Karen, nobody chooses to be homeless. It's because they did something bad

I recently had to write something called an autoethnography for class. I am publishing it because this issue has become incredibly important to me, and I want to raise awareness about it. this isn't all of it, it'll be published in increments. Thanks for reading!

Louis C.K joked about homelessness in one of his stand up acts. He described a destitute man who was lying on the street, covered in garbage. “We all walked by him, but only she SAW him,” he quips. The man had dreadlocks, “every tuft representing a year no one knew his name or cared” C.K. explains. The entire audience laughed, including myself. My real experiences with the homeless community were far less funny. Whenever I exit the freeway on my way to work, I see but do not acknowledge the people pan-handling on the corner. I busy myself with the stereo, or look the other way. I always was afraid of the homeless. Passing a homeless person on the street never failed to give me mild anxiety. The fear they would ask for money was always present. The fear that I would, without fail, refuse them was worse. My fear was a manifestation of guilt and sadness. I always knew I should do more, I knew I should recognize the ones pan-handeling on the corner of freeway exits. Instead, I put on my sunglasses and busied myself with the radio, not even making eye contact with another human being. The apprehension that I’ll be funding an alcoholism habit, and the subsequent guilt of that assumption, are easier to ignore.

 This fear magnified upon my first real experience with the homeless community. I was too afraid to go alone, so I brought a companion. After a meeting with the head of Salt Lake’s Rescue Mission, Jesus Saves, this companion informed me how pale I looked. I was afraid.

            As I parked my car and fumbled with my keys, I murmured my anxieties to my companion. My quick step matched the beat of my heart, for after one short meeting at the rescue mission, my fear of the homeless turned to fear of my emotions and of myself.  I was concerned I wouldn’t remain in control of my emotions, having teared up earlier. I, who always was in control and cool-tempered, may not be able to face the homeless community with an easy eye. Boy was I right.

I was far more emotional and shaken than I had anticipated, and this reaction shocked me more than my actual interactions with the homeless community. I often see homeless people on the street, and although I get nervous, I’m never afraid and never emotional. I am pretty street-smart and thought I could handle this well. However, I was visibly shaken and struggle to remain in control. It was an incredibly difficult experience, for I am always in control. I should have seen this coming, though, based on my behavior before even getting downtown. I kept trying to find excuses to not go, even as I parked! After my meeting with the head of the “Jesus Saves” rescue mission, I suggested going to the Scientology building instead, for it would have been much easier to interact with that group of people. I wasn’t looking forward to being emotionally shocked, at I was seriously concerned my emotions would affect how I was able to talk to the homeless people. My experience began with a long and drawn out search for the homeless shelter. I had previously called the Road Home shelter to make sure it was alright if I came down for a while. When I got there, it was closed. “This is ridiculous, I called to make sure! I want to see the manager,” I quipped. I used my wit to mask my anxieties. We walked all over 4^th west to find a shelter, and it was near impossible to navigate. Finally, we made it to the rescue mission, who redirected us to the Catholic Commuter Services, who redirected us somewhere else. I found it interesting that this area, which could almost be dubbed “Homeless block,” for all the services and buildings dedicated to the homeless and chronically homeless, was near impossible to figure out. If someone with my means and skills couldn’t find a lunchroom, how would someone with limited means do so? After leaving the rescue mission, being very pale and shaky indeed, I was slightly angry and already pushed out of my element.  When I went into the
Jesus Saves mission, I was offered a food box. Slightly offended at being homeless, but grateful for the generosity and unassuming behavior of those in charge, I asked for the person in charge. A homeless (or previously homeless) gentleman running the desk showed me to the office. The man in charge then proceeded to lecture me for half an hour about the “realness” of the homeless people and their situation. “These are real people, not just a school project,” he warned. I became angry; of course I knew that. After leaving the rescue mission, being very pale and shaky indeed, I was slightly angry and already pushed out of my element.  I was assumed to be both homeless and an ignorant college girl within the space of thirty minutes. His lecture, however, made sense. So many people come to serve the homeless from selfish motives. Many volunteers and charitable people suffer from the “God-complex” and view themselves as separate groups. Jayakumar Christian addresses is this issue in his book God of the Empty handed: Poverty, Power, and the Kingdom of God. Vanity or expectation often motivate the charitable, when in reality their actions should focus on persons and relationships,” (Reynalds, 29). The Christian bible talks about being “my brother’s keeper,” but so many volunteers and other do-gooders don’t view the homeless as people. They’re interested in proving how virtuous they are, or being “saviors” to the destitute, when really volunteers should start with creating relationships. The man in charge of the Mission understood that, as he referred to the homeless people as his “friends,” and tried to express that to me.

Admittedly, I went shopping briefly after my excursion at the rescue mission. I definitely felt buyer’s remorse after that shopping trip. I finally made it over to the road home and Catholic services buildings, and after locking my possessions safely in my care, steeled myself as I ventured forward into the unknown. Looking back, I am somewhat ashamed for locking my stuff out of sight because I automatically assumed there proved danger of them being stolen. I had so many pre-conceived notions of the homeless community. This can be attributed threatening villains (Reynalds, 21). to how they are represented in the media. Jeremy Reynalds discusses in his book Homeless Culture and the Media, that homeless people are unfairly represented in news media. He argues that homeless coverage by the media “is incomplete and thus inaccurate.” He says the media educate the general populace about the homeless culture, and the inaccuracy results in unfair and negative portrayals, (Reynalds, 66). There are basically 5 representations of homeless people on television: mentally-ill people, institution avoiders, families and children, runaway teens, or violent criminals. In actuality, mentally ill people make up a minority of the homeless community, and as for institution avoiders, very few are chronically homeless and refuse help. only 18% of people in one study were chronically homeless; the rest use resources available to get themselves off the street.  Based on these representations, I was slightly nervous as I was approached by two youths near the road home. I assumed they were either coming to talk to the only girl in the 2 block radius (They were about 17 years old, which broke my heart) or they noticed my bright orange back and were trying to swindle me. Instead, the asked if they could be of assistance guiding me to where I was going. They wrongly assumed I went up the wrong street. After thanking them and declining their help, they responded, “alright, just trying to look out for you.” Although I’m not totally convinced they weren’t trying to get a little money out of me, it was interesting that we both had inaccurate jugements about each other. I obviously didn’t belong there, and they wrongly assumed I was lost. They were homeless, and I  wrongly assumed they wanted money. However, I observe them notice be, giggle, and proceed towards me. I sort of stuck out, and The leader of the Rescue Mission did warn me not to go anywhere alone as I was a young girl. This was something I was actually surprised to hear. I assumed I would by physically safe among the homeless, but he warned that many of the homeless men have low social skills and could mistake a simple smile for a flirtation invitation.

Upon entering the lunch room, the first thing I saw were the tables. The next was the shame. Everywhere I looked, men were eating their lunches in shame. I assumed many would be used to this, but hardly a soul lifted his eyes. There were some people chatting and enjoying company but most of the men in that crowded room were completely alone. We were pegged as intruders or outsiders immediately. Nearly everywhere we went, we were looked on with curiosity and even distrust. In my ignorance, and trying to look “homeless,” I wore a sort of kerchief in my hair ( I hadn’t brushed it that morning). I forgot to leave my bright orange bag in the car, however. These were obvious indicaters that I was an outsider. We grabbed a tray and sat with uncertainty next to a couple of guys. Within minutes, however, almost every seat around us was empty. The homeless community are very guarded and careful around newcomers. This may result from volunteers suffering from “The God-complex.” People who invade the space the homeless community create for themselves with thoughts of charity and service come to serve themselves. One man, Demetrius, opened up to us. After eyeing my bag, he asked us how we were.

“How it do?”

“Pretty good, whats new?”

“Ya know, Just tired of being broke all the time.”

“hmmmmm” I replied non-comittally. Demetrius then procided to talk for about 15 minutes. I t was difficult to understand him at first, and I couldn’t tell if it was unstable rambling or incredibly profound. Either way, the things he said were heart breaking. He talked about his son, and how he tells his son that the dirty clothes and face were just a mask for a rich person. He was ashamed of his situation, and tried to protect his son from that shame. He also spoke about his favorite movie “Chucky.” Although this part of the conversation was less clear, I gathered he like this movie because chucky was a doll that was controlled, and he could relate to that. He in turn was being controlled by society and culture, and understood chucky’s violence. Again, this was my own analysis of his synopsis of Chucky. Demetrius did talk about the difficulties of making it in America, and how the idea of the “American Dream” is out of his reach. “The world is run by swag, but it should be run by beauty,” he explained. IT was extremely difficult to remain calm during my conversation with him. While he talked and I observed, all I could feel was sadness, horror, and heartbreak. I felt like such an outsider. No one would sit near us, and even Demetrius noticed how my mom and I shared a tray, and how I “wasn’t even eating [my] meat.” One of the most difficult things I have ever done was to eat that food after his comment. It tasted like ash in my mouth, not just from the quality, but because of the reality of our situation compared to theirs. I only lasted 15 minutes in the lunchroom and had leave because I no longer was calm. Luckily, and older homeless gentleman with about 7 teeth and who was under the influence of some aphedamine based on his excessive perspiration, lifted the mood. “You are a beautiful lady,” he exclaimed. “Thank you! I was about to go gay before I saw you, and you saved me!” Well, at least I did some good there that day.