New Message Board. 1.29.09

Hey, look at the top-right corner of the blog. 

It's a new message board so everyone can speak up, and even do so under the cover of anonymity if they need to--which is fine.

Anyways, let's start talking.

http://spokanehomelessness.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=general

George Orwell on 'Reaching The Lost' 1.27.09

I hope I'm not going to get angry letters from a copyrighting agency over these, but here's another from his Down and Out in Paris and London that's just brilliant. At this point, Orwell is homeless in London, and his description of life on the London streets should be standard fare. Anywho, here's what he has to say:

"Once the lodging-house was invaded by a slumming party. Paddy and I had been out, and, coming back in the afternoon, we heard sounds of music downstairs. We went down to find three gentle-people, sleekly dressed, holding a religious service in our kitchen. They were a grave and reverend seignior in a frock coat, a lady sitting at a portable harmonium, and a chinless youth toying with a crucifix. It appeared that they had marched in and started to hold the service, without any kind of invitation whatever. 

It was a pleasure to see how the lodgers met this intrusion. They did not offer the smallest rudeness to the slummers; they just ignored them. By common consent everyone in the kitchen--a hundred men, perhaps--behaved as though the slummers had not existed. There they stood patiently singing and exhorting, and no more notice was taken of them than if they had been earwigs. They gentleman in the frock coat preached a sermon, but not a word of it was audible; it was drowned in the usual din of songs, oaths and the clattering of pans. Men sat at their meals and card games three feet away from the harmonium, peaceably ignoring it. Presently the slummers gave it up and cleared out, not insulted in any way, but merely disregarded. No doubt they consoled themselves by thinking how brave they had been, "freely venturing into the lowest dens," etc. etc. 

Bozo said that these people came to the lodging-house several times a month. They had influence with the police, and the "deputy" could not exclude them. It is curious how people take it for granted that they have a right to preach at you and pray over you as soon as your income falls below a certain level."

Paddy is his 'tramp' friend and travel partner, and Bozo an educated street chalk artist that the two travelers were visiting in the 'den of the lost.' Frankly speaking, the passage is an indictment of the arrogance that comes from people looking to convert those living below the poverty line. 

Maybe it's confusing income with spiritual health. 

Or the trappings of material wealth having anything to do with a person's integrity or religious convictions. 

Whatever it is, it's a bit off kilter. It's an easy-to-understand philosophy, that simply put doesn't respect the fact that the people you're reaching are people. We'd think it awfully strange of someone to hold a church service in Rockwood Bakery--more specifically, to preach at the 'lost' sitting and having coffee, or talking. It'd be damned annoying for those catching up with their friends, I think.

And that doesn't even touch on whether or not the folks at Rockwood/the lodging house have the same set of spiritual values, which is an entire other can of worms. 

A bit closer to the mark (I think) is one from an HoC staff member: 

"Well, when it's all said and done, and we're standing at the gates of St. Peter, there are a lot of guys here that are going to be ahead of me in line."

I may be biased, and whether or not the religious convictions of the quote are your own, the point is that it's bad enough that our entire social structure is designed to look down on the poor, the least those of us interacting with those (Orwell's words) 'down and out' can do is respect the fact that income is a poor measure of personhood, and that those folks Orwell's talking about could have at least had the deceny to hand out sandwiches if they had to preach. 

Time for One for One 1.26.09

This is brilliant, and incredibly encouraging:

http://freestylevolunteer.blogspot.com/

Someone decided to start "Freestyle Volunteering" in Seattle.

The idea is that they (as you can see on the page) meet at a cafe for an hour once a week with someone who's socially isolated by mental illness or homelessness. An incredibly noble idea, that must have been borne from the notion that hey, a person needs more than food and water to grow.

Warming Center 1.25.09

Speaking of warming center's, we're back open for business as of tonight.

House of Charity Episode Six 1.21.09

One hundred and eight. Three thousand. One hundred and fifty. Sixty one. Fifteen.

The House of Charity is chock full of numbers, each with their own weight. One hundred and eight men sleeping upstairs. Over 3,000 people in the greater Spokane area using us as their post office. Around one hundred and fifty people here for lunch.

But the only number that really mattered late this December was fifteen. That number where good business sense and morality finally clicked.

When the temperature drops below fifteen degrees, and with the prerequisite that the previous evening the shelter was full up, places like the House of Charity are allowed to open up as warming centers. Or, in other words, we're able to open up our drop-in area as a place to sleep. Men over the age of 18 are given two blankets, a pillow, and a corner of--preferably--one of our cubbies to sleep in. We generally expect around thirty men to show, since between those that are not allowed in during normal operations of the House of Charity, those (few) that simply cannot work with the structure of the sleeping program, and those that weren't able to make it in that night--it's quite the group.

These are the evenings when the definition of the toughest of the tough gets reworked. These guys are a bit rough around the edges—even by our standards. They're the least used to our services, the least familiar with the staff (me), and the least understanding oftentimes about our rules.

Which are few. The warming center is a place for sleeping, a place to be warm and quiet and inside, and that's about it. On occasion someone is too intoxicated (or full of nightmares) to not shout-out in their sleep, and so they are moved into the chapel, or another room by themselves where there's some sound proofing between them and others looking for their own peace and quiet.

Mostly the warming center is a collection of snoring sounds and dirty socks sticking out under blankets, next to mounds of clothing and worldly possessions.

Late in the month last December, when there were few options and many were out of resources, we broke records—and those records almost broke us. We had sixty one guys one night. We stayed open during hours when we were usually closed (because a warming center operates 24hrs a day).

But while we had our share of struggles, the real heroes of the cold snap were Shalom Ministries, an organization ran out of the basement of Central UMC on 3rd and Howard. They provided dinner for those that needed it every day during the week, and opened their doors when we closed ours—to give us time to clean our floors. I'm honestly not sure how their staff did it, but they deserve medals. Especially Holly.

All things considered, there's something true about Sarte’s quip that “hell is other people” when you’ve been cooped up with over a hundred people that by all rights, you may not think highly of, but you're the definition of stuck. You can't even take a walk, for some, without risking falling, and for all, without feeling the bite of the cold.

George Orwell talked about the “enforced idleness” of the poor, and that notion is seldom more true than it was during those weeks.

Traffic was in gridlock when the snow started falling, on the 18^th. By that Saturday, I was worried about our ability to hold out, especially since that was the day Shalom had to close, so we couldn’t, and we had to clean floors piecemeal, by asking people to shift from dayrooms to the dining room, and back again. Which isn't good for tempers.

All that snow and gridlock isn't much for helping volunteers arrive as, like everyone else in town, they're snowed in.

Suffice to say we as a staff were nearly pulling our hair out that week, and the week after--until the roof fell through.

Ok, so, the roof didn't actually fall in. But that's what was reported to the news stations, after a sprinkler pipe burst near an exterior wall, and the water-soaked ceiling tiles came crashing to the floor the Saturday after Christmas. Everyone was evacuated, water was shut off, and our firefighters helped us clear the 2-3 inches of standing water off our floor, before everyone came back in.

But we made it.

We pulled through. During the worst of times, when everyone, client and staff, were on edge, when we were nearly the definition of understaffed and overworked, we did it.

We did it and we didn’t even shut down the warming center on Christmas Eve.

See, the city's policy is just that--policy. That is, when the temperature gets to be above 15 degrees, warming centers are no longer activated. Because when things are "warming up," asit did on the 23rd of December--then the funding dries up. Warming centers aren't activated.

But we were. In this budget crisis (economic downturns hit all quarters), during this time of economic poverty, we ate the cost. Because if the House of Charity is about anything, it's about not forcing 40+ men to sleep outside on Christmas Eve.

And that's what makes it worth it.

Because poverty is divisive. When you tell someone you work at a homeless shelter, there's an immediate reaction. It's either a resounding "that's great!" and you're accused of sainthood, or a confused look. One extreme or the other.

A guy swung at me one night during the warming center this December (a first, in fifteen months of shelter work). On occasion, shit gets smeared in the bathroom (we do rock-paper-scissors to decide who's turn it is to clean it). Once in awhile you find yourself needing to tell someone who's life has hardened them like stone something that they aren't going to appreciate--and wondering how they're going to respond. 

But for every single time we're put in a (maybe literally) shitty situation, there are a hundred smiles shared to counteract it. There are a hundred times someone says thanks for the help, and means it, a hundred times I notice an act of unprovoked kindness. A hundred little doses of genuine appreciation that are enough to melt any heart, make up for any amount of shit.

Because the House of Charity might be the only place where someone can get their smile returned. And at the House of Charity, even when there’s three feet of snow on the ground, even when we’re running near the breaking point, even when I’m getting backed into a corner by someone who’s been backed into a corner of their own, nobody has to sleep outside on Christmas Eve.

And zero outdoors on a night that important and that cold is one number worth fighting for. 

Blog Bible's Getting a Bit of Ad-Space 1.20.09

One of our own designed it, and frankly, I'm impressed. Go get one!

House of Charity -- Open House 1.17.09

On Monday, it being National Service Day and all, we're going to be hosting:

http://www.usaservice.org/page/event/detail/dayofservicejanuary19/4v2qw

We'd love to see you here.

George Orwell on 'Fear of the Mob' 1.16.09

Few know it, but George Orwell wrote an autobiographical sketch of his time spent living and working in the slums of European cities, and Down and Out in Paris and London is the result. Here he's reflecting on the modern-day slavery of the life of a Parisian plongeur, or dishwasher. It seems needless, to have free (-ish) men sweating away their entire lives in underground cellars to wash dishes for the rich to eat 'well' in a hotel. More odd still though, to Orwell, is this fear of the uneducated, poor-and-hungry, mob:

"Fear of the mob is a superstitious fear. It is based on the idea that there is some mysterious, fundamental difference between rich and poor, ans though they were two different races, like negroes and white men. But in reality there is no such difference. The mass of the rich and poor are diferentiated by their incomes and nothing else, and the average millionaire is only the average dishwasher dressed in a new suit. Change places, and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the theif? Everyone who has mixed on equal terms with the poor knows this quite well. But the trouble is that intelligent, cultivated people, the very people who might be expected to have liberal opinions, never do mix with the poor. For what do the majority of educated people know about poverty? In my copy of Villon's poems the editor has actually thought it necessary to explain the line "Ne pain ne voyent qu'aux fenestres" by a footnote; so remote is even hunger from the educated man's experience. From this ignorance a superstitious fear of the mob results quite naturally. The educated man pictures a horde of submen, wanting only a day's liberty to loot his house, burn his books, and set him to work minding a machine or sweeping out a lavatory. "Anything," he thinkins, "any injustice, sooner than let that mob loose." He does not see that since there is no difference between the mass of rich and poor, there is no question of setting the mob loose. The mob is in facdt loose now, and--in the shape of rich men--is using its power to set up enormous treadmills of boredom, such as "smart" hotels."

Unfortunately for those living in poverty, the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality of individual liberty and freedom to work work work in our country's consciousness doesn't help Orwell's realization to take root.

William Winkler Interview 1.12.09

Below is a URL for a video interview of local community activist and formerly homeless individual William Winkler, done by a local film student, Jazmin Ely.

My video uploading software is, well, freeware, so apologies for the stamp in the center. The audio is poor as well, but the commentary is valid and worth turning up your speakers a bit.

Enjoy!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6994044185372754991&hl=en


Oh, the picture isn't of William. It was found on a google image search, and is available online:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jennafreeman/1393093033/

I think the man in the picture is named Rob, but he mostly keeps to himself, so I'm not sure.