Street roots., June 12, 2015, Page 7, Image 7

Street Roots • June 12-18, 2015
Commentary
Page 7
S treet Roots receives five awards,
three firsts, fo r journalism
O rphan
by Harold Thompson
treet Roots reporters Emily Green and Jake Thomas
took home three first-place awards from the Society
of Professional journalists for environmental and
science reporting, health
reporting and general
news reporting.
Green took home top
honors for her report
“Toxic Soldiers,” about
the men and women who
trained at the Army’s
Fort McClellan and are
now fighting for
compensation for the
toxic exposure they
suffered. She received a
second-place award in
health coverage for
“Ghosts of Agent
Orange,” about the
ongoing genetic effects of
chemical use during the
Vietnam War.
Thomas received top
honors for his coverage
Of Safety Net arid
recognition for his
reporting on the Social
Security payee process
for poor and homeless
people. Thomas spent
months investigating the
federal inquiry into the
Portland-based payee
program and the fall out
from the closure of one
program serving more
than 1,000 qualifying
individuals living in
poverty.
Green joined Street Roots in November as a full-time
reporter in advance of the newspaper going to weekly
circulation. Thomas has been a longtime freelancer with
the organization and more recently works as staff
reporter at Inlander in Spokane, Wash.
This year Street Roots competed against a broad field
of non-daily newspapers throughout Oregon, Washington,
Idaho, Montana and Alaska.
B
“Orphan” is a very empty word>
starting with the letter “0 ” that
reminds me of a big alphabetic hole.
It conjures up images of loss, of being
rootless of unwanted and untenable love.
When I think of “orphan” I think of
something flying around in the great
human universe, searching for home
but never quite finding it.
I’m an orphan.
As sure as the Earth travels around the sun in an eternal bliss,
interstellar pas de deux,
I’m ah orphan.
It took a while to really use the word
It was like I was standing
by the curb of life and my spirit
brushed up against me, turned the
corner and disappeared from sight.
I preferred to think of it dissolving
into the light at dusk, with bits of
swirling and glittering particles of affection.
I couldn’t bring myself to imagine it being gone.
Yes, I’m now orphaned without the presence
And the comforting feeling of never knowing.
I can barely make conversation in that silent intimacy that only love can bring.
I’m physically alone, in a worldof no compassion.
That lonely solitude is like a gash on my heart.
I’m an orphan of these sénsâtiôhsrof thé superficial and b elo v ed th in g s
that made my spirit my spirit.
But then again, I am an orphan of all the things
That existed beyond and within and around this beautiful presence.
My spirit will always keep me company
And I’ll hear deep within my soul:
I am here. And always will be.
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