I try to take a break from politics now and then, but living in a buzz saw of political chaos makes it difficult to ignore the ugliness that is taking place in the name of justice. I fully realize that there are well meaning folks who demand that our laws and the way we enforce them be utterly fair. The trouble is that sometimes what may appear to be fair is actually cruel and dehumanizing.
My mother often spoke of her childhood during the great depression. She never had an article of clothing or a pair of shoes that were not a well worn hand me downs. Being the youngest of eight children insured that she would require cardboard in the bottom of her shoes to close the gaping holes in the soles. It was not until she was able to get odd jobs and learn how to sew that she wore dresses with vibrant fabric. Nonetheless she felt grateful that she slept in a warm bed under a roof that her family owned. She may of have been thin from the meager portions of food that her mother served each day but she never missed a meal. All in all she understood that there were many souls during that time who were literally starving while she was fed.
Perhaps because of my mother’s memories of those difficult time, or maybe because of the example of my grandmother, my mama was always generous and nonjudgmental toward people who were struggling for one reason or another. She told me that homeless people would knock on the back door of her childhood home seeking any kind of food or drink that my grandmother was willing to share. She was quite proud that Grandma never once turned anyone down and that she treated the folks who came by with great respect. Often she was only able to offer a piece and bread and some coffee but those who experienced her largess would sometimes weep in thankfulness.
As fate would have it my mother became a widow at the age of thirty and would live on the edge of the economic spectrum for much of her life. Things got particularly difficult when her mental illness flared up. Somehow she managed not only to keep a roof over her head but also food in her pantry. She had learned how it was done from her always frugal parents. All the while she was also as generous as her mother, had been never missing an opportunity to help anyone who was less fortunate than she was.
Many might hear my mother’s story and think that it is proof that you don’t need to give a hungry or homeless person a fish when a fishing pole might be just as good. My mother would have disagreed with this idea because she truly understood that there are times when some people have neither the health nor the bait to go fishing. She never hesitated to provide the sustenance that they needed in the moment.
We have homelessness problems all over the world. Sometimes it seems odd, however, to see people living on the streets in the richest country in the world. The United States should be able to deal with such situations but so far we have not been particularly effective. We know that many of those people are alcoholics, drug addicts or mentally ill. We would like to lecture them on pulling themselves together but surely we know that sometimes they need a bit more help than advice. Each of those reasons for being without work and a home are very complex and most people are unable to simply will themselves back into being productive citizens. Without a great deal of patience and support they are unlikely to suddenly become well. I’ve heard of efforts that move in the right direction but there are too few of them to tackle the problem and not enough funding to increase them.
The best methods begin with providing the individuals with a safe place to live and the medical care needed to get well again. All of these things have to be offered with kindness and without judgement. There has to be enough time and patience put into the efforts to allow for mistakes to be made but with enough love most people will ultimately respond even if it does not work for a hundred percent of the people. Sometimes the minds of the chronically homeless are just too far gone but even at that any progress in getting people back to a healthy state is a good thing.
The next effort has to be aimed at training them for work that will provide them with enough income to support themselves along with safety nets to protect them as they attempt to resurface into the world. This again takes time but programs that have been dedicated to this kind of methodology have performed miracles. Every life saved should be more than worth the time and money needed to do so.
I suppose that I sound like an idealist in a real world that is often cruel. There will be those who insist that only toughness will work. They want to round up homeless people and clean the streets. They want these souls sent to detention centers to keep them from wandering away again. They recommend their method as a way of protecting hard working citizens from the rot and dangers of homeless encampments. They do not see these people as redeemable or worth the expenditures or attempts to make them better.
I may be wrong, but I would much prefer that we devote ourselves to a nationwide campaign to help as many of these lost souls as possible. Every life saved is one more reason that we at least need to try. Without my brothers and I watching over our mother she might have wandered away one day in a state of mania and ended up alone on the streets. She had a family that believed in her. We need to be that family for those who do not have anyone. We have what we need if only we also show the willingness to share.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 