Busking with Panhandlers: Politics on the Streets

I got into a spat with a panhandler once. It was the kind of argument that was only conducted through glares and body language. No words were exchanged, and I was more confused than outraged. I set up at one of my usual spots, in front of the Coop at Harvard Square with my back to the streets. There was a panhandler sitting with her back against the wall, but I didn't pay too much attention to her. I've seen other panhandlers there while performing, and they've never seemed to mind my presence.

As soon as it was apparent that I was setting up in that spot though, her body language changed. She was visibly angry. She was, it seemed, glaring at me. I entirely wasn't sure.

She was definitely angry, but was her anger directed at me? I looked at her. I looked over my shoulders to see if she was looking at anyone else. And then I looked back at her. Sunglasses hid the direction of her gaze, and I continued to set up, though I nervously looked over in her direction every few moments. I was pretty much facing her even though a stream of pedestrians filled the space between the two of us.

I didn't want to offend. My mission on the streets is to do what I love and perform for anyone who thinks to stop - but it's also to understand. Variety act buskers are my focus, but if I keep my attention solely on them and ignore the landscape to which they belong, then I'm not doing them nor their art any justice. So I watched her carefully, expression confused more than challenging as I ignored the potential spectators that walked past. I wanted to speak with her, but I didn't want to approach first.

Though my brain assured me that I was indeed the target of her anger, I still wasn't entirely convinced.

She stood up, actions rushed and aggressive. She made a phone call at the pay phone beside her. I assumed that she was trying to call the police on me - make a noise complaint as an anonymous denizen of Harvard Square. I'm not sure because no police officer approached me that day. Another panhandler, sensing her distress, walked up to her. They chatted. He walked up to me.

"What do you do?"

"Magic."

"Can you show me something?"

Sure, I said. I was eager to stay on good terms with him and his friends. When I was done, he looked back towards his friend, who was standing with her hands on her hips. "Don't worry about her. She's annoyed, but she can find another spot. I like what you're doing though." The two of them walked off. By now I knew her glare was directed at me. As they crossed the street, I could still feel her glare on my back though her eyes were concealed beneath those dark black glasses of hers.

This spat - a conflict that is indicative of the larger politics among variety act buskers (circle and sidewalk show performers), musicians, vendors, and panhandlers that I am just starting to grasp - just left me confused. I wasn't sure what to do - not entirely sure of what would have been more ethical. I've wondered before how the presence of buskers impacted nearby panhandlers. Her actions suggested that my presence there would prevent her from making any money.

Should I have left so she could continue using that spot?

Regardless of the value that I could bring to the space through my performance, we were both there legally, protected by the same First Amendment rights. My street performer's permit, which stated that I couldn't perform within 50 feet of other performers, didn't apply to panhandlers, so I couldn't look to the law for guidance in this case.

Last weekend, I saw her again - perched in front of the Gap at the exact spot that I had wanted. One of the street performer monitors in Cambridge (whose job it is to check our permits and test our decibel levels) shrugged his shoulders when he saw me checking the spot out.

"That's too bad. There's nothing I can do about it though," he told me.