Requiem for the Homeless in an Age of Cruelty
[As I've repeatedly tried to emphasize in this space, one of the biggest issues in 21st century America is our treatment of the poor and the homeless. Like many trends, it has been made much worse by the presidency of Donald Trump; but unlike most things Trump has done, it has generated virtually no conversation, resistance, or backlash. At the present date, poverty and homelessness is simply not a political issue, for the simple reason that there is no partisan polarization around it. Rather, there is an emerging, near-universal consensus at practically every level of government and society around a model of 'solving' homelessness through a combination of criminalization, forcible interment, performative cruelty, practical indifference, and continual, localized expulsion. In response, I've resurrected a personal essay that I wrote a number of years ago, but shelved due to my own discomfort. I hope it will do some good.]
Not everyone makes it.
We all know this, intellectually, on some level. There are the obituaries, the statistics, the crime reports on the nightly news. “At least five people froze to death overnight...” “A man was found dead yesterday...” From the opioid crisis to the suicide crisis to the homelessness crisis, we all recognize that, well, in a crisis, some people make it and some don't. Some people get revived and quit drugs; a lot more die of overdoses. Some people get the help they need and live happy lives; some people kill themselves. And, well, some homeless people eventually “get back on their feet” (what an odd saying, as if they had only tripped over a rock and needed to wait a second to get their balance back); and well, some don't. A lot of people die, every day and every year and every hour, because of the Issues with our society, Issues that exist to be discussed by pundits on television or politicians in a debate, discussed and debated and analyzed and finally solved by appropriate applications of public policy. In the end, we all hope, every Issue will be solved, and every crisis resolved; and in the meantime, a large number of people will die alone and cold and in the dark.
We all recognize that on some level; but I can still remember the precise moments when I realized it was actually true: that in this life, when people are knocked down on the ground, cast off, forgotten, overlooked, hurt, some of them never do get back up and smile at you and say hello.
His first name was “Bob,” but of course that's not his real name. I didn't learn his last name until I finally read it in the paper, three or four months after he died.
I think the first thing I noticed about him is how sad he looked. This in itself is not uncommon; if you've never stood or sat on the street begging passersby for money, for an hour or a day or a week, it can be hard to understand just how dehumanizing and horrible an experience it really is. Put simply, every one ignores you—ignores you even if you speak to them, even if you look at them, even if you shout at them. Even then, it's not even really that they ignore you, that they forget about you or overlook you—they act as though the mere fact that you are there is the most shameful and horrible thing in the world. They studiously avoid your gaze, studiously avoid speaking, studiously avoid taking any action that will acknowledge that you exist and are standing in front of them. After a few hours, or an afternoon, or a week of that, anyone would go mad—or at least get a little depressed.
