Awareness Wednesday :: Homelessness — Lord, When Did We See You?

see the homeless - Mormon Women for Ethical Government

May 24, 2018. That was the day I moved into my apartment, the day I was no longer homeless. For four years, I bounced between friends’ couches and spare rooms, trying to take up as little space as I could. I was employed but never made enough to end the cycle. I was fortunate: I had a car, supportive friends, a cheap cell phone, and access to the internet. I was what is known as sheltered homeless. Through the help of my friends and my church, I was able to get into housing. I could not have done this on my own. Many are not so fortunate.

My state, Missouri, reported an estimated homeless population of 5,883, with an estimated fifth of that population experiencing chronic homelessness, and an estimated 32,000 homeless student population in various states of sheltered/unsheltered. That figure may seem staggering, but it begets the question: What does homeless look like?

We often have preconceived notions of homeless and even make jokes about looking homeless. We are also quick to assume there are resources. “Call 211.” Or, “What about XYZ shelter?” What we don’t often realize is how few resources we actually have, and there are many stipulations on qualifying for help. I received a multitude of reasons that disqualified me from assistance: I’m not a vet, I didn’t have a regular full-time job (usually jobs in the gig economy), I wasn’t a victim of domestic violence, I wasn’t involved in crime or drugs or sex work, and I wasn’t “homeless enough,” meaning I hadn’t literally been on the streets for a minimum of one year. My story is the story of many people who fall into gaps in our current system of assistance.

My experiences opened my eyes to others around me, those who are unsheltered homeless. With my gig jobs, I drive all over the city doing deliveries. It became impossible not to see them, so I began distributing hand warmers in cold weather, water bottles, a bit of food, and if I had it, a little cash. I have no unrealistic dreams of changing lives. The goal was to let them know I see them.

I took a leap of faith in January 2019. A big one. On Tuesday, January 29, as I was getting off the interstate near downtown Kansas City, I saw a small group of homeless people flying (holding signs). Knowing it was going to get dangerously cold with the polar vortex predicted to drift south and produce wind chills in the -20s, I had been carrying hand warmers with me all week and giving them away. I had an open pack of 18-hour warmers and an unopened ten-pack of the same. I quickly rolled down my window as a young man approached. He sincerely thanked me, and as I pulled away, I heard him say excitedly, “Oh, my God…” The sign he held didn’t ask for money or food — it asked only for warmth. I was so glad I’d taken that exit and not the one GPS told me to use. Like some bit of goodness was at play.

The rest of the day, the people at this intersection weighed heavily on me. I prayed/meditated on it, asking God for a sign. “If I shouldn’t do this, just give me a sign.” Nothing. All I felt was peace. Not even a glimmer of foreboding. I finished my last delivery a little after 11 p.m. and got back on the highway.

I didn’t go home. I knew it was risky, and as I took the exit ramp to head back to the same intersection late that night, I missed the right turn I needed and had to loop back around. It added about five minutes to the trip, but I was able to get back on the same exit I had gone through before. I was hoping to find someone there.

And sure enough, the same young man was there. I rolled down my window, and asked him, “How many people are down here?” “Two — just me and my wife,” he replied. I then asked him, “Would you like to go someplace warm?” He turned and asked his wife, who was on the ground, “Hey, honey. Do you want to go someplace warm?”

With her yes, he thanked me and helped her up. They gathered their heavy belongings, put some in my trunk, and then crawled into the back seat. She had a cane and had a very difficult time doing all of this. I blasted the heat as high as it would go, and they were audibly relieved, like they’d just finished a marathon.

“Thank you so much, Miss Lady. What’s your name?” I told him. And they told me theirs: Jed and Emily. Jed said they don’t normally trust people, but they were just so cold. He remembered me from earlier in the day, which put him a little more at ease. He half-jokingly asked, “You’re not going to kill us, are you?” I laughed and replied, “No! Ha ha. You’re not going to kill me, are you?” They both laughed, and we cracked jokes about chloroform.

I told them that I’d been thinking about them all day. Jed went on to explain that they had just gotten back to that spot five minutes ago after walking down to a store. They lived in a tent a few blocks away, and they had stopped to rest and reposition their heavy bags. Lucky, indeed, that I’d missed that turn!

I asked them, “Do you know what’s going on with the weather?” They didn’t. They didn’t have a phone or access to news. I told them, and you could feel the bottom drop out. They had no idea it was going to be that bad. They didn’t know that they really needed to seek shelter.

I asked if they were hungry. Yes. I asked if they liked chili. Absolutely. We went to a grocery store and got a few little things. I told them I had $8 on me and asked if there was anything in particular they wanted (canned oysters — they insisted on getting mackerel, however, because it was 10 cents cheaper). They politely asked if they could get something to smoke. I told them yes. If you’ve been around someone who quit cold turkey, you’ll know why.

We went home, and every joint in their body cracked as they unloaded their heavy packs and many layers. We made some chili that disappeared faster than it was made. They told me a little bit about themselves. Jed had been on the streets since he was 14, when his dad died. Emily was abandoned by her mother when she was 3 and had been homeless since she was 16. They were now 34 and 40, respectively. They had been together for four years. When we walked into my apartment, Jed said, “Oh, you’ve got carpet and pad!” I told them they were welcome to sleep there or on the couches. At first, they said the floor was fine (but then they sat on the very comfortable couch!).

They finally fell asleep early in the morning. They typically didn’t sleep well most nights because they were on the ground near the highway with cars speeding and honking. The rats that ate away at their tattered and drafty tent also kept them awake. I just let them sleep. They looked comfortable. They were warm. They were getting badly needed sleep. I wasn’t about to wake them.

Later, they asked if there was something they could do for me. I told them that there were no obligations, and that I didn’t want them to feel like they had to do something to earn help — they deserved help as much as the next person. Emily insisted on making dinner and cleaning the kitchen anyhow.

Jed and Emily opened my eyes to the realities the unsheltered homeless face. Like many before me, I assumed they could just go to a shelter. They never do, though. Many shelters are first come, first served, and beds fill quickly. Microbial infections such as tuberculosis, fungal skin infections, lice, and a myriad of other communicable diseases run rampant. Crime and violence are more concentrated. Finding resources is also difficult without a phone or access to the internet. I have watched police escort the homeless out of libraries for nothing more disruptive than falling asleep at a computer. Everywhere they go, they are considered deplorables. They are not welcomed or wanted. They become invisible as we avert our eyes to avoid seeing them on our street corners.

I was horrified when our current administration weighed in on homelessness last year. These plans focus on relocation, isolation, and criminalization, all three of which run counter to approaches taken by the Interagency Council on Homelessness. These measures simply move the homeless out of sight without addressing the issues that lead to a life on the streets. Relocation is often traumatic, and residents of areas proposed for new shelters are often vocally opposed to having shelters in their neighborhoods. Creating mega camps for the homeless conjures up very disturbing thoughts, and criminalizing poverty assures an even longer road out of it.

Very little attention is being paid to prevention. In my case, I needed less than $1,000 to stay in my home (rent alone). It cost close to $4,000 to get back into housing (first month’s rent, standard security deposit, plus additional deposit for prior eviction). We need to address issues of wages, employment, disability, mental and physical health, racial disparity, addiction, and affordable housing. But we also need to see each person as the unique individual they are, and that a single blanket approach will not work.

As I drive around the city, I usually ask others if they have eaten today. There are thankfully many options in Kansas City for food, but it’s the easiest path for me to get to know them and to learn their needs, which is important: We often assume what their needs are, but we don’t frankly ask. And depending on their answer, I am learning of more resources and means of accessing them. Here in Kansas City, Street Medicine KC is doing wonderful things to address healthcare, but they can also connect people with the resources they need to get off the streets.

The reality is that not everyone will be able to get into homes. I worry for Jed and Emily. This is all they know. They are struggling with issues of addiction and now health crises. Jed was recently diagnosed with cirrhosis, and Emily has had a number of traumatic brain injuries over the years. I don’t know what the path out of homelessness looks like for them. One solution for them might be a Conestoga hut camp. The huts are more durable than standard tents, they can be locked to keep belongings safe, and they offer a small degree of shelter from inclement weather.

Matthew 25:35-40 implores us, “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

I think of these verses often as I drive through the city. I could easily have been on the streets as well. This can happen to any of us, no matter how carefully we plan. When you see yourself in the faces of the homeless, it is significantly easier to advocate for measures that do more than to remove them from sight. We need to encourage our legislators and leadership to pursue ethical, effective plans that address the systemic roots of homelessness. The path out is simply not something most will ever be able to do on their own. Most importantly, we each need to see the homeless, not see past them. Even if we have nothing to offer, we can always offer a smile and a wave — we can let them know we see them.

To read our other posts on homelessness, click here.