I wrote this on a plane trip. I can’t remember if it was from Italy to London or London to Morocco. But I was really tired, however I manage to bang this piece out. It’s prolly my finest piece of writing.

Enjoy,

Matt

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Dressed in black from head to toe, she kneels down on the footpath. Head bowed, forehead and elbows touching the ground, her hands tightly grasp a plastic cup full of coins. It is a pose of total submission. A sign of desperation. A cry for help to strangers passing by for any spare change that they might have. Anything that they can help her get by til the next day.

Down the road, a man with missing arms cries out “Por Favor, Senor” to every man, woman and dog that passes by. His throat is dry, his body sweaty but he has no choice. “Por Favour” he cries out again as the well dressed tourist passes by without even giving him the light of day. Despite the public humiliation and embarrassment, he continues on.

All of a sudden, young African men burst through the street clutching handbags and wallets. Like a pack of hunted animals, they scatter into the crowd.The hunters, plain clothed policemen gather up the leftover counterfeit goods, in their attempt to stem an illict trade. The policemen know that the men will be back, it is just a matter of where and when.

These are scenes from Madrid in the city centre. A cosmopolitan city, a modern hustle and bustle commerical area. These same scenes are repeated throughout Rome, Paris, Venice and other parts of Europe. For this is the untold story of Europe.

Most tourists and locals pass by these scenes without giving them a second thought. For these people are the ignored, the marginalised, the unknowns. The people that the rest of society does not want to know about.

Everyday in Rome, there are drunk men sitting on the steps of dilapated buildings. There is a homeless man standing outside the supermarket begging for change. He has not showered for weeks and smells of something so vile that no one dares go near him.

Outside the supermarket, an old lady walks past the outdoor tables of an expensive restaurant and scoops up the change left by well fed customers. The waiter sees her and yells out something incomprensible, no doubt wanting his hard earned tip. He fights with her for the money, clutching and grabbing for the coins. It is not worth fighting for but it could mean the difference between eating and starving for the old lady. The difference between living and dying.

In Barcelona, packs of men and women roam the streets and train stations, looking for unsuspecting tourists. Pick pockets, thieves, robbers, the scum of the earth, the fear of every tourist. They have turned Barcelona into a tourist nightmare, seizing any opportunity to run off with our valued posessions. A modern day Robin Hood theory. Rob the rich and give to the poor, a makeshift redistribution of wealth. They cause the lines of the police headquaters to swell, almost as long as any tourist attraction. By mid-afternoon, the line is long, meaning that the pickpockets have had a good day.

Many of these people are Mexicans, living illegally in Barcelona. They eke out a menial existence by taking the lowest paid jobs. Cleaners, factory workers and the like, anything to sustain themselves. For the law is on their side, if they can prove they have lived in Espana for 3 years, they can claim citizenship. Which equates to a better job, better money and ultimately, a better life. In the meantime, they do whatever they have to survive, including cleaning the pockets of tourists.

Beggars, thieves, poor and the destitute, is nothing unique to Europe. There were similar scenes of desperation on the streets of Japan, a country with high living standards. Men living in cardboard boxes, with thir entire posessions laid out for all to witness. For these men are outcasts, considered the lowest of the low, worst than any of Western Society’s beggars.

Have you ever noticed the homeless lady sitting outside the Macdonald’s on George Street near Circular Quay? One cold Friday night, I walked past shocked how chilly it was and thanking that I had my jacket. As I strolled down the road, something clicked in me. If I was freezing, what about her? I walked inside, ordered a Big Mac meal and two apples and handed it to the lady. It wasn’t much and I obvisously did’nt do anything to eradicate the problems of world poverty, but I made a difference that day to one person by a simple gesture.

However, this is only a band aid solution. By giving to the poor, we do no more than prolong the poverty cycle. For the adage goes, give a man a fish and he will live for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he will live a lifetime. There is no cut and dry solution for these problems but it is serious problem facing many people around the world and something needs to be done about it.

Because for every winner, there must be a loser. Thus for every rich person, there must be a poor person. An inequaltiy between rich and poor that exists. A divide so wide that it drives people to stand on street corners begging for change, to sell fake handbags for a living and to rob tourists for their wallets.

For this is the untold story of the world. And it must change.