Not helpless or hopeless ... but, I tried

Like everyone in the world, at times I have felt hopeless.  Like everyone in the world, at times, I have expressed that I have felt helpless.  But, I decided that were just words that I used every now and then, but, I never felt genuinely helpless and hopeless.  I have been blogging in support of the Bruce Oake Recovery Centre being located at the site of the closed Vimy Arena.  I also have been sincerely trying to understand the opposition to this from the "white people".  That has been a challenge.  So, I had this plan.  I was going to be "homeless" on the downtown streets of Winnipeg for 48 hours.  I was going to spend that time doing research.  I was hoping to get a sense of what it was like to feel helpless and hopeless.  I also hoped to interview some homeless people, perhaps some of them dealing with addiction, to hear their stories and to understand their needs better.

So, I thought I had a good plan.  I wasn't going to use any resources that were for people who were actually homeless.  I had a backpack with a couple of bottles of water, my cell phone, and bus fare.  I didn't want to have any more money so that I wouldn't wimp out and go to a restaurant and I also didn't want to make myself a target for theft.  I had a notebook for making notes and a couple of pens. I wore comfortable clothes in layers. 

I started my quest for understanding on a side street off Portage.  I decided to just sit down and see what happened next.  I was only there for a couple of minutes when I saw a young woman walking up to a man who only walked together for a few steps.  She slipped him some money and he slipped her something wrapped in plastic.  In another minute, another woman and the same man repeated what I saw.  In another minute, a man approached a different man and the same scene repeated itself.  I marveled how this happened to seamlessly.  All the players knew the drill and I wondered how many times I had walked by these deals before and didn't notice.  I was wondering how these people found each other, how they negotiated price, etc.  I guess I was a little wide-eyed because in the next moment the two young men who were handing out the things wrapped in plastic were standing in front of me.  They didn't look happy and one of them simply said, "you don't belong here. Leave."  Well, I am nothing if not compliant and a wimp.  I didn't ask them if they wanted to be interviewed for my blog. 

I decided to go on Portage Avenue.  This time I took out my notebook and started making notes hoping that this would make me look less like a narc.  It didn't take long before people were walking by me as if I didn't exist.  I thought that this would be the hardest thing.  I don't being passed by as I wasn't a person would be difficult and fill me with sadness.  Actually, it was comforting.  I preferred it.  The people that looked at me had judgmental looks about them and were making assumptions about me.  Those who looked at me had pity in their eyes. It made me feel pitiful.  One man walking by me in a suit angrily reached in his pocket and threw a dime at me.  Literally threw it at me.  Was I expected to grab this dime?  He threw it at me with such force and anger.  Where did this anger come from?  He didn't even know me.  I wonder how many times he threw a token at some one on the street.  I wanted to throw it back at him, but then I would be reduced to his level.  Treating people on the street as if they are garbage is not helpful to resolving the problem.  I left the dime for someone else who wanted or needed it.  I felt like chasing the man to interview him, to find out why he was so angry and to get his thoughts, but I decided I didn't think his perspective would be particularly helpful. 

I moved a little down Portage to have a different position, one that was a little shadier.  A couple of minutes later, a young woman stood before me.  She was yelling at me in a language that wasn't English.  I recognized a few words in Saulteaux.  She was young, very thin, scantily clothed, overly made-up and appeared to be high on something and it wasn't life.  Regardless, she was not happy with me and wanted me to leave.  That sentiment in obvious in any language.  So, I got up and walked away and she was following me closely.  As I increased my step, she increased hers and kept yelling at me.  Finally, I was running as fast as my fat little legs would take me.  I kept looking back and she was still chasing me.  I was running through groups of people.  This was late afternoon on a Thursday.  No one was intervening.  I guess we were people who didn't matter and no one cared.  Finally, I looked back and this woman had stopped chasing me and was lying on the street crying and screaming.  People walked over her.  No one asked her if she was ok.  I wanted to go check on her but I sensed I was the wrong person to give her comfort.  I sadly moved on.

Then, I found a wonderful space.  A Pop-Up Winnipeg on Portage and Hargrave.  It had a big sign noting that You Are Welcome Here to lounge, eat, sit, listen, watch, sit, sun, shade, relax, gather, perform, meet, rest, chat, or picnic.  The Pop-Up park was going to be there all summer and it said, "when you create spaces that allow people to slow down, amazing things can happen."  It really was an amazing space.  Lots of foliage.  Benches were wheelchair accessible.  A ping pong table and a human chess board, a place to secure bicycles, and information on safety and other services.  It was a remarkable space.  So tranquil and comforting.  I couldn't believe I was literally yards away from Portage Avenue yet it was so quiet.  There was only one thing disappointing about the space.  I was the only one there.  I wonder why it was.  I was there for half an hour.  I practiced mindfulness.  I took pictures.  I spent time in the shade.  I spent time in the sun.  It was like going on a mini-holiday.  Why wasn't it packed?  It was a great spot.  It gave me hope.  There are people in our city making great attempts to help with our social problems.  There are no simple solutions.  No one joined me.  I wanted to stay as it was such a nice space, but, it wasn't helping me interview people or get an understanding of being helpless and hopeless.

I moved on and kept walking and wandering aimlessly.  I was starting to get hungry.  I had to go to the bathroom.  My cell phone needed charging.  I knew there were power bars at the Good Will Social Club for charging phones and computers.  I went there.  When I used the bathroom, I took a little extra toilet paper in case I needed it.  I charged my cell phone and tried to blend in like a patron as I felt guilty using their watercloset and electricity without making a purchase.  (I do go to this place on Monday nights to play trivia so I plan to bring them a roll of toilet paper to make up for what I took.)  I left before my phone was fully charged just because the smell of food cooking was so intoxicating.  I had a good lunch before I started yet I now was feeling pretty desperate.  I knew that the longest I was going without food would be 48 hours so I couldn't really imagine what it would be like not knowing when your next meal would be coming. 

I moved on and found another side street to sit and hang out, hoping someone would come to me.  An older man did join me with a can of cat food.  He wasn't homeless and lived in a shared living situation.  He didn't like it because he didn't like people.  He had an apartment up until three years ago when he lost his best friend of 18 years, his cat.  He brought out his wallet and showed me his picture of his cat.  I am not a cat person but I was moved by his tears and his raw emotion, even after a long period of time.  He said he came downtown almost every night with a can of cat food and eventually a cat would come by for a free meal and he could spend time with that cat.  I asked why he didn't volunteer with the Humane Society or some other like organization.  He said that most of those organizations required police checks or references and he wouldn't meet either criteria.  He liked spending time on the street at night so he could avoid interaction with other people that he lived with and then he would sleep all day.  When I said that I am not a cat person, I was understating it.  I am actually afraid of cats.  I wished him well and moved along. 

I found another spot on another street.  A man with a shopping cart filled with plastic bags approached me and asked if he could sit next to me.  I was thrilled. Finally, someone to interview.  He had a McDonald's meal and asked if I minded if he ate it while we talked.  I wanted one or twenty of those french fries so badly.  It is amazing how hunger seems to intensify your sense of smell.  Even though he was eating, he started talking and kept talking for about 40 minutes before I could get a word in.  And, I've been told that I talk a lot.  It appeared this man, although without an address, was very well supported by professionals from a number of different disciplines.  Correction, the man was well known by a number of professionals from a number of different disciplines.  He did not find any of them supportive.  The assistance he received was not the assistance he wanted.  Finances was not the cause of his homelessness.  He said he had a bad rental history and even had three strikes and your out of Manitoba Housing.  He would never find anyone who would rent to him.  He couldn't focus on any topic and he was difficult to follow and he would speak in the present tense of things that happened in his childhood.  He knew he needed medication, but pharmacists were reluctant to dispense to someone without an address.  I don't know if anything he told me was the truth, but I did think I wanted to interview him to get some insight.  I finally told him that I was a blogger and would like to interview him.  He asked what was the focus of my blog and I replied that I was a social justice warrior.  That brought him to his feet and he yelled, "I hate social justice, I am a Trump supporter!"  Really, I thought to myself., what do you think Trump would ever do for you?  Regardless, he started yelling for people to stay away from me because I didn't support Trump.  There was no point in arguing with him and I didn't want to escalate his agitation.  I left. 

I found myself on Portage Avenue again.  I realized I was clutching my phone in case I had to call 911.  That wasn't fair to anyone.  I didn't want to end up wasting valuable police resources, but, it seemed inevitable  that was going to happen.  I hopped on a bus and headed home. 

So, even though, I didn't get insight into being helpless and hopeless, I did learn some valuable lessons about helping people. 

Don't make decisions for people.          Make decisions with people.             
Don't treat people as you want to be treated.      Treat people as they want to be treated. 
Many people have heard all the advice that there is.    Those same people still want to be heard. 
People don't want to be rescued.           That only happens in fairly tales.