‘We’, a group of familiar males, sometimes gather and chat by Bourda Market and Old Orange Walk. After a few moments of conversation, we head off to fulfil the day’s tasks. Whatever topic we discuss, our conversations often end with reflections on the immediate world of Georgetown and what intrigues us.
Frequently, our attention turns to the humanity visible on the pavements. It is an undisputed fact that 90 per cent of the pavement dwellers are male. Not that anyone would suggest such situations require gender balance, but the faces we see often change, and the numbers seem to grow. Upon closer examination, it becomes clear that not all pavement dwellers are drug users, though many are. Nor are they all destitute pensioners. Among the men, there is also a scattering of women and younger people.
We can trace this issue back to its roots. Using examples from our own experiences, we recall instances where elderly persons, predominantly men, were abandoned at the Public Hospital by heartless relatives, even spouses, who never returned. Many of these men passed away in institutions, with no one stepping forward to take responsibility for their final arrangements.
This crisis often stems from a familiar story: young males pulled out of school to fill the void left by absent fathers. They were forced to take on adult responsibilities too early. These children, thrust into maturity before their time, are now the lost adults of today. In contrast, elder sisters were rarely removed from school. Some elder brothers, burdened by the same responsibilities, eventually disappeared, leaving no contact information behind, eager to escape their circumstances. However, the problem with running away is that when faced with new challenges, such men may flee again.
Years ago, I had a conversation with the late Parker, a good friend, about a young security guard we knew. This guard rented a room in a cheap hotel nightly. He would occasionally lean on us for advice, and one day, we suggested he find a small place to rent. Assuming he had a partner sharing the room, we thought they would both benefit from stability. To our surprise, he admitted there was no partner. Instead, he was escaping a household where his older sisters took every penny of his salary. Today, he is likely still on the streets, surviving thanks to the kindness of charitable souls who provide food for the destitute.
Why am I addressing this issue? Over the years, I have written several perspectives on what I consider a significant problem. I recall an interaction with a director at an institution where I was paying off a loan for my mother’s house. The director commented, “You’re dutifully paying for your mother’s house, and you don’t have one of your own?” I replied, “No, I don’t. But if this house doesn’t exist, everyone will come after me.” He laughed and asked, “How many kids do you have?” At the time, I had one child. I answered, “One, and she’s with my mother.” He chuckled again and said, “I bet she eats like a teenager when you fill the list.” We laughed together, concluding, “It’s a man’s world in the human sphere.”
This exchange, though light-hearted, underscores a broader issue. Many men, shaped by circumstances that forced them into responsibility too early or left them unsupported, find themselves in desperate situations. Some end up on the streets, while others live in precarious circumstances, burdened by past expectations or societal pressures.
The crisis we see on the pavements is more than just a collection of individual tragedies. It reflects systemic failures and societal neglect that disproportionately impact men, particularly those who were failed as boys. Addressing this issue requires more than charity; it calls for deeper understanding and structural change.