Next pandemic, hell, all the time, let’s just give people money
Just about every other economically advanced country in the world approached the economic crisis brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic in the smartest, most humane way. They gave people money. Just like that. They used a variety of schemes—payroll subsidies for companies or regular—weekly or monthly–direct payments to people. But they made sure that even when people couldn’t go to work, or when their jobs disappeared, they weren’t going to drown.
The rest of the developed world—and now charities in the U.S.—have figured out that some form of universal basic income can be a way to keep an economy and a citizenry afloat, all the time, but also in times of real crisis.
NPR reports on the growing trend in non-profits worldwide to just give people in need money, and how U.S. groups are catching on to it. “The nonprofit GiveDirectly has been providing cash aid across Africa since 2009. But in recent years, more stateside groups have been handing out cash after crises like Hurricane Ida. Charities in Washington, D.C., gave about $26 million during the pandemic,” NPR reports.
They talk to Michael Wilkerson, a resident of D.C. whose chronic health condition meant having to access the kind of help he needed could have put him in danger of infection. “With my condition, I didn’t want to be around certain people if they weren’t masking up and doing what they’re supposed to do,” Wilkerson said. He got connected to a program called Thrive East of The River, which was providing direct payments of $5,500. He used that money to buy new clothing—he’d just lost a great deal of weight because of a thyroid condition—pay off debt, and make modifications to his home to make daily life easier. “I’m not getting any younger,” Wilkerson says. “So I need to make my apartment more conducive to my living.”
He was trusted to know what he needed to spend the money on, respected as a grown-ass responsible human being who could make choices about what he needed in his life. “I know when I don’t have cash on hand, I don’t feel worthy,” he told NPR. “It’s like whatever was looming over me when I didn’t have the cash, as soon as cash came, that cloud went away.”
Georgia Horton, in Los Angeles, concurs. She went from incarceration to finding religion and becoming an evangelist. But the pandemic ended her speaking engagements and threatened her housing. She enrolled in the Compton Pledge, which provides her $300 every month, no strings attached. She’s paid bills and bought a laptop that connects her to speaking engagements. She even has been able to save some money and establish Georgia Horton Ministries.
“It has been life-changing,” Horton said. “It gave me breathing room and mental relief. I had so much anxiety. I mean, my livelihood and my life as a whole was in danger. But now, there are all these new doors opening. It’s truly saved me.”
That’s echoed by so many families that have been receiving monthly child tax credit payments. First of all, they can eat—58% of families reported spending the $300-per-child payments on food. They can pay bills—33% of recipients said they used it to pay utilities. The next big chunks were spent on transportation for kids to school and on clothing. In other words, necessities.
The incredibly paternalistic idea that charity has to come in the form of things—of cans of food, of coats, of whatever—is archaic and insulting, based on the idea that poor people are poor because they make bad decisions and can’t be trusted to make their own choices. Outside of natural disasters, where stuff like generators and building supplies and potable water and food is needed and welcome, it makes far more sense to give people the dignity of cash assistance. The dignity of a hand up allows them to make decisions for themselves.