NEWSBYJEF FREE WEINBERGER

A quaint Dickensian imperative, known virtually to all, implores us to remember that charity begins at home. But a modern day trend, in evidence from coast to coast and in cities large and small, would have it end there, too, according to a newly-released report from the National Coalition for the Homeless and the National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty. From Myrtle Beach to San Diego, the report documents city after city compounding already hard times by placing legal restrictions not just on the rights of the homeless to ask for help but on the act of giving, as well.

Following upon an initial report issued in 2007, the new study, "A Place at the Table: Prohibitions on Sharing Food with People Experiencing Homelessness," singles out cities which "still choose to implement measures that criminalize homelessness and, at times, penalize those who serve homeless persons." The 21 such cities cited in the report — ranging from the tiny Sultan, Washington, population 4,200, to metropolises like Miami, Atlanta and Cleveland — have found a host of legal means to control just how much charity can occur within their borders.

Limiting how many people can be served; restricting use of public space, primarily in public parks; good old-fashioned zoning restrictions and even imposing special food safety restrictions are just some of the ways that cities are targeting what many consider not merely a legal right but a moral command.

In the midst of an historic economic downturn which has seen the largest increases in demand for services in decades — greater demands in 2009 for shelter in 82 percent of cities surveyed and a 26 percent average increase in demand for assistance, the greatest increase since 1991 — the report not only focuses on the ordinances, policies and tactics which deter providing assistance but outlines what might be called a classical mythology of homelessness which results in the banishment of our most vulnerable citizens to the edges of society, "an action that often exacerbates the challenges people experiencing homelessness face each day just to survive."

In the meanest of all of the states in the land — at least so says the National Coalition for the Homeless — a mean season looks to have been put on hold. If only for a time, if only in this mini-metropolis by the beach called Ft. Lauderdale, a respite from meanness might even last until the next season of change arrives in the Sunshine State. Sticking to the script, other Florida cities have not fared so well.

June has brought to St. Petersburg an ordinance  — highly democratic in its inclusion of not just the homeless but the most respected non-profits and even the St. Pete Times — banning all public solicitation. Miami, despite the courageous efforts of a group of Take Back the Land activists, last week added to its homeless population as it stood by and watched the evictions of tenants from a building which had been foreclosed by a management company backed by the infamously bailed-out JP Morgan Chase.

But when September takes its turn, a time of year generally imperceptibly different from the preceding months, it may come to pass that the next season of change will bring an unwelcome transformation for Ft. Lauderdale's homeless as well.

As it stands, in the wake of weeks of horrendous summer heat, hurricane threats or worse, the daily deluges of rain and indifference and the ineluctable dues extracted by life on the street, another mean season may be in the offing.

Last September, the City Commission appointed a task force to find one or several fixed indoor locations to feed the downtown homeless population, estimated to be anywhere from about 1,000 to well over several times that number, depending on who is providing the data.

After all, need it be written, Florida is very hot. It rains hard and a lot. When the local Food Not Bombs contingent and other groups feed the homeless in downtown's Stranahan Park, the weather does not care. But the city commissioners do, as does the city attorney. So do the powerful downtown business elite as represented by the Downtown Development Authority (DDA). And it seems that, while the fixed feeding location(s) may on the surface look like a good proposal, that's not all the commissioners, the city attorney and the DDA have in mind.

Public records dating back at least to February 2009 clearly suggest the age