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Day 3 of The Advent Series - ROOM FOR CHRIST - is here:
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Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Monday, December 3, 2012
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
SHOPPING CART CULTURE, COPS, AND JUSTICE IN L.A.
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"THE UNIVERSE BENDS TOWARD JUSTICE"
by Jeff Dietrich, an L.A. Catholic Worker community
member, and editor of their newspaper the Catholic Agitator.
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"THE UNIVERSE BENDS TOWARD JUSTICE"
by Jeff Dietrich, an L.A. Catholic Worker community
member, and editor of their newspaper the Catholic Agitator.
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It looked like an anti-terrorist takedown; five cop cars,
ten police officers, a yellow skip loader, and a five-ton dump truck. They screeched to a halt and blocked off Sixth Street in front of our soup kitchen. But their target was not a suicide bomber or a hidden nuclear device; rather it was the four red shopping carts parked in front of the Catholic Worker soup kitchen. Those of us who have worked on Skid Row for a while were not surprised; we have seen it all before.
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Despite numerous court rulings, police and city officials continue to act with impunity, destroying personal property, seizing such things as pillows, milk crates, and "excess blankets" as contraband because they are "comfort items." Like a battle-weary soldier, your heart gets hardened sometimes. But on this particular occasion, one of our soup kitchen volunteers from the suburbs also observed the entire procedure.
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Richard was shocked. "Can't we do something about this? They just took everybody's stuff. They were just eating lunch and when they rushed out to grab their shopping carts, the police said 'No, this is abandoned property.'"
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It is embarrassing when volunteers come from the suburbs. They think that the same rules that apply there apply everywhere. But that is not how it works on Skid Row. If you are gone for five minutes to wash, eat, or relieve your bodily functions, you lose all of your possessions.
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If you leave a friend in charge of your shopping cart and the police suspect that your friend is not the actual owner - boom, gone to the city dump.
I felt like the cop in that old Jack Nicholson movie. In my mind I imagined myself saying to our suburban volunteer, "Jake, this is Chinatown; just let it go."
I felt like the cop in that old Jack Nicholson movie. In my mind I imagined myself saying to our suburban volunteer, "Jake, this is Chinatown; just let it go."
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So inured had I become to the way things are on Skid Row,
I did not even bother to contact our civil rights attorney, Carol Sobel, who years ago in Federal Court affirmed the right of homeless people to security in their person and property. Fortunately, mutual friends did contact her. She came, took depositions, collected photos, and took it all back to Federal Court.
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I was heartened, but still did not expect anything in the way of results. The way city officials and police articulate their story of Skid Row is that everyone on the streets is either a drug addict or a drug dealer, and those people do not actually have a constitutional right to security in their person and property. When we gathered in the federal courtroom, I was expecting an affirmation of police immunity.
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So, I was as unprepared as the City Attorney was for the announcement that Judge Gutierrez made: "Before we begin today," he said, "I need to inform the court that in 1980 I was a summer intern at the Catholic Worker soup kitchen. I chopped onions, I served food, I cleaned toilets. But I have had no contact with them since. Therefore I see no reason to recuse myself from this case."
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Whoa! You could have heard the City Attorney's jaw drop to the table from here to Santa Monica. And quite frankly, mine as well. We were all shocked; none of the old-timers at the Catholic Worker recognized Judge Gutierrez's face or his name.
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Two days later we got a permanent federal injunction, affirming the right of homeless people to security in their person and property. Richard was elated. For him, it was an affirmation that the system works. For me, I am in a state of shock. Where did this come from.
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We are all formed by our own individual life experiences.
We were all raised Republican or Democrat; Protestant, Jewish, or Catholic; pro-life or pro-choice. But Judge Gutierrez, however improbable, was formed in some measure by his experience of chopping onions, cleaning toilets, and serving food to the homeless at the Catholic Worker soup kitchen. All formations being equal in the eyes of the law, it was appropriate that he did not recuse himself from this case. From our perspective, and the perspective of the folks who push shopping carts containing the last of their earthly treasures, it is like one of those unlikely biblical stories. Just when you had given up all hope, just when you thought that the authorities had the final word, just when you thought that the rules of the suburbs did not actually apply on Skid Row, there is a
"parting of the waters," and "The Universe,"
in the words of Dr. King, "bends toward justice."
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I was heartened, but still did not expect anything in the way of results. The way city officials and police articulate their story of Skid Row is that everyone on the streets is either a drug addict or a drug dealer, and those people do not actually have a constitutional right to security in their person and property. When we gathered in the federal courtroom, I was expecting an affirmation of police immunity.
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So, I was as unprepared as the City Attorney was for the announcement that Judge Gutierrez made: "Before we begin today," he said, "I need to inform the court that in 1980 I was a summer intern at the Catholic Worker soup kitchen. I chopped onions, I served food, I cleaned toilets. But I have had no contact with them since. Therefore I see no reason to recuse myself from this case."
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Whoa! You could have heard the City Attorney's jaw drop to the table from here to Santa Monica. And quite frankly, mine as well. We were all shocked; none of the old-timers at the Catholic Worker recognized Judge Gutierrez's face or his name.
.
Two days later we got a permanent federal injunction, affirming the right of homeless people to security in their person and property. Richard was elated. For him, it was an affirmation that the system works. For me, I am in a state of shock. Where did this come from.
.
We are all formed by our own individual life experiences.
We were all raised Republican or Democrat; Protestant, Jewish, or Catholic; pro-life or pro-choice. But Judge Gutierrez, however improbable, was formed in some measure by his experience of chopping onions, cleaning toilets, and serving food to the homeless at the Catholic Worker soup kitchen. All formations being equal in the eyes of the law, it was appropriate that he did not recuse himself from this case. From our perspective, and the perspective of the folks who push shopping carts containing the last of their earthly treasures, it is like one of those unlikely biblical stories. Just when you had given up all hope, just when you thought that the authorities had the final word, just when you thought that the rules of the suburbs did not actually apply on Skid Row, there is a
"parting of the waters," and "The Universe,"
in the words of Dr. King, "bends toward justice."
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Wednesday, February 2, 2011
NEED A WARM PLACE TO STAY?
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A Prayer for Warmth
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I'm outside enough year-round to know a little
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I'm outside enough year-round to know a little
something about the difference twenty degrees can make. For the most part - not so much.
The difference between 92 degrees and 72 is the difference between hot and comfortable, fair enough. But find a place in the shade with a cool breeze and 92 is not usually impossibly unbearable.
The difference between 72 and 52 is even less a difference - the difference between pleasant and slightly cool. No big deal. Put an extra shirt or jacket on.
The difference between 52 and 32 is still not that great. Sure, you need to put on a jacket and an extra layer or two and you'll be okay.
But, the difference between 32 degrees and 12 degrees - 20 degrees below freezing - is a huge difference. You move from merely cold to literally freezing. Your hands stiffen and turn dry and red. Your cheeks sting and you can tell immediately if you don't have enough socks on your feet. This is the sort of cold that hurts.
However, walking half an hour or an hour through this sort of weather is not unbearable, IF you're prepared for it. Today is one of those days. I wore three layers of shirts and three layers of jackets. I had a cap on my head and extra longjohns and socks on to keep my legs and feet warm. Thus prepared, it's just a slightly brisk walk - and that, from a heated home to a heated office. Not that big of a deal.
Having said that, every day on my way to work, I walk past my homeless brothers and sisters. I pass by the mental health agency where shivering, marginalized souls suffer outside the doors, waiting for the office to open. I pass by the folk who stay at the homeless shelters as well as the homeless who camp out.
I see their suffering, dry skin and frozen noses and know that there is a world of difference in twenty degrees. I recognize the huge difference in taking a short-lived walk from warm building to warm building and in standing - just standing - waiting in the bitter cold. Waiting for a chance to get in some place warm and welcoming (hard to come by, that). Waiting for warmer weather, which is MONTHS away, not minutes.
Wondering if you'll live to see Spring's thaw again.
So today, I lift up a prayer for our homeless friends, to our mentally ill friends, to all those out suffering especially on these coldest days. I lift up a prayer of thanks for Diane, for Donna, for Sally's and VOA and Jeff Street and all those places and people who offer a warm cup of coffee and an open door into a warm respite.
"For I was cold, and you offered me a jacket and a warm place to stay."
Amen.
The difference between 92 degrees and 72 is the difference between hot and comfortable, fair enough. But find a place in the shade with a cool breeze and 92 is not usually impossibly unbearable.
The difference between 72 and 52 is even less a difference - the difference between pleasant and slightly cool. No big deal. Put an extra shirt or jacket on.
The difference between 52 and 32 is still not that great. Sure, you need to put on a jacket and an extra layer or two and you'll be okay.
But, the difference between 32 degrees and 12 degrees - 20 degrees below freezing - is a huge difference. You move from merely cold to literally freezing. Your hands stiffen and turn dry and red. Your cheeks sting and you can tell immediately if you don't have enough socks on your feet. This is the sort of cold that hurts.
However, walking half an hour or an hour through this sort of weather is not unbearable, IF you're prepared for it. Today is one of those days. I wore three layers of shirts and three layers of jackets. I had a cap on my head and extra longjohns and socks on to keep my legs and feet warm. Thus prepared, it's just a slightly brisk walk - and that, from a heated home to a heated office. Not that big of a deal.
Having said that, every day on my way to work, I walk past my homeless brothers and sisters. I pass by the mental health agency where shivering, marginalized souls suffer outside the doors, waiting for the office to open. I pass by the folk who stay at the homeless shelters as well as the homeless who camp out.
I see their suffering, dry skin and frozen noses and know that there is a world of difference in twenty degrees. I recognize the huge difference in taking a short-lived walk from warm building to warm building and in standing - just standing - waiting in the bitter cold. Waiting for a chance to get in some place warm and welcoming (hard to come by, that). Waiting for warmer weather, which is MONTHS away, not minutes.
Wondering if you'll live to see Spring's thaw again.
So today, I lift up a prayer for our homeless friends, to our mentally ill friends, to all those out suffering especially on these coldest days. I lift up a prayer of thanks for Diane, for Donna, for Sally's and VOA and Jeff Street and all those places and people who offer a warm cup of coffee and an open door into a warm respite.
"For I was cold, and you offered me a jacket and a warm place to stay."
Amen.
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Dan Trabue
Louisville, Kentucky
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