you,” Jesus said. No system in history—not capitalism or communism or European social democracies or Muslim theocracies or autocracies or the Amish—has ever figured out a way to make poverty go away, and in all likelihood, none ever will. All we can do (and I think we’re doing it, particularly in Oakland) is get a little closer to equity every day.
But I realize it’s important for me to get out of my own echo chamber and talk with people like my friend, whose views on homelessness and policing are often very different from mine. He tells me things I need to hear, and I hope I tell him things he needs to hear. I don’t know that either of us changes the other’s mind, but my friend, and friends like him, force me to be more nuanced in my conclusions. And that’s a good thing. I think I’m right on most issues, but I don’t necessarily like thinking that I’m right. It’s good to have a bit of self-doubt; at any rate, it helps prevent smugness.
Steve Heimoff