There are beggars in Stockholm. There didn’t use to be many at all, but now not a day goes by without me seeing some in the streets.

There is also a fair amount of debate going on around the beggars. Many of them are Roma/gypsies, many are from Romania, so much of it is coloured by prejudice. People talk about organised beggary by criminal groups, about entire extended families moving here to beg, about beggars being dropped off by car at their spot, about made-up sob stories of sick children.

And I know there is some of that going on. One sub-group of beggars is the “cards in the train” type. They have printed cards with a photo of some sick family member and a few sentences about their situation. Once I watched one lady set out her cards on the seats in the train and saw that her sick child had different diseases on the different cards… A friend reported on Facebook seeing a beggar dropped off by a nice car in the morning. And they are definitely organized: there is usually a man outside our local supermarket, but recently I’ve seen a woman in the exact same spot, so maybe they swapped or maybe he’s gone and left his seat to her.

But there have also been stories about their life back home, by actual journalists who actually visited their families and saw the grinding poverty and deprivation they live in, and interviews with beggars who tell about the soul-crushing humiliation of having to beg for a living. I don’t doubt any of that, and I can’t feel angry with them for making that choice.

I think about them every day as I pass them. I pity them because I cannot imagine having a life where begging would be my best option.

I am also angry, bothered and embarrassed because I feel helpless. I do not know what to do about it.

I could give money to them, of course. But I cannot bring myself to do it, because I cannot disregard the big picture.

They are so many. One day I counted five on my way home from work: at Fridhemsplan, at St. Eriksbron, at Karlberg station, at SpÄnga station, and finally one at the supermarket. Which one do I give to? One? All?

Giving creates a relationship. I see that guy outside the supermarket every day. How could I give once and then ignore him? I would feel an obligation to keep giving. Daily? Weekly?

Giving will help that family, but it will also mean that their second cousin will hear about it and will also make his way to Stockholm to beg, which I don’t want to happen.

I cannot affect the people and government of Romania to make them take better care of their weakest, or to provide equal opportunities to gypsies.

The problem is so close and vivid that I cannot ignore it, but I also cannot do anything about it. I hate this.