June Renew: Day Eleven
No Home, No Help
As far back as I can remember, there’s been a homeless problem in New York City. I’m not sure how bad it was in the 70s and 80s, which is what everyone seems to compare today’s problems to, but one person sleeping on the street instead of a bed is one person too many. My idealism tells me that a healthy city landscape means safe places for those down on their luck to live. But our modern-day solutions seem to just be shield-thy-eyes and hope for the best outcome out there.
My ex-boyfriend used to say he’d give a larger-than-normal portion of cash to anyone struggling on the street. Sometimes $15 a pop. I thought that was extremely generous, but it never really sat right with me. Sure, it’s nice to help someone out, but is that really the right way to do it? How do you know what they’re using the money for? Maybe it’s for their next fix that eventually kills them. I can’t have that on my conscience. I’d rather live with the idea that they’re invisible rather than contributing to their downfall. But perhaps by ignoring the problem, I’m doing one in the same anyway.
What One Can Actually Do
There are at least three homeless people who live within a block of me. The first guy looks like a Veteran who set up a little alcove in front of an empty store. He has a mattress with a Jack Skellington blanket, several suitcases, and coolers for his 32oz beers. A little further down the avenue is a man who exists solely in a chair. He piles up his things around him and hides underneath a blanket. I’ve seen the blanket covering his entire self before with things seeming to shake under there. I don’t know what he does in the summer. The last guy is a relatively new fixture who set up camp in an empty restaurant’s step-down doorway. He normally just sits and observes anyone who walks by. I shouldn’t have to write about this, as these people should have a proper place to be, but it’s a reflection of what New Yorkers are seeing and experiencing without the help we need.
Today was another sad scene, possibly the saddest one I’ve seen as of late. A young woman, couldn’t have been out of her twenties, was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the corner in front of a pizza joint. She was eating something out of a cup, eyes closed, open-mouth chewing, and sipping something out of a second cup. I watched as I approached, trying not to stare, but wracking my brain for a second to see if there was anything I could do about it. But I couldn’t. I’m just one person, not trained in homeless outreach. I felt bad as I walked by, saying a small prayer in hoping she receives the help she so sorely needs.
As I made the final few steps home, not feeling great, I looked up to see an older woman with a walker trying to open the door to a nearby pharmacy. I could see she was struggling, so I walked up behind her, announcing, “I’m holding the door for you.” She was grateful and thanked me, and it felt like my good deed for the day. I figured I can’t help everyone, but I can make a difference where it actually makes sense.
Actually For the People
A city as blue as New York City champions itself on helping the people, but the more I look around here, I wonder what all the cash flow is really helping. I used to see homeless outreach come up to people sitting on the street, getting their info and working to actually help them. Maybe I’m just far too inside these days, but that practice seems to be a thing of the past.
I’d like to see a functioning city where the homeless aren’t afraid to be in the shelters. Where communities are cognizant enough of what’s going on in their neighborhood. Where politicians actually seem to care about something outside their own special interest. It’s a downer thing to think of. But it’s reality. At least for a little bit longer.
One Comment