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street roots
Nov. 22, 2013
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Imagine you were homeless
E
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Working together, we can find
a place fo r us all
t’s sometimes hard to find a place where you fit in.
Our cover interview, John Waters, is no stranger to
being the square peg in an industry of round holes.
But he’s charted his own course and established himself
as a pioneer, exploring far, far beyond the beaten path.
No compromises.
Johnny No Bueno, also in our pages this edition, put
his life to poetry, and took a craft he discovered on the
streets all the way to the stage. As an urban artist, Sean
Aaron Bowers — Johnny’s given name — is now carving
a new course for himself, one he hopes will take him to
the front of the class to help others find their passion.
All across Portland,
people are creating the
We see random acts of
world in which they want
kindness on a regular
to live. It’s not always an
basis, from vendors
easy task, and the goal
giving a helping hand to
seems to always lie just
others in greater need, or beyond the horizon. But
lending a shoulder in
on any given day, in a
hard times.
nonprofit organization
anywhere in Portland,
you will discover a
community of people doing, helping, creating, and
changing their social environment for the better;
volunteers, asking for nothing in exchange but to be a
part of a better future.
Each year, the Willamette Week’s Give!Guide (www.
giveguide.org) lights a fire in the philanthropic hearts of
the 35 and younger'crowd who step up and support the
amazing projects that keep the city in motion.
The same is true on the streets. We see random acts of
kindness on a regular basis, from vendors giving a
helping hand to others in greater need, or lending a
shoulder in hard times. There’s a mentorship that
develops between people who have been to the bottom
and have found the way back, and those clinging to a life
line to stay afloat.
The holidays can be a difficult time for some people.
It’s a time that amplifies both the joyous and the sad.
But through it all, people are making a difference. Susan
Emmons, the executive director of Northwest Pilot
Project, has been on the front lines for decades in the
war against poverty and homelessness. Her organization
has housed thousands upon thousands of men and
women who have nowhere else to turn. She emerges
from the trenches by putting one step forward, every
day, with the outlook of a Portlander who is not alone in
her vision of a better city where no one suffers for want
of a home.
We all share that vision, and we can all be a part of
getting us there. Because that is not a dream that lies
beyond the horizon, always out of reach, but one that we
have the capacity to make a reality. We shouldn’t
compromise on creating a permanent housing network
that has a place for everyone and a labor market that lets
those who can, do more. We shouldn’t compromise on
having shelter space on rainy nights or homelessness
prevention efforts to help families over a rough patch.
We don’t have to be conventional, but if we’re smart, we
will find a place where all of us fit in.
magine for a moment that you were faced
with the experience of being homeless and
had nowhere else to turn.
Where should I go?
You find a local
shelter, but a woman half
your age at the counter
IM H T Q lO
lets you know that the
shelter tonight is full.
She takes your name and
says to check in
By Israel Bayer
tomorrow and maybe
something will come
available.
“I have no place to go,” you tell the shelter
worker. “How can there not be enough shelter
beds?”
“Right now, we’re dealing with a large
number of people sleeping outside, ma’am,”
the shelter worker tells you. “We’re doing
everything we can.”
The woman offers you a blanket. You take
it.
You knew that times were tough. You
wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t
known that, but the idea of literally not having
a place to call home is more than a little
overwhelming at the moment.
You have everything you own on your back.
Everything else was either thrown out in the
eviction or you left it with your sister, who as
hard as it was to do, also asked you to leave
because there simply weren’t enough
resources for you to stay there any longer.
You walk.
Should I sleep in plain eyesight of people, or
should I tuck myself away where it’s hidden?
You find out quickly that sleeping under a
bridge near the river feels unsafe and means
sleeping with rodents. This is unacceptable,
you think to yourself. You can’t imagine how
anyone could stand it. Rats. It gives you chills
just thinking about them scurrying in the
park.
I f I sleep downtown I will feel unsafe. I f I
sleep in the neighborhoods, I will have to sleep on
someone’s property. I may scare people. How can
I scare people? I use to be one of those people.
You begin to realize the noise. It never
seems to stop. You wonder where one goes
just to find some solace and to collect their
thoughts.
Should I sleep alone, or with a group of
people? I don’t know anyone.
You begin to panic and your heart starts to
race. The anxiety that has overcome you over
the past several months as you were losing
your home has returned. You have to sit down
and simply breathe. You feel a panic attack
coming on, but now’s not the time to be
paralyzed by fear. Your thoughts are racing so
fast it’s hard to even concentrate. Your entire
body is tense.
Should I spend my last $50 on a hotel and
think this through? What if the hotel isn’t safe?
I ’m sure it has bed bugs.
You start to lose daylight. You walk near an
abandoned business where you see several
other people bedding down. You ask if it’s OK
to sleep there too. No one seems to mind.
You ask if there’s a restroom around.
Someone hollers, “Four blocks down, but
sometimes the gate is locked.”
You go to the restroom. Thank goodness,
it’s open.
A stainless steel sink and toilet with no seat
I
Israel Bayer is the
executive director o f
Street Roots. You can
reach him a t
israel@streetroots. org
or follow him on
Twitter @israelbayer.
WHAT DO
YOU THINK?
tf
Send letters to the
editor to the Street
Roots office, 211
NW Davis St.,
Portland, OR 97209,
or e-mail to joanne®
streetroots.org
cover stares back at you. The narrow concrete
walls feel like they are closing in on you.
There is no toilet paper.
Given the circumstances, you do your best
to navigate in the small restroom with your
backpack and blanket. You change into your
last pair of clean socks and underwear. You
decide to throw the others away. You clean
your hands and face with cold water and walk
out into the night. The cool air hits your face.
You still feel dingy.
You bed down. You’re lucky to have found
an awning to shelter you from the rain. You
try to sleep, but the concrete, your backpack
for a pillow and the blanket you have are little
comfort. You slip into an imaginary state,
dreaming of better days, even as you wake up
and acknowledge every single sound.
Groups of people walk by, laughter ensues.
You remember a time when life was carefree
and simple. You hear the moans of the man
sleeping closest to you. They terrify you. The
moans last all night. They will stay with you.
The sounds of cars and trucks driving by
keep you awake. It’s almost impossible to
sleep given the circumstances. The late hours
of the night bring large crowds of people
coming and going from local bars until closing
time. You feel vulnerable.
Someone makes a sideways comment about
all of the bums downtown. You feel small.
You estimate that on your first night
sleeping outside downtown that there was
around two hours of silence, between the time
when the bars closed and when the sounds of
the delivery trucks started to arrive. You wake
up slowly. Your back hurts. Your feet are tired.
You are exhausted. The day is just beginning.
By noon, you notice sleep depravation
setting in. If you were thinking clearly before
and panicked about the circumstance that you
found yourself in, now you are just a walking
shell of yourself. You become disoriented.
Dehydrated.
Possibly you’ve been able to maintain your
hygiene; possibly you’ve let it go. A group of
people near the Greyhound Bus Depot tell you
where the soup kitchens are, what places may
or may not have a place to shower, and where
you may go to find some help. You go back to
the shelter and ask if anything has become
available. Nothing.
You feel hopeless. You realize that the living
hell you find yourself in may not end anytime
soon. You start to feel disconnected from
everyone and everything around you. You
think about asking a stranger to borrow their
cell phone to call a family member, but what
would you say. Everything is surreal.
The thought of actually taking your own life
enters your mind for the first time.
I couldn’t.
You walk through the city alone. You go to
the library but people clearly don’t want to
have anything to do with you. Some people
are kind enough to say hi and show
compassion. You catch the eye of someone
walking out of the library.
“Sir, do you have a dollar or two to spare. I
just became homeless and I really don’t know
what else to do.”
You remember the time when your father
took someone a lot like yourself out to eat at a
local café. You rem em ber feeling
See DIRECTOR'S DESK, page 3
Darren Alexander, Amber Bielman
Volunteers
Program Assistant Grace Badik, Jesuit Volunteer,
grace@streetroots.org
Development Director Sarah Cloud
University of Oregon Intern Jasmine Rockow
Office Assistant Amber Bielman
Reporters Jake Thomas, Alex Zielinski, Nathan
Portland, OR 97209
503-228-5657
Fax: 503-227-3117
streetroots.org
news.streetroots.org
cjfiies, sue ¿aioxar, ann-uerricK uaiitox
Photographers Kristina W right, Christopher
Onstott
Mary Pados, Jan Bayer, Ann Ereline, Vinnie Kinsella,
Ann-Derrick Galliot, Joe Thick, Stacey Heath, Taurin
Skinner-Macginnis, Bethany Hague, Michelle Holbert,
John Lisifka, Raven Canoles, Michelle Breslau, Paula
Cracas, Sharron Thompson, John Barker, Mary Locke
Street Roots Rose City Resource
Street Roots publishes the Rose City Resource, a
comprehensive booklet of services for people
experiencing homelessness and poverty.
To inquire about getting guides, call 503-228-5657.
Resources are also available online at
www.rosecityresource.org.
who sold you the paper
printing costs
Vendor orientations are at 1 p.m. every Monday,
Wednesday and Friday at the Street Roots office.