A short disclaimer and warning: the text may sound crass and self-centered because the organization is not meant to show my kindness or benevolence, but rather a progression of thought. Please take the time to finish reading and leave any comments or questions this may raise. I would be most grateful for your thoughts!
A friend enjoys discussing the poverty in our country, the problems of taxes, and who pays enough. Who pays the taxes, are they distributed fairly, and why do the poor have to be taxed in the first place when the rich are so wealthy and can afford to pay extra. Okay - we are all really really rich. Even the poor guy is really really rich when he has any taxes to pay in the first place. Basically, if he has enough to pay a tax, he is making enough to live on and then some. Most likely the tax will be returned. If he doesn't, then this is a different conversation.
The homeless on the streets are supposedly drug addicts, bad people, countless human lives that we pass and avoid. We try to make sure to avoid their eyes. We say to ourselves "because they must have something to live on. After all, they are still alive. . . even if they are filthy." I once promised myself that when a homeless person asks for money, I'll give them food instead. I too have to survive. Besides, who knows how they spend it . . . I've been cheated already, having seen the drugs they smoke in clear daylight. But if they ask for food, when they ask for food, I will bring it to them.
So I did - I got the guy a piece of chicken and some gatorade. He still looks hungry. This one meal wouldn't even last a well-fed person who eats on a daily basis.
Yesterday on my walk to work, I passed a woman who was also homeless, hadn't had a shower in too many days, and could have been stereotyped as a junkie: oh . . . how she was devouring that bag of chips that I immidiately saw as a fat machine. And how I felt guilty, having to walk on and remember that I have to pay rent this month.
But at least I have rent to pay! These guys braved the hurricanes - if not for the hurricane, they probably wouldn't get to a shelter, get clean and showered, . . . after Hurricane Irene, some of them almost looked like they had dignity for a day, well shaven, clean clothing, clean faces - while I could still recognize them as they moved back into their former positions at the regular posts in front of the CVS, in the park, in front of the church, their cleanliness made their faces serene and proud.
During the hurricane, I walked past a woman who walks in front of the church on P St every day - she looks very proud, calm, serene. She wears a scarf in turban fashion around her head and reminds me of an Armenian Greek Orthodox woman: she wears traditional long skirts and bears her composure with feminine grace. After weeks of seeing her, I thought strange. But it was to see her pacing in the same spot during the hurricane, after naively thinking nothing of it, that her strength stood out as a symbol of wonder . . . I crossed to the other side of the street and saw her there under the church door, again calmly and serenely pacing in her usual conservative yet clean dress. This time I noticed her sleeping bag, duffel bag, and umbrella which she used to establish a sense of privacy, all under the doors of the church. Clearly, she had not gotten into the shelter.
So I wonder, if I still have time to write this and if I still have the power and ability to find a job, babysit, work at a bar or at a restaurant, find a job in a school - if I know whom to ask, how to ask, where to go, what to say, am I poor? And are the doors closed off to me? And am I choked up with poverty and taxes? No - my taxes are what helps these people survive, even a few at a time. And I wonder if it's my role to play, to spend a little bit of time to say hello, to remember that when they greet me on the street they will not harm me, even if they might spit at me. But who can judge them? Many already blame them for their own hell.
But it does feel bad to be ignored, dehumanized, and feared - so my only way of helping them is to remember that if we have time to think, read and write, then we are very very well, can afford whatever we need, and have everything we could have asked for. Am I self-centered? yes. Are they? Probably. But I can do much more, sure. . . in some way. We don't know why people come to this point - not really. If we did, we would be among them. Most of us don't have time to ask.
