So there's this particular family I have worked with who is what you might call a 'charity case' -- everything from disability to lack of documentation means that this family cannot provide for themselves, they are fully dependent upon the charity of others to survive. Sometimes this works well for them, like when a family took them in or when people give their kids free clothes. Other times it doesn't work so well for them, like when they thought they had a place to stay but a sudden change of mood on the part of their benefactor left them homeless, or when the only food they can get for free at food pantries etc. is the very food that is slowly killing the mom (she is diabetic and, in case you didn't know, rice, beans, bread, and sweets aren't really very helpful to a diabetic).
So point #1 is that if we want to believe this family is just living it up at the expense of kind-hearted individuals and government programs, that's just not true. There is no certainty in charity, and it takes a great deal of faith to believe that your next meal will come at all. There is no luxury in the uncertainty of charity, but my are there blessings. The abuela is always out and about (despite the fact that she's over 70) doing odd jobs or helping other families out. In fact, they knew this woman whose son had to have major surgery, so this abuela took it upon herself to assist with the cooking and cleaning for the family of the little boy, even though they could not pay her. She does not serve just so she can get something out of it, she serves because she knows the only way anyone survives in the kind of world she lives in is by taking care of one another and by giving freely of what each person has.
But besides these arguments, which I feel I could immerse myself in a million times over on any internet discussion board, there is something compelling about this family. Their dependence on other people is much more apparent than most people we meet in this world. I am pretty convincingly independent, jetting about in my own little vehicle, working to earn my keep, creating a tidy budget that protects against excesses. This family, however, isn't fooling anyone. They will take and take, and then come back to take some more. Yes, they will give all that they can and then some, but they will never stop taking. Who will buy their groceries? Who will pay their rent? Who will drive them places? The answer is always - someone else. They are forced to walk around carrying a banner declaring what none of us are brave enough to admit: we need help.
At the agency where I work, we provide short term services. We catch people from the spiral towards crisis and hope to give them a boost to the rung above disaster, and that is usually all we can hope to do. When this family moves out, we will no longer be keeping them housed or connecting them with the kind souls who volunteer to bring groceries or take their kids out to do fun activities. And we as generous, compassionate individuals hope to do the same, catch a compadre's hand when they are struggling, walk alongside them for a few steps of the way, then watch them stroll confidently on their own after our departure. And maybe that's it, that's all each person can do and it takes a world of caring individuals. But it sure seems to me that in order to respond to the great inequity that is built into our society, it will be required that we continue to give and give and give, because at the core each of us will take and take and take our whole lives. We'll never stand on our own, we'll never achieve that Great American Dream where we don't need anybody.
A good deed cannot simply be a nice thing we do every so often so long as it does not disrupt the rhythm of our lives. We don't get to decide when it's over. When you open yourself up to another person, your lives become joined. Maybe this is why so many people are scared to volunteer or to have a conversation with the homeless guy on the corner: because once you know someone you can't just sit back and watch them suffer. And sometimes that means a very extended commitment. I guess I don't totally know where I'm going with this. I guess I am just trying to make sense of the very profound (but very simplistic-sounding) realization that need never ends, and if we give with the hope of some tightly packaged finality (success stories that start in disaster and end in smiles and ice cream) we will always be disappointed, because the people we help will come back for more. We might become angry about something like this, but I guess I hope that we might just realize that no one of us will ever stop coming back for more. We take and we take and we take, so doesn't that also mean we give and we give and we give?
Aug 8, 2012
Mar 2, 2012
I'm the Man
I like to think of myself as a fighter of injustices, a protector of peace, an advocate for Goodness in the world. Sometimes I feel the weight of oppression crushing the air from my lungs from what I imagine to be a pool of slimy, greedy tadpoles bloated on power and privilege. And then sometimes, this happens.
We have a few families staying at the shelter who have been here for quite a while now. The recession has compounded the difficulty of finding a job for everyone, and all the more for a single mother of 2-5 kids who may or may not have a work permit and who is struggling to recover from her own trauma. Some of these large families have created a tense environment with the kids. The shelter isn't a great place for older kids, they are bored and cramped here. We have to be strict about moms keeping an eye on their kids for everyone's safety and well being, but have you ever tried to tell an 11-year-old they have to stay within eyeshot of his/her mom? The longer kids stay here, the antsier they get, and the more frustrating our rules become. Then they began to push back against those rules, and we tighten them up, and then we're caught in a cycle that doesn't make anybody happy.
This week the kids in the shelter went on strike. With signs in hand, they marched on the office demanding fairer treatment and more fun living conditions. The leader of the pack was a powerhouse of a young woman, and she was leading chants of "Let us play in the back yard!" and "There's 12 of us and just 5 of you!" I was found myself unsure if I wanted to laugh, yell at them, or join in with their chants. But of course first reaction: get them to calm down.
I tried ignoring, I tried talking them down, I tried listening to their demands then saying we can talk about it later. They were persistent. I got frustrated. I wanted to snatch their signs out of their hands and tell them to be more appreciative that they even have a roof over their heads and start finding creative ways to have fun. I knew better, but the angry green monster inside of me was trying its best to come out.
But after the immediate confrontation passed and they went back to make their next round of signs, I realized what a strange role reversal I had just experienced. I was the oppressor, imposing insane rules for fear of losing control. They were the justice fighters, gathering in unison to have their voice heard. And how did I respond? On a smaller scale, exactly the same way the 'oppressors' of our society respond: ignoring, false promises of negotiation, belittling, increased hostility.
Yikes! Does this mean that the 'bad guys' of our society aren't actually so bad themselves, but rather regular every day people who get pushed into corners that they don't know how to respond to but defensively? Or does it mean that I am just as capable of choosing actions based on corrupt intentions as the fattest, richest CEO? Hmmm...
I quickly repented, and started writing a lengthy letter to the kids. First I commended them on taking action on what they saw as injustice. I told them that no matter what grown ups or other people say their whole lives, they should never stop speaking up about what they think is right. I explained to them the ways that our rules were really for their own safety. There are some rules we really can't change, but others we probably can. I suggested a format of negotiation whereby they pick a rule they don't like, try to imagine why the rule was created in the first place, then make suggestions for change. I told them I want to hear their voices, and that they have good and worthwhile ideas. I signed it, and passed it along to the leader of the pack.
It was a silly event, and on the surface it was nothing more than another funny story from the kids at work. But it really shook me, and I'm glad it did. It is so easy to become the oppressor, and we each do it in our small ways. Whether it's the co-worker whose ideas you have ceased to be open to, or the children you treat as if they are dumb or less valuable, be humbled to know that the capacity to oppress is within each of us.
We have a few families staying at the shelter who have been here for quite a while now. The recession has compounded the difficulty of finding a job for everyone, and all the more for a single mother of 2-5 kids who may or may not have a work permit and who is struggling to recover from her own trauma. Some of these large families have created a tense environment with the kids. The shelter isn't a great place for older kids, they are bored and cramped here. We have to be strict about moms keeping an eye on their kids for everyone's safety and well being, but have you ever tried to tell an 11-year-old they have to stay within eyeshot of his/her mom? The longer kids stay here, the antsier they get, and the more frustrating our rules become. Then they began to push back against those rules, and we tighten them up, and then we're caught in a cycle that doesn't make anybody happy.
This week the kids in the shelter went on strike. With signs in hand, they marched on the office demanding fairer treatment and more fun living conditions. The leader of the pack was a powerhouse of a young woman, and she was leading chants of "Let us play in the back yard!" and "There's 12 of us and just 5 of you!" I was found myself unsure if I wanted to laugh, yell at them, or join in with their chants. But of course first reaction: get them to calm down.
I tried ignoring, I tried talking them down, I tried listening to their demands then saying we can talk about it later. They were persistent. I got frustrated. I wanted to snatch their signs out of their hands and tell them to be more appreciative that they even have a roof over their heads and start finding creative ways to have fun. I knew better, but the angry green monster inside of me was trying its best to come out.
But after the immediate confrontation passed and they went back to make their next round of signs, I realized what a strange role reversal I had just experienced. I was the oppressor, imposing insane rules for fear of losing control. They were the justice fighters, gathering in unison to have their voice heard. And how did I respond? On a smaller scale, exactly the same way the 'oppressors' of our society respond: ignoring, false promises of negotiation, belittling, increased hostility.
Yikes! Does this mean that the 'bad guys' of our society aren't actually so bad themselves, but rather regular every day people who get pushed into corners that they don't know how to respond to but defensively? Or does it mean that I am just as capable of choosing actions based on corrupt intentions as the fattest, richest CEO? Hmmm...
I quickly repented, and started writing a lengthy letter to the kids. First I commended them on taking action on what they saw as injustice. I told them that no matter what grown ups or other people say their whole lives, they should never stop speaking up about what they think is right. I explained to them the ways that our rules were really for their own safety. There are some rules we really can't change, but others we probably can. I suggested a format of negotiation whereby they pick a rule they don't like, try to imagine why the rule was created in the first place, then make suggestions for change. I told them I want to hear their voices, and that they have good and worthwhile ideas. I signed it, and passed it along to the leader of the pack.
It was a silly event, and on the surface it was nothing more than another funny story from the kids at work. But it really shook me, and I'm glad it did. It is so easy to become the oppressor, and we each do it in our small ways. Whether it's the co-worker whose ideas you have ceased to be open to, or the children you treat as if they are dumb or less valuable, be humbled to know that the capacity to oppress is within each of us.
Nov 19, 2011
Video Games
First of all, let me begin by stating that any lack of ability to use words to communicate on my part is made up for in minute 4 of this video: http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-august-18-2011/world-of-class-warfare---the-poor-s-free-ride-is-over
Now I can begin.
I've heard more than my fair share of snarky comments about poor people owning luxury items, whether it's a cell phone or a BMW, and I will even admit to having partook (partaken?) in such conversations. But as always, it's the small simple moments that provide breakthrough and insight.
The kids at Posada are crazy about Nintendo DS, and I have my reasons for despising all things remotely related to video games (thanks, mom and dad, for raising me right!). However, there was one day when one of the older girls got a Nintendo DS for her birthday. Watching from the sidelines as the excitement and mayhem ensued of all the other kids ooh-ing and aah-ing over her new toy, I started chatting with the girls mom, who was glowing even more than her daughter.
"All her life she has nothing" she said to me. "My girls are so smart, so good, and all the other kids' moms can reward them for being smart and good, show them how proud they are. I tell my babies every day how much I love them, but I am so happy that today I get to give my baby just a tiny piece of everything she deserves." It's not so much about an entitlement mentality of materialism, or about inability to express love and affection outside of material things. As a mom she's exploding on the inside to be able to express how proud she is of her daughter (who is, by the way, one of the brightest, most articulate, self-motivated young ladies I've ever seen. She wants to become a lawyer and I'm certain she'll go on to do amazing things).
We can blame people for making poor choices and buying luxury items when their basic needs are struggling to be met. We can also look at the structure that makes that acceptable.
We all want a sense of power and worth, and we all get that from various places. But when you are
1.)a woman
2.)a mother
3.)an immigrant
4.)homeless
5.)without a man
there is an overwhelming sense of a lack of power and worth which has been fed to them. Not only that, but material posessions are, in our culture, one of -- if not the -- main accepted sources of status and power. So imagine for a moment that you feel worthless and utterly without power over your own life, and you have the opportunity to buy a big TV or a Nintendo DS or a car -- something that will show the world that you're ok, you're a functioning contributing member of society.
Of course it doesn't work. It doesn't satisfy poor people any more than it does rich people, or those who have incarcerated themselves in a prison of posessions. Do you think if you buy a bigger house than you can afford, upgrade to the newest smart phone, paint your room according to the latest fad on pinterest, put together the right outfit, lose the right amount of weight... will it make you happy and complete? Will you be empowered?
Will you be seen as more legitimate by our society?
Probably yes.
So the lesson I guess is to be cautious of casting the first stone. And to know that sometimes there is a really beautiful heart behind what appears to be not the wisest decision.
Now I can begin.
I've heard more than my fair share of snarky comments about poor people owning luxury items, whether it's a cell phone or a BMW, and I will even admit to having partook (partaken?) in such conversations. But as always, it's the small simple moments that provide breakthrough and insight.
The kids at Posada are crazy about Nintendo DS, and I have my reasons for despising all things remotely related to video games (thanks, mom and dad, for raising me right!). However, there was one day when one of the older girls got a Nintendo DS for her birthday. Watching from the sidelines as the excitement and mayhem ensued of all the other kids ooh-ing and aah-ing over her new toy, I started chatting with the girls mom, who was glowing even more than her daughter.
"All her life she has nothing" she said to me. "My girls are so smart, so good, and all the other kids' moms can reward them for being smart and good, show them how proud they are. I tell my babies every day how much I love them, but I am so happy that today I get to give my baby just a tiny piece of everything she deserves." It's not so much about an entitlement mentality of materialism, or about inability to express love and affection outside of material things. As a mom she's exploding on the inside to be able to express how proud she is of her daughter (who is, by the way, one of the brightest, most articulate, self-motivated young ladies I've ever seen. She wants to become a lawyer and I'm certain she'll go on to do amazing things).
We can blame people for making poor choices and buying luxury items when their basic needs are struggling to be met. We can also look at the structure that makes that acceptable.
We all want a sense of power and worth, and we all get that from various places. But when you are
1.)a woman
2.)a mother
3.)an immigrant
4.)homeless
5.)without a man
there is an overwhelming sense of a lack of power and worth which has been fed to them. Not only that, but material posessions are, in our culture, one of -- if not the -- main accepted sources of status and power. So imagine for a moment that you feel worthless and utterly without power over your own life, and you have the opportunity to buy a big TV or a Nintendo DS or a car -- something that will show the world that you're ok, you're a functioning contributing member of society.
Of course it doesn't work. It doesn't satisfy poor people any more than it does rich people, or those who have incarcerated themselves in a prison of posessions. Do you think if you buy a bigger house than you can afford, upgrade to the newest smart phone, paint your room according to the latest fad on pinterest, put together the right outfit, lose the right amount of weight... will it make you happy and complete? Will you be empowered?
Will you be seen as more legitimate by our society?
Probably yes.
So the lesson I guess is to be cautious of casting the first stone. And to know that sometimes there is a really beautiful heart behind what appears to be not the wisest decision.
Sep 28, 2011
a mediocre samaritan
We don't know what to do with a strong victim. We want victims to be pitiable -- their mistakes are in their past and they are vulnerable and limp. We love to pity them, to tell sob stories, and we want them to grovel in gratitude, accept each gift as a gem of generosity while their own wants and desires take sabbatical.
But a strong person who is down and out? Someone who is still in the process of making mistakes and who dares to make demands of their destiny? They are arrogant. Ungrateful. Need to learn a lesson the hard way. Because we fail to remember that amidst crisis and chaos, each of us is still human with our human flaws, which might even be magnified by extreme circumstances. And how terribly critical that we love because of and despite these flaws.
That always kind of bothered me about the story of the Good Samaritan. Our victim appears flawless. He was just minding his own business when out of nowhere these bad people attacked him and left him limp and helpless on the side of the road. And when the Samaritan finally stopped to help, he was probably spewing gratitude and humility.
Thats not the story I see in real life. I imagine the man was maybe provoking the robbers. Maybe he had been gambling with them earlier and didn't pay all that he owed. Maybe he was flaunting his new camel. Maybe he hit them back when they attacked. However it happened, he probably began to get bitter about all the people passing him by, treating him like roadkill. He may have even ventured to make a request of the kindly Samaritan when he stopped by. "Will you help me file a report against those guys?" "Hey, do you have a cell phone? I need to call my neice to tell her I won't be there tomorrow." "Listen, I've got these lotto tickets, can you check the numbers for me?"
I don't know, maybe he was limp and blameless, but that's unfair to expect every "victim" to be. Let's be good neighbors to the strong ones too.
But a strong person who is down and out? Someone who is still in the process of making mistakes and who dares to make demands of their destiny? They are arrogant. Ungrateful. Need to learn a lesson the hard way. Because we fail to remember that amidst crisis and chaos, each of us is still human with our human flaws, which might even be magnified by extreme circumstances. And how terribly critical that we love because of and despite these flaws.
That always kind of bothered me about the story of the Good Samaritan. Our victim appears flawless. He was just minding his own business when out of nowhere these bad people attacked him and left him limp and helpless on the side of the road. And when the Samaritan finally stopped to help, he was probably spewing gratitude and humility.
Thats not the story I see in real life. I imagine the man was maybe provoking the robbers. Maybe he had been gambling with them earlier and didn't pay all that he owed. Maybe he was flaunting his new camel. Maybe he hit them back when they attacked. However it happened, he probably began to get bitter about all the people passing him by, treating him like roadkill. He may have even ventured to make a request of the kindly Samaritan when he stopped by. "Will you help me file a report against those guys?" "Hey, do you have a cell phone? I need to call my neice to tell her I won't be there tomorrow." "Listen, I've got these lotto tickets, can you check the numbers for me?"
I don't know, maybe he was limp and blameless, but that's unfair to expect every "victim" to be. Let's be good neighbors to the strong ones too.
Sep 13, 2011
ok.
It is never ok to harm a child. Let me start this post with that statement.
But whether or not something is 'ok' is rarely really the question. At my job it's almost like living with our 'clients' -- to the extent that I have to put the words 'clients' in little '' marks. You want a holistic approach to issues of homelessness and poverty? Try becoming roommates with them. Ok, so we're not really roommates, and I actually have much better boundaries than that. But the point is that we're involved in our residents' lives a lot more than other agencies might be. And it's beautiful. And sometimes it's really ugly. Like when one of the kids comes into the office while I'm on shift to tell me that her mom uses her cell phone charger for giving her lashes on her arms and legs. Oh yeah, and that she wants to steal money from her mom's purse so she can go as far away as she can get in a taxi and never look back.
If I were sitting in class reading some article about child abuse, it wouldn't take me very long to get worked up to a rage, and make bold statements about "that's the problem with society today" in regards to people who hit other people (whether those people are small or big).
But when that person is sharing the house I work in, I find myself feeling much more sad than angry.
People don't hit their kids (or other people) because they're mad or because they have an anger problem. In my experience (brief as it is), people hit their kids because they're frustrated and don't know what else to do. They work day in and day out filling out paperwork, signing here, initialing there, waiting behind this yellow line, please holding on the phone for hours on end, calling back during business hours... ALL DAY. And then their kids come home from school and they STILL need more. They need to be played with. They need individual time. They need family time. They need space to vent. They need someone to listen to them. They need someone to listen to. They need someone to read with. They need forgiveness. They need to learn from life. They just need and need and need. And you're giving and giving and giving and they're insatiable and then the ungrateful little twit chooses to play with his transformers instead of clean up his pile of school stuff from the floor like you asked him to 10 minutes ago and he whines when you tell him to carry his weight around here and that's it.
You slap them because that's the only way you can see to get their attention and because you need to move on with your life. You have much more important things to worry about than whether or not it's fair that their brother ate the last of the cereal or who broke the lead on whose pencil. You are taking care of everyone and nobody is taking care of you.
And that is why you hit your kids.
That conversation with the mom who was hitting her kids was among the more humbling experiences in my life. The Posada rules explicitly state that there is to be no hitting at all, but approaching this mother of a whole litter of kids who has fled domestic violence, homelessness, and hunger to tell her how to better discipline her kids was a little bit daunting.
She was crying out for help -- quite literally. What do I do? Catie, help me. Everything in my life is out of my control.
Yeah.
I'm not saying it's ok, but I'm just saying.
But whether or not something is 'ok' is rarely really the question. At my job it's almost like living with our 'clients' -- to the extent that I have to put the words 'clients' in little '' marks. You want a holistic approach to issues of homelessness and poverty? Try becoming roommates with them. Ok, so we're not really roommates, and I actually have much better boundaries than that. But the point is that we're involved in our residents' lives a lot more than other agencies might be. And it's beautiful. And sometimes it's really ugly. Like when one of the kids comes into the office while I'm on shift to tell me that her mom uses her cell phone charger for giving her lashes on her arms and legs. Oh yeah, and that she wants to steal money from her mom's purse so she can go as far away as she can get in a taxi and never look back.
If I were sitting in class reading some article about child abuse, it wouldn't take me very long to get worked up to a rage, and make bold statements about "that's the problem with society today" in regards to people who hit other people (whether those people are small or big).
But when that person is sharing the house I work in, I find myself feeling much more sad than angry.
People don't hit their kids (or other people) because they're mad or because they have an anger problem. In my experience (brief as it is), people hit their kids because they're frustrated and don't know what else to do. They work day in and day out filling out paperwork, signing here, initialing there, waiting behind this yellow line, please holding on the phone for hours on end, calling back during business hours... ALL DAY. And then their kids come home from school and they STILL need more. They need to be played with. They need individual time. They need family time. They need space to vent. They need someone to listen to them. They need someone to listen to. They need someone to read with. They need forgiveness. They need to learn from life. They just need and need and need. And you're giving and giving and giving and they're insatiable and then the ungrateful little twit chooses to play with his transformers instead of clean up his pile of school stuff from the floor like you asked him to 10 minutes ago and he whines when you tell him to carry his weight around here and that's it.
You slap them because that's the only way you can see to get their attention and because you need to move on with your life. You have much more important things to worry about than whether or not it's fair that their brother ate the last of the cereal or who broke the lead on whose pencil. You are taking care of everyone and nobody is taking care of you.
And that is why you hit your kids.
That conversation with the mom who was hitting her kids was among the more humbling experiences in my life. The Posada rules explicitly state that there is to be no hitting at all, but approaching this mother of a whole litter of kids who has fled domestic violence, homelessness, and hunger to tell her how to better discipline her kids was a little bit daunting.
She was crying out for help -- quite literally. What do I do? Catie, help me. Everything in my life is out of my control.
Yeah.
I'm not saying it's ok, but I'm just saying.
Aug 17, 2011
Home?
I went to Mobile Loaves and Fishes earlier this week to hear the founder talk about his vision and the wisdom he has picked up along his life-long career path with this group. Although much of their work is bringing sustenance and basic necessities to people living on the streets, their core mission is to end the root causes of homelessness. And what are the root causes of homelessness?
I went to school for social work, so we talked about these kinds of things quite a bit. Unfair housing policies, racial discrimination, disability, lack of affordable housing, barriers to work, lack of a living wage... These have all been cited as causes of homelessness, and with good reason. But the perspective I heard this past week looks a little deeper and does what we don't want to do, which is stop pointing fingers at the external "them", and instead points a little closer to the self.
To think about homelessness, he says, we must first think about what a home is. More than a building, it is a place of belonging and purpose. He had a whole list of 7 characteristics of a home or something, but I can't remember them. But basically it comes down to Family, and the rapid dissmination of Family. In an ideal world, people take care of people, just like families do. If my brother were to suddenly lose his job and everything he had, neither I nor my parents would think twice about taking him and his wife into our homes, giving him what he needed, and helping him become more stable. Why is it, then, that there are hundreds of thousands of people and families who experience a similar situation but have nowhere to go but to the streets or to a crowded shelter?
When talking about welfare or poverty or homelessness, the word burden always seems to come up. We talk about not wanting to be a burden on our family, or people being a burden on the government/tax payers, and we don't take people into our homes because it would be such a burden to have to see to a stranger's needs in addition to our own. And why not? I know I wouldn't want to be a burden on my family if all of a sudden I was totally incapacitated, and I certainly wouldn't want a stranger to have to pay for my existence. I want to be independent, self-sufficient, and responsible for my own wellbeing or suffering. That's what I've been brought up to value.
But somewhere deep down beneath the rugged individualistic exterior of modern Americans lies the profound understanding that we are inevitably and intricately connected to our fellow human beings. We need each other.
Yeah, of course we need each other. Everyone knows we need family and we need community to have a shared sense of purpose, blah blah blah... We can all spout it off. But do we really believe it?
The women that come into the shelter I'm working at are there because they have nobody. Often times their families are still in Mexico or whichever other country they came from, and they find themselves isolated in a new and hostile place with nobody that will treat them like family should. When they're hungry, they had better work for the money to put food in their mouths. When they're lonely, they are given charity. What I love about Posada Esperanza is that we don't just give our residents a tangible shelter, we are really dedicated to promoting social support and empowerment. These ladies often become each other's family, and even though as far as most of us would see they have next to nothing, they have so much to give one another. We welcome them like a family would.
But we can only take so many. There are far more lonely people than there is shelter for in wonderful non-profits like Posada. The symptoms we're seeing at present will only continue to be exasterbated as long as we continue treating our brothers and sisters as if they were not family. I have this really shiny optimistic idea that in every community exists the perfect ratio of need to resource, and that it is just a matter of the pieces finding one another. If I am only looking at my need or at my resources, I will never know the missing piece that might be living right next door. Our community is our family.
This whole idea has shaken me up on so many levels -- more than I can really go into. What does this mean for the church? And for me, as a daughter/sister who has uprooted to a new city? To my immediate 'family' of friends here in Austin who are all transitory and unrooted? I know that I am afraid of making roots -- that choosing to settle in one place/on one thing means I am rejecting so many others. But I am more convinced than ever that roots are truly and really good.
I went to school for social work, so we talked about these kinds of things quite a bit. Unfair housing policies, racial discrimination, disability, lack of affordable housing, barriers to work, lack of a living wage... These have all been cited as causes of homelessness, and with good reason. But the perspective I heard this past week looks a little deeper and does what we don't want to do, which is stop pointing fingers at the external "them", and instead points a little closer to the self.
To think about homelessness, he says, we must first think about what a home is. More than a building, it is a place of belonging and purpose. He had a whole list of 7 characteristics of a home or something, but I can't remember them. But basically it comes down to Family, and the rapid dissmination of Family. In an ideal world, people take care of people, just like families do. If my brother were to suddenly lose his job and everything he had, neither I nor my parents would think twice about taking him and his wife into our homes, giving him what he needed, and helping him become more stable. Why is it, then, that there are hundreds of thousands of people and families who experience a similar situation but have nowhere to go but to the streets or to a crowded shelter?
When talking about welfare or poverty or homelessness, the word burden always seems to come up. We talk about not wanting to be a burden on our family, or people being a burden on the government/tax payers, and we don't take people into our homes because it would be such a burden to have to see to a stranger's needs in addition to our own. And why not? I know I wouldn't want to be a burden on my family if all of a sudden I was totally incapacitated, and I certainly wouldn't want a stranger to have to pay for my existence. I want to be independent, self-sufficient, and responsible for my own wellbeing or suffering. That's what I've been brought up to value.
But somewhere deep down beneath the rugged individualistic exterior of modern Americans lies the profound understanding that we are inevitably and intricately connected to our fellow human beings. We need each other.
Yeah, of course we need each other. Everyone knows we need family and we need community to have a shared sense of purpose, blah blah blah... We can all spout it off. But do we really believe it?
The women that come into the shelter I'm working at are there because they have nobody. Often times their families are still in Mexico or whichever other country they came from, and they find themselves isolated in a new and hostile place with nobody that will treat them like family should. When they're hungry, they had better work for the money to put food in their mouths. When they're lonely, they are given charity. What I love about Posada Esperanza is that we don't just give our residents a tangible shelter, we are really dedicated to promoting social support and empowerment. These ladies often become each other's family, and even though as far as most of us would see they have next to nothing, they have so much to give one another. We welcome them like a family would.
But we can only take so many. There are far more lonely people than there is shelter for in wonderful non-profits like Posada. The symptoms we're seeing at present will only continue to be exasterbated as long as we continue treating our brothers and sisters as if they were not family. I have this really shiny optimistic idea that in every community exists the perfect ratio of need to resource, and that it is just a matter of the pieces finding one another. If I am only looking at my need or at my resources, I will never know the missing piece that might be living right next door. Our community is our family.
This whole idea has shaken me up on so many levels -- more than I can really go into. What does this mean for the church? And for me, as a daughter/sister who has uprooted to a new city? To my immediate 'family' of friends here in Austin who are all transitory and unrooted? I know that I am afraid of making roots -- that choosing to settle in one place/on one thing means I am rejecting so many others. But I am more convinced than ever that roots are truly and really good.
Aug 1, 2011
Trying on poverty
AmeriCorps is the domestic version of Peace Corps, with the idea that you give a year of your life to the service of those in need in America. Corps members are placed in a variety of already existing agencies that are serving their communities, and AmeriCorps supports them by a) providing a worker b) giving that worker professional development c) forming and supporting a team of Corps members in clusters of related placements. It's very much designed to be a learning experience, and I sort of feel like I'm embarking into a 5th year of school -- a victory lap that takes me out of the classroom entirely and offers a small sample of what it is like to be a working woman earning working wages. A very small sample, mind you.
While a part of me is grumbling and griping about the unbalanced values that such a pay scale represents (my peers who graduated with engineering or business degrees can reasonably expect salaries at least 6x the amount of mine for this year), there is another part of me that recognizes the valuable learning experience written into such a system. I am working with people who are very poor, people for whom the question isn't whether they can afford to go on vacation this Christmas break, but rather whether they can afford to pay for rent and air conditioning this summer. This low pay puts me that much closer to understanding the position that these people with whom I will be working operate from daily.
I haven't written in this blog since I was out of the country (or rather, recently returned, I suppose), but I feel the need to make some sort of record of this experience, more so for myself to reflect on the experience and through the ghost of this text hold my future self accountable to the insight and growth that will come of this year. My previous entries were written with an audience in mind, and always with the compelling desire to elicit feedback from that audience. This is a bit different, although I certainly don't discourage feedback.
The plight of the poor today is a sneaky punishment; it is the curse of waiting. The residents at my job are all actively pursuing stability in those sacred realms of employment, housing, legal issues, and food security, but this activity doesn't quite look like you might expect. They have to wait on papers to arrive. They wait for the bus to arrive. They wait for a phone call. They wait their turn in line. They wait to save up enough money. They wait until they have someone to take care of their kids. They wait until they find work. They wait until the next paycheck. They wait for the benefits to arrive. The wait for data entry errors to be corrected in the system. They wait to be admitted into this place where I work where we help them with all this waiting.
I will be eligible for Food Stamps (or, as they're called these days, SNAP benefits) with this job, so today after work I drove to the library to print out an application -- because I'm lucky enough to have a car that takes me places when I want it to. I went inside and had to ask about seven dozen questions to figure out how to get on the electronic que for a computer. At home my wait is only as long as it takes for my laptop to start up once it's opened (a duration that has been known to draw curses from pursed lips on more than a few occasions), but at the library the four computers (which you're allowed to use for a whopping 15 minutes) cost a mere 15 or 20 minute wait while your fellow patrons watch and re-watch the "Sexy Abz Workout" video on YouTube. The internet is slow. The sign tells you you get 15 minutes, but by the time you're logged on the small yellow box in the bottom corner tells you you have 12 minutes remaining before you will be logged off and all your work erased. Sparing the rest of the details, it takes me almost an hour and $2.50 and then finally I'm on my way home with my 12 pages of printed SNAP application.
As if to drive home the point, I had to wait through 3 cycles at the traffic light just outside the library before I could turn left and be on my way home.
I've lost count of the number of times I've heard reference to the laziness of the poor, upon whose dimpled shoulders our country's wellbeing rests. They just sit around all day. What do people do when they don't have work? Their poor kids are just so bored. Couldn't they do something productive instead of just lounge around? They don't have a job because they're irresponsible and always late. If they're so poor then why are they so overweight?
The list goes on.
There's something that can't be understood about the experience of any person just by peering into their lives from one's own distant steeple. In the same way that it would be false to assume that the wealthy are happy because they can buy ease and comfort, it is false to assume that the poor are dysfunctional or lazy. (It is equally false to assume that they must either be fully broken or fully altruistic. It is often the most visibly unfortunate who are denied the right to make mistakes and to be flawed. But let's not get carried away on yet another rabbit chase.)
Actually, speaking of rabbit chases, I see one that looks especially worth following.
When strangers peer into my life, they seem to find a particular word tattoed across my existence, and its relentless repeition has started to make me nauseous. "You're so noble." Noble, really?
An excerpt from dictionary.com :
"of, belonging to, or constituting a hereditary class that has special social or political status in a country or state; of or pertaining to the aristocracy."
First of all, social workers are most certainly not members of a special social or political class within American aristocracy. Rather, we're called noble for our willingness to work low paying, thankless jobs and to advocate for the rights and wellbeing of the people we work with. Being a compassionate worker who cares more about people than about money makes us a special breed of humans -- or so I'm told. But noble? I'm just following the only thing that I know to be true and good and to which I can devote my time and efforts.
Enough on that. And enough for today. I'll ramble more another day.
While a part of me is grumbling and griping about the unbalanced values that such a pay scale represents (my peers who graduated with engineering or business degrees can reasonably expect salaries at least 6x the amount of mine for this year), there is another part of me that recognizes the valuable learning experience written into such a system. I am working with people who are very poor, people for whom the question isn't whether they can afford to go on vacation this Christmas break, but rather whether they can afford to pay for rent and air conditioning this summer. This low pay puts me that much closer to understanding the position that these people with whom I will be working operate from daily.
I haven't written in this blog since I was out of the country (or rather, recently returned, I suppose), but I feel the need to make some sort of record of this experience, more so for myself to reflect on the experience and through the ghost of this text hold my future self accountable to the insight and growth that will come of this year. My previous entries were written with an audience in mind, and always with the compelling desire to elicit feedback from that audience. This is a bit different, although I certainly don't discourage feedback.
The plight of the poor today is a sneaky punishment; it is the curse of waiting. The residents at my job are all actively pursuing stability in those sacred realms of employment, housing, legal issues, and food security, but this activity doesn't quite look like you might expect. They have to wait on papers to arrive. They wait for the bus to arrive. They wait for a phone call. They wait their turn in line. They wait to save up enough money. They wait until they have someone to take care of their kids. They wait until they find work. They wait until the next paycheck. They wait for the benefits to arrive. The wait for data entry errors to be corrected in the system. They wait to be admitted into this place where I work where we help them with all this waiting.
I will be eligible for Food Stamps (or, as they're called these days, SNAP benefits) with this job, so today after work I drove to the library to print out an application -- because I'm lucky enough to have a car that takes me places when I want it to. I went inside and had to ask about seven dozen questions to figure out how to get on the electronic que for a computer. At home my wait is only as long as it takes for my laptop to start up once it's opened (a duration that has been known to draw curses from pursed lips on more than a few occasions), but at the library the four computers (which you're allowed to use for a whopping 15 minutes) cost a mere 15 or 20 minute wait while your fellow patrons watch and re-watch the "Sexy Abz Workout" video on YouTube. The internet is slow. The sign tells you you get 15 minutes, but by the time you're logged on the small yellow box in the bottom corner tells you you have 12 minutes remaining before you will be logged off and all your work erased. Sparing the rest of the details, it takes me almost an hour and $2.50 and then finally I'm on my way home with my 12 pages of printed SNAP application.
As if to drive home the point, I had to wait through 3 cycles at the traffic light just outside the library before I could turn left and be on my way home.
I've lost count of the number of times I've heard reference to the laziness of the poor, upon whose dimpled shoulders our country's wellbeing rests. They just sit around all day. What do people do when they don't have work? Their poor kids are just so bored. Couldn't they do something productive instead of just lounge around? They don't have a job because they're irresponsible and always late. If they're so poor then why are they so overweight?
The list goes on.
There's something that can't be understood about the experience of any person just by peering into their lives from one's own distant steeple. In the same way that it would be false to assume that the wealthy are happy because they can buy ease and comfort, it is false to assume that the poor are dysfunctional or lazy. (It is equally false to assume that they must either be fully broken or fully altruistic. It is often the most visibly unfortunate who are denied the right to make mistakes and to be flawed. But let's not get carried away on yet another rabbit chase.)
Actually, speaking of rabbit chases, I see one that looks especially worth following.
When strangers peer into my life, they seem to find a particular word tattoed across my existence, and its relentless repeition has started to make me nauseous. "You're so noble." Noble, really?
An excerpt from dictionary.com :
"of, belonging to, or constituting a hereditary class that has special social or political status in a country or state; of or pertaining to the aristocracy."
First of all, social workers are most certainly not members of a special social or political class within American aristocracy. Rather, we're called noble for our willingness to work low paying, thankless jobs and to advocate for the rights and wellbeing of the people we work with. Being a compassionate worker who cares more about people than about money makes us a special breed of humans -- or so I'm told. But noble? I'm just following the only thing that I know to be true and good and to which I can devote my time and efforts.
Enough on that. And enough for today. I'll ramble more another day.
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