"Hello, do you have a minute?" asked a blonde-haired girl wearing worn jeans and an oversized blue T-shirt that read "Planned Parenthood". She was standing underneath an awning to avoid the persistent drizzle that accented the depressing tone of an overcast day, and judging by the time and a guess at her age, I figured she had probably been standing there for a few hours since she out of her daytime summer activity. The clipboard under her arm and a weary but determined smile made it clear what her mission was for the day.
Me? I was just trying to get away from a long day at the office to the subway train that would ship me back to my comfortable suburban home, where a delicious leftover dinner was only a few microwave minutes away. Stopping to listen to a fundraising pitch for a charity I've seen around since middle school was far from the top of my priorities. I could tell from the uninterrupted, preoccupied footsteps of the people in front of me that they felt the same way. Poor girl. I hope someone else will give her some attention.
But something gave me pause as my eyes connected with hers, negotiating whether I would at least stop and hear her out before making up a meager excuse to leave my wallet safely untouched in the back of my pants. Maybe, it was the fact that I just saw a Berklee student toss a cigarette stump into a roadside puddle, and I felt guilty for doing nothing to rectify that situation. Maybe it was the fact that "leadership" and "public good" have been swirling inside my brain since I agreed to start my first managerial position. Whatever the cause, I stopped and turned to face her directly.
"Hello," I opened, "What brings you out here today?"
A glimmer of hope lit up in the girl's eyes. "I'm fundraising and trying to spread some awareness. Have you heard of Planned Parenthood?"
"Yes," I replied easily, "I'm familiar with the organization. And unfortunately I can't help you with your goal tonight."
Abruptly, and without another word, I turned back toward the MBTA station and continued my commute home, puzzled by my own decision to engage in a conversation that I knew would go nowhere.
So... why did you stop? I don't know.
Well, if you stopped, why didn't you at least give her something? How much was I supposed give her? $5? $10? And what if I saw one of her cohorts a block apart and am solicited again? Where does it end?
... Is that really a valid excuse? Why is it an excuse? Why do I have to give away my money in the first place? To a charity that I have no use for? To a person who could just be wearing a charity's shirt just to scam people, much like the man and woman who camp outside the Hynes Convention Center station and tell the same sob story to passerby about "needing to get home on the T" or "my home burned down", begging for money?
What about that comment you made today about giving aid and sympathy to those who are less fortunate? ... But still, can I afford to give money to every single charity fundraiser I come across? Even if it's just $5? Or even $1? And what would that even do or accomplish?
At this point, I realized that I was blocking traffic inside Hynes station, standing just a few steps away from the gate I had passed through with a swipe of my Charlie Card. I hurried down the stairs, hoping that I would just forget the nagging feeling that I should go back up to street-level and give something to the girl.
As the train door closed behind me, shutting off any chance of contributing something to Planned Parenthood through the young fundraiser, I mentally projected the effect of a small donation by a large group of people. If everyone in the top 10% of U.S. income earners donated just $5 to a single charity, that charity would receive $75 million instantly, a substantial amount for any nonprofit organization. How many lives would that impact? It's hard to say, but I imagined the impact would be greater than the top 10% each donating nothing.
Still, there was nothing novel about the call for a small effort from each member of a large group. I'd heard the argument, the plea many times before.
What did strike me, as I reflected on what I told myself I want to accomplish later in life, is that Planned Parenthood exists today because there are people behind it who work to push society toward a better world for women, parents and their family and friends. A better world. Isn't that what I want? Isn't "a better world" what I dream of building? And if so, will I ever be in a position where I need to ask strangers to spare a few dollars on their way home from work, to support the mission I champion?
I'd had enough of my own rationalizations, which I realized were futile and ultimately empty. Even if I'm not in the 10%, giving $10 today to support a worthwhile cause would not force me into bankruptcy. So I followed through with that small effort by logging on to plannedparenthood.org and supplying my billing information, hoping in the back of my mind that one day someone will do the same for me.
So, to the blond-haired girl who stood near the corner of Boylston & Mass Ave at 6:45 PM this dreary Wednesday evening, thank you for reminding me of both Golden Rules and for clarifying my path forward. Perhaps together in spirit, we can make the Pareto improvements that I try and want to associate with myself.
