By Joyce Dvoren A well-fed, clothed and housed Santa Monica resident
Response to Michael Beattie's Opinion piece on Sept. 23, 2002 I was moved to tears by Michael Beattie’s “Don't Blame the Homeless …” article on Sept. 23. I agree that many of us who are housed, clothed and well-fed have misperceptions about the homeless, much as we do about Muslims, or Iraqis, or (fill in your own blanks), because the only way we can view them is through the ignorant filters of fear. We could all wind up like Michael, or worse. Look how quickly he went from a “respected” position as an auditor at an upscale hotel where he was also housed, to, in the eyes of the world, nothing but a “street bum.” Yes, it could happen to any one of us, particularly to those who live from paycheck to paycheck who have families to support. Those of us with large support systems (family, friends, health insurance, bank accounts) will probably never know what it is like to dig in a garbage can for a meal. For the rest of us, any major setback could easily lead to having to endure the humiliation of not only long food and shelter lines, but the sheer terror of having our choices removed, and the utter degradation of being stared at, ignored, or blamed by those rich in material goods, but poor in integrity.
We’re all capable of violence (wouldn’t you kill someone who threatened your children?), we’re all a little insane, we’re all terrified of losing what we have, of being alone or sick or hungry. And because our fear is so huge, it’s difficult to just let ourselves feel the utter despair of what life would be like without our protective shields — unless they are ripped away, as were Michael’s, as were others who suffered such great losses from the acts of September 11th. Instead of looking at our own terror, we just knit tighter cloaks around us and continue to skip through our busy lives. But maybe we could all take a few moments to try to imagine what it would be like if we were stripped of our identity. Who would we be then? We’d be homeless, we’d be destitute, and we’d be utterly lost.
So the next time we see someone who’s dirty, who’s smelly, or maybe just disoriented, perhaps we’ll imagine ourselves parked on that Third Street Promenade bench, scratching a body that hasn’t been bathed or touched in weeks. We’ll see our own hands reaching into a garbage can for leftovers that have been carelessly tossed aside by a shopper on her way to buy yet another pair of shoes.
Maybe if we can imagine ourselves living this way, we’ll make more caring choices. When we go to a restaurant, we’ll take half our dinner, pack it up, and offer the rest to someone who would appreciate it much more than we do. (It’s a great way to lose weight!) Or if this makes us too uncomfortable, maybe we’ll send a check to one of the many shelters throughout the city, so that they can provide more meals and services to those who don’t have a warm bed to crawl into. Or maybe we’ll just smile and offer a kind word or a hand on the shoulder to a fellow man who just happens to live in a dark alley.
Thank you, Michael, for a poignant reminder that there’s really only one of us here, just dressed in a variety of colors and forms.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on September 28, 2002. Read the original PDF.