The work, however, was worth being up before dawn: we were surveying the homeless in our community in order to find the most vulnerable and begin the process of getting them off the streets and connected with the already-existing resources they need. We were taking part in The 100,000 Homes Campaign, a nationwide campaign which "brings together change agents from across the country to find and house 100,000 of the country’s most vulnerable and long-term homeless individuals and families over the next three years." (from their home page)
The zone my team was assigned to cover was one of the least populated areas. While I was disappointed to not have the profoundly moving conversations friends from other teams shared each morning when we all returned to headquarters, one of my teammates kept reminding us that it was a good thing that we weren't tripping over the homeless with every step: it means the community's current programs are already making an impact.
Every morning, however, was filled with heart-breaking stories. The youngest person surveyed was 19-years-old—my age! Of the 131 people surveyed during "Registry Week," 58 had a "high mortality risk." In other words, these are the people the community is going to push to get into housing and medical care right away. The city committed to housing the first 20 right away, and a total of 40 minimum by 31 July 2013, the "deadline" for the 100,000 Homes Campaign. One person has already been housed.
Homelessness, admittedly, was never my "thing" about which to be crazy. It seemed to me just a tragic fact of life: homeless people will always exist. Not only were the homeless "those people" to me, but they were those people whose problems were beyond my ability to help. Worse than blinding myself, I fully accepted that they were there and suffering but decided they just simply weren't worth my time to help. "That's not my ministry."
There was a contagious energy at headquarters each day. I had walked in for the first time Sunday afternoon, vaguely skeptical that much could be done or that this effort would be all that different from any other effort by guilty, privileged, white people trying to act charitable, but I walked out Friday feeling like something was really happening. One person already housed, and all those people involved ready to keep on working to really make something happen. It was like fire, spreading through headquarters and lighting every single person with the drive to make change.
The world has been looking dismal lately. It seems no one is willing to do the frightening work of making the change we so badly need. Our political system is a mess, the economy feels like it might just completely vanish at any moment, and natural disasters seem to be becoming more and more frequent and destructive each day. It's been hard to look at the world and feel like there's any hope.
But there was hope in that room. Not just vague hope or some far-off, sentimental nonsense about "one day," but a very concrete and determined hope that something was happening, right here, right now, and we were going to be the agents of that change. There was contagious, almost desperate energy in that room of catalysts, not mere spectators. We didn't just talk to the homeless or count them; what we were really doing at 4AM was taking the first crucial step in the path to housing: determining the needs of the people. With one person already housed within mere days, I know something is actually happening, and I know I am a part of that.
I am a part of the miracle of the housing of the hundred thousand.
1 comment:
Elizabeth I love this post. You've captured the most important feelings we all shared. It was an honor to get to know you.
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