"The wall around my stuff should not be the wall around my mind."
Jackie
Wednesday, April 27
Tuesday, April 26
Becoming Faithful to a Narrative
Narrative fidelity is harder to come by than narrative probability. All probability requires is that the storyteller gets the events between the beginning and end more or less in a coherent line. Fidelity, however, requires the narrative to fit into the prior experiences of the audience. In a way, narrative fidelity demands that the story coheres with not only its events, but also all the rest of the stories the person knows and lives.
Fortunately, a flexible storyteller can tailor the tale to be faithful to the ones the audience already knows. By playing to prior experiences, the narrator builds on what the listener thinks is real, good, beautiful, and true. Alter the story a little, and one can make it more acceptable, more faithful to the world of the listener.
What is the recourse, however, if the storyteller is unwilling to change the tale?
In the context of this retreat, consider the two following narrative dilemmas.
There is a story about homelessness I want to believe. It is about ordinary people, committing themselves to making real change, both small and large. Reaching out, forging bonds, overcoming adversity, and changing nothing less than the landscape of society. I want to believe in real change, but I feel foolish doing so.
There are also stories about homelessness I want to understand. Stories about the trials homeless face. The realities of the shelter system, difficulties with police, and trouble getting food. I know these stories, but for some reason, I can’t quite understand them.
Both dilemmas are caused by a lack of narrative fidelity. I can’t believe the hopeful narrative of change because it just doesn’t seem, well, believable. It doesn’t measure up with my previous experience of homeless outreach, which is so often fraught with failure or disappointment. I don’t understand the narratives of urban homeless reality because they are so distant from my own experiences they hardly seem real.
Now, a flexible storyteller would change the narratives. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to violate the optimistic narrative, because I believe it worth trying to live up to. And I don’t want to change the painful realities of homelessness, because doing so would make invisible the suffering of actual people.
If the story must match my life to truly sink in,
And I am unwilling to change the story,
Then I must change my life.
Here beats the narrative heart of this weekend. The stories the youth told were not radically different than what one might expect. The forward thinking optimism and storying of the future were not unlike other planning sessions. Sometimes, it isn’t the stories that need changing. Sometimes it’s the listeners. Narrative fidelity suggests you only accept stories that resonate with prior experiences. If there are stories you want to believe, be strategic about the experiences you have in order to more fully believe them.
When I first conceived this retreat, I thought we would construct a narrative for the future of Stand Up For Kids Community Outreach. I discovered, however, that we already knew the story. The retreat fleshed out some details, true. More importantly, it readied our bodies, minds, and hearts to more honestly understand the trials of today, and more earnestly undertake the triumph of tomorrow.
Sunday, April 24
Returning Home
A quintessential step to the journey of a hero is the return home. Exhausted, taken to the limits of our souls and bodies, we adventurers turn our feet back down the path that had taken us to the edge of the world.
I am happy to return home. I cannot express how much I look forward to seeing my wife. I foolishly don't think I need a nap. My shower feels less like hygiene and more like a rebirth. I emerge with preternaturally smooth skin and I smell strange to myself.
The homeward journey is the only sensible ending to a heroes tale. The world of the ordinary, from which the hero was drawn in the beginning, is often the underlying drive for the myth in the first place. If the hero fails, home will be destroyed. While the return home isn't always positive (sometimes home is destroyed or the hero can't really fit in), the home is still the end of the story. It is the beginning, the end, and the ever-present counterpoint to the craziness of the supernatural world. Tolkein had it right: There and back again.
But I have just spent the weekend homeless getting to know homeless people I consider heroes. Because of this, I think the centrality of the home in the hero myth is a bit problematic.
Consider: how many heroes in stories have no home? Sure, some are wanderers, but even wanderers are often displaced from their rightful homes and become heroes when they take the fight to their oppressors and recover their home. Eternal wanderers are rarely more than colorful events in the travels of other heroes.
Perhaps our use of home as a necessary element of the hero myth is misguided. Think I'm over reading this? What in a myth has no homes? Beasts. Who has no respect for the belongings in homes? Scoundrels. Who destroys homes? Villains. It is through negation of home that characters have wildness, unpredictability, and evilness ascribed. When I think of ways society renders the homeless, beast, scoundrel, and villain are not too far off.
We must break ourselves of rendering the hero as essentially homed. We need to tell stories where the comfortable life is not the same as the good life. We need heroes who derive their morality from a place other than the home.
We need homeless heroes.
I am happy to return home. I cannot express how much I look forward to seeing my wife. I foolishly don't think I need a nap. My shower feels less like hygiene and more like a rebirth. I emerge with preternaturally smooth skin and I smell strange to myself.
The homeward journey is the only sensible ending to a heroes tale. The world of the ordinary, from which the hero was drawn in the beginning, is often the underlying drive for the myth in the first place. If the hero fails, home will be destroyed. While the return home isn't always positive (sometimes home is destroyed or the hero can't really fit in), the home is still the end of the story. It is the beginning, the end, and the ever-present counterpoint to the craziness of the supernatural world. Tolkein had it right: There and back again.
But I have just spent the weekend homeless getting to know homeless people I consider heroes. Because of this, I think the centrality of the home in the hero myth is a bit problematic.
Consider: how many heroes in stories have no home? Sure, some are wanderers, but even wanderers are often displaced from their rightful homes and become heroes when they take the fight to their oppressors and recover their home. Eternal wanderers are rarely more than colorful events in the travels of other heroes.
Perhaps our use of home as a necessary element of the hero myth is misguided. Think I'm over reading this? What in a myth has no homes? Beasts. Who has no respect for the belongings in homes? Scoundrels. Who destroys homes? Villains. It is through negation of home that characters have wildness, unpredictability, and evilness ascribed. When I think of ways society renders the homeless, beast, scoundrel, and villain are not too far off.
We must break ourselves of rendering the hero as essentially homed. We need to tell stories where the comfortable life is not the same as the good life. We need heroes who derive their morality from a place other than the home.
We need homeless heroes.
Closing Circle
Retreats come to an end.
I don't know how to frame the end without talking about new beginnings. So begins our earnest community outreach. So begins our lives with new knowledge. So begins the revolution.
Standing in that circle, looking down at the photographer, we are a community. Not because we have the same goals. Not because we are there for the same reasons. Not for any reason easily expressed in words.
We are a community because we have shared time and touch.
I don't know how to frame the end without talking about new beginnings. So begins our earnest community outreach. So begins our lives with new knowledge. So begins the revolution.
Standing in that circle, looking down at the photographer, we are a community. Not because we have the same goals. Not because we are there for the same reasons. Not for any reason easily expressed in words.
We are a community because we have shared time and touch.
Where Do We Go From Here?
At the end of most retreats it is worth asking, "Where do we go from here?" While retreats often engage the present and distance us from the pressing concerns of the future, by the third day it is probably a good idea to remember that there is a world out there and that the journey back is at least as critical as the journey away.
I gave the Where Do We Go From Here talk. I wanted to give this talk because I want the community outreach groups to succeed. Also, how to impact the world from which we came is a pretty exciting topic.
Key points:
There area lot of homeless youth, and it is difficult to serve them.
But there are a lot of unused resources (for instance, 175 youth in a home for each 1 homeless).
By addressing the root level culture that separates the homeless from the homed, we can better meet community needs.
The vision then becomes reaching out to schools, businesses, workplaces, and other organizations to raising awareness and facilitate action.
I gave the Where Do We Go From Here talk. I wanted to give this talk because I want the community outreach groups to succeed. Also, how to impact the world from which we came is a pretty exciting topic.
Key points:
There area lot of homeless youth, and it is difficult to serve them.
But there are a lot of unused resources (for instance, 175 youth in a home for each 1 homeless).
By addressing the root level culture that separates the homeless from the homed, we can better meet community needs.
The vision then becomes reaching out to schools, businesses, workplaces, and other organizations to raising awareness and facilitate action.
Origin Stories
We all came to Stand Up through different means. Our origin stories are each unique.
Jackie came through a service learning course.
John came to honor his late grandfather.
Sam came to move DK in as the caretaker.
Michael came through his friendship with me.
Melissa came to do fieldwork.
Gabe came to get out of the heat.
Matt came to clean the house.
We each have our own entry point into the streaming narrative of the now. Even when humans closely share experiences, as we have this weekend, lived moments are differentiated by the stories that lead up to them. In that stories have an arc, a trajectory, our histories upend, propel, and cajole us into the present in varied manners.
It is important, though, that the present is not always compelled by the past. It is in the lived moment that the past is re-membered. And in a community as close as the one we share on Sunday morning, while we each have our disparate pasts, they slowly begin to converge. They become, each one, a narrative thread in the fabric of the whole. We listen intently because we know that each story reveals part of our collective history.
Shared space, time, and touch make narrative demands. Our bodies serve as breathing, sweating frames. It is through the enmeshed confluence of our veins that we co-instantiate the stories that lead to this moment of breath.
Jackie came through a service learning course.
John came to honor his late grandfather.
Sam came to move DK in as the caretaker.
Michael came through his friendship with me.
Melissa came to do fieldwork.
Gabe came to get out of the heat.
Matt came to clean the house.
We each have our own entry point into the streaming narrative of the now. Even when humans closely share experiences, as we have this weekend, lived moments are differentiated by the stories that lead up to them. In that stories have an arc, a trajectory, our histories upend, propel, and cajole us into the present in varied manners.
It is important, though, that the present is not always compelled by the past. It is in the lived moment that the past is re-membered. And in a community as close as the one we share on Sunday morning, while we each have our disparate pasts, they slowly begin to converge. They become, each one, a narrative thread in the fabric of the whole. We listen intently because we know that each story reveals part of our collective history.
Shared space, time, and touch make narrative demands. Our bodies serve as breathing, sweating frames. It is through the enmeshed confluence of our veins that we co-instantiate the stories that lead to this moment of breath.
Morning Interview with Jackie
On the morning of the third day, Jackie is worn, triumphant, and thoughtful. As she recounts the weekend, she remarks that while she could barely stand in the morning, she has made it through. And admirably, I might add.
Key learnings:
It is cold on the streets.
Talk to people. Being dirty doesn't mean someone shouldn't be treated like a person.
"I'm stronger than I thought I was!"
Key learnings:
It is cold on the streets.
Talk to people. Being dirty doesn't mean someone shouldn't be treated like a person.
"I'm stronger than I thought I was!"
Morning of the Third Day
We slept far better the second night.
We slept well, guarded by our wall, tucked away from passerbys, blessed by a higher blanket-to-person ratio (as some people had gone but left their blankets), and being totally exhausted from not sleeping the night before.
We did have a neighbor. The same I had seen on the scouting night, I assume. He came after we had gone to sleep and left before most of us awoke.
We slept well, guarded by our wall, tucked away from passerbys, blessed by a higher blanket-to-person ratio (as some people had gone but left their blankets), and being totally exhausted from not sleeping the night before.
We did have a neighbor. The same I had seen on the scouting night, I assume. He came after we had gone to sleep and left before most of us awoke.
Saturday, April 23
Staying Sane
When we originally brainstormed the topics for the retreat, the volunteers were asked what they wanted to learn about homelessness, and the youth were asked what they thought we needed to know. I was not surprised that the topic of basic needs emerged from often mentioned topics like food, showers, clothing, etc. I hadn't expected all the youth to suggest that we talk about staying sane. Gabe volunteered to be our presenter.
Gabe has been through a lot of crap. Despite it all, he is quite well adjusted.
Gabe's key points:
Gabe has been through a lot of crap. Despite it all, he is quite well adjusted.
Gabe's key points:
- Stay out of the sun, lest ye become sunbaked crazy.
- Entertain yourself. Even if it means talking to yourself.
- Stay engaged in what you are doing and aware of your surroundings.
- Get friends, and stay in touch with them.
- Stay off drugs.
Networking
After our visit to CASS and Andre House, we travel to our final location. Here we unpack and create a sitting area with our blankets. I had intended to keep the location's proximity to the Youth House secret to prevent people taking a bunch of trips there, as it was about half a block away down an alley. Alas, John could not be fooled. He's visited the house 200 times in a year and coordinated extensive repairs.
After settling in, we went on to our third talk of the day: Networking. John had been chosen to give the presentation. His networking skills have transformed the house from a disaster to an inviting home. He also has an admirably professional attitude that when taken with his creative initiative means he gets stuff done.
Unfortunately, the lighting was very poor for John's talk, so again we must rely on notes.
John defines a network as a social structure with common interests. Networking is developing and utilizing this structure. He insisted that we think of ourselves as people with something to offer and that we should strive for two-sided compromise.
Practically, start small. Tell your story. John also emphasized the importance of the Elevator Speech, a 30-seconds to one-minute pitch for Stand Up For Kids. He suggested that we practice them out loud and that we try to be memorable (maybe even funny). He also encouraged the use of mixed media. Ideally, use three types of media to create a network connection.
"Don't fear the big shots," he says. "Have no fear - get over worrying about rejection."
After his speech we crafted elevator pitches and gave them to each other.
After settling in, we went on to our third talk of the day: Networking. John had been chosen to give the presentation. His networking skills have transformed the house from a disaster to an inviting home. He also has an admirably professional attitude that when taken with his creative initiative means he gets stuff done.
Unfortunately, the lighting was very poor for John's talk, so again we must rely on notes.
John defines a network as a social structure with common interests. Networking is developing and utilizing this structure. He insisted that we think of ourselves as people with something to offer and that we should strive for two-sided compromise.
Practically, start small. Tell your story. John also emphasized the importance of the Elevator Speech, a 30-seconds to one-minute pitch for Stand Up For Kids. He suggested that we practice them out loud and that we try to be memorable (maybe even funny). He also encouraged the use of mixed media. Ideally, use three types of media to create a network connection.
"Don't fear the big shots," he says. "Have no fear - get over worrying about rejection."
After his speech we crafted elevator pitches and gave them to each other.
Visiting CASS
Andre House is only two blocks from Central Arizona Shelter Services (CASS), the major shelter in Phoenix. Many of the volunteers have never been, so we decide to swing by. Gabe guides us through the campus and identifies the dentist, the AA building, the shelter, and so on. In truth, he doesn't seem entirely comfortable leading us around, so I decide to keep the visit short. We take a single lap around the front yard, which consists of about 50 people sitting at tables placed on plastic grass turf. 75 to 100 more people are on the streets and sidewalks outside the shelter.
CASS is a story for a different day. Suffice it to say that while CASS is the largest and most comprehensive service to homeless persons, it has something of a draconian reputation. Gabe has a second explanation of the acronym: Corrupt Association of Shelter Services.
CASS is a story for a different day. Suffice it to say that while CASS is the largest and most comprehensive service to homeless persons, it has something of a draconian reputation. Gabe has a second explanation of the acronym: Corrupt Association of Shelter Services.
Andre House
The Andre House food line is famous among certain circles. If you haven't heard of it, you probably have never been homeless in downtown Phoenix. When we asked the youth a few months ago to help brainstorm activities for the retreat that would help the volunteers better understand the what it meant to be homeless, they had tons of suggestions. But one rose above the rest: "If you guys really want a taste, go through the Andre Food line."
At first I was hesitant. I was not at all interested in taking food out of the mouths of the hungry so that me and my little team could play at homelessness. But the youth insisted that the everyone would get fed and that us being there wouldn't be a problem. Just to be sure, I checked out the Andre House website, which makes it clear that all were welcome in the food line. So I put it on the schedule and made a donation to offset the cost of our meal.
Andre House was founded in 1984 by a pair of Catholic priests. What started as a simple invitation to a handful of people to stay the night has grown into many ministries. Andre House feeds 500 people daily and provides transitional housing for 11 people at a time, clothing to 150 weekly, laundry, showers, lockers, shoe vouchers, and blanket distribution. It also has daily Mass.
I felt it inappropriate to take pictures during our visit. While the members of our retreat agreed to be photographed and recorded, the people receiving Andre House's services did not. So you will have to rely on my memories.
We arrived at Andre House around 4:45 p.m. It is in the vicinity of the Central Arizona Shelter System and the other organizations that serve the homeless. The most striking element of the streets near these organizations is all the people in the actual street. There isn't a lot of through traffic, and most people are on foot. Perhaps there are more astute sociological explanations. Maybe there is a fearlessness associated with homelessness that makes cars the least of their worries. In a few cases, I think the liberal use of the streets is the result of substance use. Perhaps it is no more complex than sidewalks more often being used for sitting or sleeping.
When getting food at Andre, the first step is the line. We are given a one-square-inch piece of colored paper with a number printed on it. After the line, we sit on benches behind the building with shade structures overhead. The numbers ensure no seat swapping happens on the benches. While I understand the purpose of the benches and shade, namely that it is more comfortable than standing in the sun, I can't help but feel herded into a waiting stall.
We sit there for an hour. I think to myself that I could earn the cost of the free dinner in half the time it takes to wait for it.
Gabe is sitting next to me. He is my cultural interpreter. "The lady right there is going cold turkey." Maybe I'm hungry, but I think for a second he is talking about turkey, so I ask him to repeat. He gestures with his head, and notes her incessant scratching. "She's coming off something," he clarifies.
Gabe recounts story after story. He has seen people shoot up under the shade tent. He tells a handful of stories about the "fucking-psycho tourettes kid." Apparently he was let into CASS even though he was underage because his condition was so bad. One day in the Andre line, a large, intimidating man bumped into the psycho tourettes kid, and the tiny kid turned around and went insane on the huge man.
"Then we've got that," Gabe points, "people trying to sell their stuff." The Andre House line is also a place to buy rolled cigarettes and less legal paraphernalia. Currently it looks like someone is selling some kind of white packaged food item.
"Cops roll around here all the time looking for druggies and people sleeping on the streets. The sidewalk belongs to the church, and the other side belongs to CASS, so the only thing left to sleep on is the street."
After sitting for 45 minutes or more, the door to Andre House opens. The wheelchairs enter using the wheelchair ramp. A smiling woman collects the torn-off tickets in a red plastic coffee can. The first row starts to rustle. When the wheelchairs are all in, the first row goes up a set of stairs into the building.
Now it is our turn. We stand and process up. All the volunteers are smiling. It is pretty noisy in the building. I am served goulash. It is possible it is goat goulash. I am also given a salad, mixed fruit salad, and a small drinkable yogurt. The cafeteria tables are full of people already eating. A large portrait of St. Andre looks over us as we dine.
We take a moment of gratitude and dig in. Very soon bargains are being made. I get 3/4 of someone's goulash in exchange for my yogurt. I want the starchy carbs. A few people don't finish parts of their meal. Michael and I attend to the scraps.
On the way out, a young woman gives me a brown paper bag with a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich in it. It feels good to get handed food when full, as it give me comfort for the future. I do, however, immediately worry for the people with peanut allergies.
At first I was hesitant. I was not at all interested in taking food out of the mouths of the hungry so that me and my little team could play at homelessness. But the youth insisted that the everyone would get fed and that us being there wouldn't be a problem. Just to be sure, I checked out the Andre House website, which makes it clear that all were welcome in the food line. So I put it on the schedule and made a donation to offset the cost of our meal.
Andre House was founded in 1984 by a pair of Catholic priests. What started as a simple invitation to a handful of people to stay the night has grown into many ministries. Andre House feeds 500 people daily and provides transitional housing for 11 people at a time, clothing to 150 weekly, laundry, showers, lockers, shoe vouchers, and blanket distribution. It also has daily Mass.
I felt it inappropriate to take pictures during our visit. While the members of our retreat agreed to be photographed and recorded, the people receiving Andre House's services did not. So you will have to rely on my memories.
We arrived at Andre House around 4:45 p.m. It is in the vicinity of the Central Arizona Shelter System and the other organizations that serve the homeless. The most striking element of the streets near these organizations is all the people in the actual street. There isn't a lot of through traffic, and most people are on foot. Perhaps there are more astute sociological explanations. Maybe there is a fearlessness associated with homelessness that makes cars the least of their worries. In a few cases, I think the liberal use of the streets is the result of substance use. Perhaps it is no more complex than sidewalks more often being used for sitting or sleeping.
When getting food at Andre, the first step is the line. We are given a one-square-inch piece of colored paper with a number printed on it. After the line, we sit on benches behind the building with shade structures overhead. The numbers ensure no seat swapping happens on the benches. While I understand the purpose of the benches and shade, namely that it is more comfortable than standing in the sun, I can't help but feel herded into a waiting stall.
We sit there for an hour. I think to myself that I could earn the cost of the free dinner in half the time it takes to wait for it.
Gabe is sitting next to me. He is my cultural interpreter. "The lady right there is going cold turkey." Maybe I'm hungry, but I think for a second he is talking about turkey, so I ask him to repeat. He gestures with his head, and notes her incessant scratching. "She's coming off something," he clarifies.
Gabe recounts story after story. He has seen people shoot up under the shade tent. He tells a handful of stories about the "fucking-psycho tourettes kid." Apparently he was let into CASS even though he was underage because his condition was so bad. One day in the Andre line, a large, intimidating man bumped into the psycho tourettes kid, and the tiny kid turned around and went insane on the huge man.
"Then we've got that," Gabe points, "people trying to sell their stuff." The Andre House line is also a place to buy rolled cigarettes and less legal paraphernalia. Currently it looks like someone is selling some kind of white packaged food item.
"Cops roll around here all the time looking for druggies and people sleeping on the streets. The sidewalk belongs to the church, and the other side belongs to CASS, so the only thing left to sleep on is the street."
After sitting for 45 minutes or more, the door to Andre House opens. The wheelchairs enter using the wheelchair ramp. A smiling woman collects the torn-off tickets in a red plastic coffee can. The first row starts to rustle. When the wheelchairs are all in, the first row goes up a set of stairs into the building.
Now it is our turn. We stand and process up. All the volunteers are smiling. It is pretty noisy in the building. I am served goulash. It is possible it is goat goulash. I am also given a salad, mixed fruit salad, and a small drinkable yogurt. The cafeteria tables are full of people already eating. A large portrait of St. Andre looks over us as we dine.
We take a moment of gratitude and dig in. Very soon bargains are being made. I get 3/4 of someone's goulash in exchange for my yogurt. I want the starchy carbs. A few people don't finish parts of their meal. Michael and I attend to the scraps.
On the way out, a young woman gives me a brown paper bag with a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich in it. It feels good to get handed food when full, as it give me comfort for the future. I do, however, immediately worry for the people with peanut allergies.
Walking West on Jefferson in the Late Afternoon...
... sucks.
Generally, I think of all the homeless service centers as being close together. But then, I'm usually speeding in my car.
Walking is such a different matter. The homeless youth are pretty savvy about public transportation, but today is Saturday, and that means less options. The overall upshot is a lot of walking. Now, I am a healthy guy. I walk to work every day. I hike. I run from time to time. But damn. All this walking generally sucks.
But the worst of it is walking west on Jefferson in the late afternoon. A few reasons:
1.) We are walking straight into the sun.
We have been outside most of the day, and whatever minor sunburns we may have had are beginning to mature. I also feel dried out. Baked.
2.) Zero shade.
There is a tall building for half a block, but after that, the empty dirt lots and chain link fences to the left provide scant shelter from the sun. A few of us put in the effort to walk zigzag paths to get what little shade can be had from the occasional palm tree. The rest of us are too tired to chase shade.
3.) Carrying stuff.
The backpack is getting heavy by this point in the day. Gabe has discussed the danger of "having" when one is homeless. Having things means carrying, protecting, and worrying about things. At the moment, I wish I had nothing to carry, but that would also mean having nothing to sleep under.
Unfortunately, I must continues down Jefferson. There isn't a better street to walk down, and it can't be at a different time. So we walk.
Walking with Matt
Matt is our youngest retreatant. As such, his take on the difficulties of being homeless are different that others. The physical aspect isn't his chief concern. His main worry:
Boredom.
He generally finds the waiting for things to happen maddening and suggests that it is the lack of stimulation that would get to him first. He also cites unreliable access to food and uncertainty about sleeping arrangements as hard to deal with.
The lesson here? There are various types of fitness, and as such, the trials of deprivation play out differently. Matt crafts his particular story about homelessness because of his embodied immunity to particular discomforts. At his age, his body is made out of rubber bands shot full of adrenaline. The down side of his metabolic fervor is an increased need for lots of food and an impatience that makes him more susceptible to parts of the mental game.
Point is, we all wear down differently. There isn't a universal story to homelessness. There isn't a single way it sucks. Some of us are harder to wear, some are harder to tear, but it gets to everyone eventually.
Boredom.
He generally finds the waiting for things to happen maddening and suggests that it is the lack of stimulation that would get to him first. He also cites unreliable access to food and uncertainty about sleeping arrangements as hard to deal with.
The lesson here? There are various types of fitness, and as such, the trials of deprivation play out differently. Matt crafts his particular story about homelessness because of his embodied immunity to particular discomforts. At his age, his body is made out of rubber bands shot full of adrenaline. The down side of his metabolic fervor is an increased need for lots of food and an impatience that makes him more susceptible to parts of the mental game.
Point is, we all wear down differently. There isn't a universal story to homelessness. There isn't a single way it sucks. Some of us are harder to wear, some are harder to tear, but it gets to everyone eventually.
Walking to Andre House
After our presentation on basic needs, some writing, and a few games, we leave for the Andre House to get dinner. Andre House is a serves food and provides other services to the community. We have lost a few people to prior engagements, and are down to six people.
Even though it isn't that hot, my skin is dry. Unfortunately, the shade is lacking on Seventh Avenue.
Even though it isn't that hot, my skin is dry. Unfortunately, the shade is lacking on Seventh Avenue.
Teambuilding
One of the major goals of the retreat was to create Community Outreach Groups, two- or three-person teams who will brainstorm, initiate, and coordinate relationships with other organizations.
This is a hard task. Cold calling is hard. Networking is hard. Giving presentations is hard. While better organizational skills and a better understanding of homeless issues will help, I figured we needed every resource at our disposal.
Another key ingredient: trust.
Trust between people is powerful. Speaking apprehension research finds that it is rare to have a person who is always nervous about public address. Also, few people are never nervous about speaking. Rather, there are particular situations that cause anxiety. While some speaking coaches try to address the trait of speaking anxiety, another angle is to try to alter situations to control anxiety.
So, for instance, many people would be uncomfortable going out to ask for money on their own, but if you send them in a small group, things get easier. Send them out in a small group of people they deeply trust, and things get even better.
In my experience, the best way to foster trust is through activities and games. Not sure what it is, really. Maybe it's because people like to win games and creating scenarios where they have to work together to succeed invites them to take "trust risks." Maybe it is because games and activities reveal personality, and we trust more because we understand better. Or maybe it's the bodily component. Games facilitate positive physical touch, which often leads to mutual liking, increased disclosure, and more trust.
Also, games are micro-myths. Consider. You are sitting there ordinarily, when suddenly you are called into an adventure (purpose of the game). There are obstacles (created by restrictive rules), but you are also granted special powers (created by enabling rules). While using your special powers, you often fail to overcome the obstacles until you gain revelation (figure out a strategy). Through revelation, you transform into a hero (because you figured it out), save the world (win the game), and return to the ordinary world (the world before the game). It is almost as though it never happened, but you are forever transformed and continue to carry your special knowledge. (For a lot more about heroes and the structure of their adventures consider reading Campbell's Hero With a Thousand Faces: classic.)
When the narrative of the game gets enacted, it becomes a living story, a literal chronotope, an embodiment of meaning through time and space.
As we move, we entangle the tale in sinew, draw it out of its diembodied rules, and craft it into the present.
Whatever the reason, it works. Get a group together, play some games, do a few activities, and after a day and a half, they start trusting each other. It isn't a given, as participants set on not getting along won't. I've seen leaders mess it up, too. But generally, it works.
If you are looking for games, here's a solid resource. I cut my teeth running Snowball retreats back in high school. My "go to" activities/games include: the Human Knot, Elbow Tag, and the Slap Game.
Meeting Basic Needs
Between the two of them, Sam and Gabe have been homeless for more than a decade. As such, they have a lot of experience trying to meet their basic needs.
A few tips if you find yourself homeless:
1.) Always bring water - two bottle minimum.
2.) Ask people who walk by about places to eat. Eventually someone will know.
3.) You can usually find clothing and hygiene in the same place. Don't stock up too much. Focus on season appropriate pants/shorts. Two to three extra shirts is nice, but extra socks and underwear are key.
Getting money is hard. Service organizations give out many resources, but sometimes you just need cash. There are very few ways to make money without breaking the law if you don't have a job. Donating plasma is a solid option. Some people also sell hand-rolled cigarettes, two for 25 cents, 10 for $1.00.
Past that, we get into grayer areas. There is day labor, such as sign spinning. Usually $50 for 10 hours under the table. One can also sell foodstamps. $200 worth of food stamps can get $100 in cash. One might get a better rate making deals in the grocery store. But this is often awkward, and you can get caught. Selling foodstamps is against the law.
The youth differentiate between begging, panhandling, and "spanging." Begging involves pleading for money. Panhandling involves some kind of deception or con (like having a story about needing to go someplace and collecting money for a bus ticket). Finally, spanging is asking for spare change (hence the name SPare chANGE).
Finally, one can acquire money through stealing and selling what was stolen to a fence, selling drugs, or selling one's body. These activities are highly illegal.
Hearing these stories being told illuminates the cultural aspect of homeless life. The youth usually agree on things like the cost of cigarettes, have similar accounts of prostitution, and have specialized vocabulary. Perhaps it is a point for Ernest Bormann and his idea of converging themes. According to Bormann, there are many ways of understanding the world, and those understandings that resonate with people the best have a way of spreading throughout a community. As I sit and listen to the accounts of struggles and successes, I hear common sense making laced throughout.
It is, of course, possible that it isn't the stories that move but the storytellers. Maybe Sam and Gabe are drawn together by their common stories, and other youth with other stories have clustered elsewhere.
Whatever the reason, the effect is somewhat surreal. Listening to them nonchalantly, objectively discussing the realities of street life is disorienting. They have localized knowledge, and traffic with ease in a common set of tales, symbols, and analogies with which I have little or no familiarity.
Before you scoff because someone doesn't know the basics about something, consider the fact that they may have mastery of a domain you don't even know exists.
A few tips if you find yourself homeless:
1.) Always bring water - two bottle minimum.
2.) Ask people who walk by about places to eat. Eventually someone will know.
3.) You can usually find clothing and hygiene in the same place. Don't stock up too much. Focus on season appropriate pants/shorts. Two to three extra shirts is nice, but extra socks and underwear are key.
Getting money is hard. Service organizations give out many resources, but sometimes you just need cash. There are very few ways to make money without breaking the law if you don't have a job. Donating plasma is a solid option. Some people also sell hand-rolled cigarettes, two for 25 cents, 10 for $1.00.
Past that, we get into grayer areas. There is day labor, such as sign spinning. Usually $50 for 10 hours under the table. One can also sell foodstamps. $200 worth of food stamps can get $100 in cash. One might get a better rate making deals in the grocery store. But this is often awkward, and you can get caught. Selling foodstamps is against the law.
The youth differentiate between begging, panhandling, and "spanging." Begging involves pleading for money. Panhandling involves some kind of deception or con (like having a story about needing to go someplace and collecting money for a bus ticket). Finally, spanging is asking for spare change (hence the name SPare chANGE).
Finally, one can acquire money through stealing and selling what was stolen to a fence, selling drugs, or selling one's body. These activities are highly illegal.
Hearing these stories being told illuminates the cultural aspect of homeless life. The youth usually agree on things like the cost of cigarettes, have similar accounts of prostitution, and have specialized vocabulary. Perhaps it is a point for Ernest Bormann and his idea of converging themes. According to Bormann, there are many ways of understanding the world, and those understandings that resonate with people the best have a way of spreading throughout a community. As I sit and listen to the accounts of struggles and successes, I hear common sense making laced throughout.
It is, of course, possible that it isn't the stories that move but the storytellers. Maybe Sam and Gabe are drawn together by their common stories, and other youth with other stories have clustered elsewhere.
Whatever the reason, the effect is somewhat surreal. Listening to them nonchalantly, objectively discussing the realities of street life is disorienting. They have localized knowledge, and traffic with ease in a common set of tales, symbols, and analogies with which I have little or no familiarity.
Before you scoff because someone doesn't know the basics about something, consider the fact that they may have mastery of a domain you don't even know exists.
Final Interview: Melissa
Melissa must return home, but I manage to catch her for an interview before she leaves. As our resident ethnographer, she has generated 50 pages of fieldnotes in 24 hours. She reflects on what it is like to be ignored and what it is like to have the elements wearing away at her calm.
Visiting the Youth House
Stand Up For Kids Phoenix has two houses we use as drop in centers. They are open on weekends, and they provide a place for youth to shower, wash their clothing, watch a movie, eat a hot meal, check their email, search for jobs, get food and clothing to take, and socialize in a non-institutional setting.
Saturday is our big day. We train volunteers, have meetings, discuss house matters, and are open from breakfast to dinner. Today is no different. We are a little thin staffed since some of our mainstays are on the retreat, but we have it covered.
The youth and volunteers call it Our House, so named to represent its inclusiveness. We try to include the youth in the major decisions, the creation of rules, and day-to-day operations. Today the youth have cooked for us.
Things are status quo at the youth house. Someone is rooting around in the clothing room. An intense game of Uno is underway. A few people are discussing which movie to watch. But for us, Our House has never been like this. Previous to this Saturday, the youth house was always a setting in a narrative of charity; it was a place we went to help others.
But today, the house is part of a different narrative. It is a sanctuary. Today we have been wandering in the desert, and Our House is a promise of peace. Will we always think of it differently? That remains to be seen. But today, our embodied story more closely matches the youth, and we understand and appreciate the role it plays far more than ever before.
Saturday is our big day. We train volunteers, have meetings, discuss house matters, and are open from breakfast to dinner. Today is no different. We are a little thin staffed since some of our mainstays are on the retreat, but we have it covered.
The youth and volunteers call it Our House, so named to represent its inclusiveness. We try to include the youth in the major decisions, the creation of rules, and day-to-day operations. Today the youth have cooked for us.
Things are status quo at the youth house. Someone is rooting around in the clothing room. An intense game of Uno is underway. A few people are discussing which movie to watch. But for us, Our House has never been like this. Previous to this Saturday, the youth house was always a setting in a narrative of charity; it was a place we went to help others.
But today, the house is part of a different narrative. It is a sanctuary. Today we have been wandering in the desert, and Our House is a promise of peace. Will we always think of it differently? That remains to be seen. But today, our embodied story more closely matches the youth, and we understand and appreciate the role it plays far more than ever before.
Walking with Jackie
Jackie is becoming an expert on the difference between ground and pavement, and the implications they have for sleeping. Frankly, Jackie is my hero. When the idea of a street retreat was presented during the first Community Outreach meeting, her response was candid: "I'm terrified. I'm not young like the rest of you and I'm diabetic, so sleeping on the streets scares me. But these kids mean so much to me, I'll do it."
She is very conscientious, and every week or so she would have some concern about being a burden on the group and suggest that maybe she shouldn't go. I would tell her she was free to not come, but I insisted she was no trouble. Each time she would look at me discerningly, trying to detect insincerity. But I meant it every time, and every time she would say, "Ok, well, I'm glad. I really want to go, but I don't want to be trouble."
I'm glad she believed me, because her presence is invaluable. Not only is she wonderful and wise, she is more willing to participate and more enthusiastic than many of the younger counterparts. She is motivated by an aunt-like love for the youth, and her genuineness shows.
Youth House or Bust
Up from the nap, people start rustling around for food. We discover most of the food has already been eaten. Fortunately, today is Saturday, and the Youth House is open.
We would be able to walk straight north if not for a fence blocking easy access. A few of us would be up for fence vaulting, but a few of us are not. After some consideration, we decide that walking a block out of our way is better than having to ascend the bridge again. So we head west, cross the tracks, and then turn toward the Youth House.
We would be able to walk straight north if not for a fence blocking easy access. A few of us would be up for fence vaulting, but a few of us are not. After some consideration, we decide that walking a block out of our way is better than having to ascend the bridge again. So we head west, cross the tracks, and then turn toward the Youth House.
The Joys of Sleeping in Junkyards
As a few people start waking, we congregate on one side of the parking lot. Gabe points to a junkyard he once lived in. Apparently, this place was more representational of homeless life than I thought.
When sleeping among building supplies, consider the large pipes. They channel the breeze.
I notices as Gabe tells his story that it is rooted in innovation. Giant junk copper tubes become homes complete with air conditioning and the periodic bells that sound at a nearby scrap yard become his alarm clock. What may be material or noise pollution retains enough predictability even in its excess to structure both the time and space of the cunning.
When sleeping among building supplies, consider the large pipes. They channel the breeze.
I notices as Gabe tells his story that it is rooted in innovation. Giant junk copper tubes become homes complete with air conditioning and the periodic bells that sound at a nearby scrap yard become his alarm clock. What may be material or noise pollution retains enough predictability even in its excess to structure both the time and space of the cunning.
Power Nap
As noted previously, underfed, under-slept, over-exposed retreatants are harder to energize than those who are nestled in the lap of luxury. I am entirely unused to getting sleepy at 11:00 am. But here we are.
Unfortunately, I cannot sleep. Every ten minutes or so someone passes through. Our spot is on a homeless circuit, since it is near the service outlets and one can avoid walking over the whole bridge by cutting through this space. While I feel more or less safe, I can easily imagine some of our stuff walking away. So while I try to sleep, I cannot. I spend a few minutes looking over the schedule and moving things in my mind to make up for the nap. Eventually, I have staring contests with pigeons. I win.
Unfortunately, I cannot sleep. Every ten minutes or so someone passes through. Our spot is on a homeless circuit, since it is near the service outlets and one can avoid walking over the whole bridge by cutting through this space. While I feel more or less safe, I can easily imagine some of our stuff walking away. So while I try to sleep, I cannot. I spend a few minutes looking over the schedule and moving things in my mind to make up for the nap. Eventually, I have staring contests with pigeons. I win.
Energy, Or Lack Thereof
Energy is key.
A good retreat leader has an eye for energy levels. It isn't that high energy is better or worse, it depends on the context. Some activities lend themselves to higher energy, while others are better suited for calmer moods. The savvy retreat leader is one who can get their group to each activity with the right amount of energy.
Generally, if you need to take a group down a few energy levels, writing, drawing, or other reflective activities will serve you well. For ratcheting people up, there are activities called energizers. At their core, energizers amplify moods. They usually accomplish this by absurdity. As such, I have a talent for energizers. I can usually manage to calm a group (with the help of candles and Enya), but turning the volume up is far more natural for me. While I have many years of retreat leading experiences, being absurd is far more practiced.
This particular retreat, however, posed an interesting challenge. Usually, a moderate or flagging group needs one or two solid energizers to get the buzz going. This time, we run a high energy activity (called Smaug's Jewels, tons of fun), and everyone crashed (see next post).
Sometimes energy levels are related to mood, and as such can be altered through engagement. Other times, energy levels are related to the physical conditions of the body. While retreat goers often operate with little sleep, our retreat also had limited water and food in addition to the risks of exposure.
I don't often think about it this way, but mood has caloric, nutritional, and chemical components. The take away for retreat leaders is that well-fed participants are easier to get worked up than poorly fed ones. The more general take away is this:
how we feel is more than a reaction of what happens to us, it is also action within us. Be hesitant to judge the attitudes of those who live on diets and in conditions harsher than your own.
How we feel is not always rational, but it is always connected to rations.
Walking to the Bathroom
Bathrooms are hard to come by out on the street. One would think that with all the businesses around going to the bathroom would be routine. The problem is, businesses don't really want homeless people hanging around.
So we occupy different space. Often it is underused, industrial space. Other options include the nooks and crannies created by urban superstructure or parks. None of these spaces are known for their excellent restroom facilities. As we walk to the bathroom, we discuss the hospitality and rudeness we have faced thus far on the retreat.
So we occupy different space. Often it is underused, industrial space. Other options include the nooks and crannies created by urban superstructure or parks. None of these spaces are known for their excellent restroom facilities. As we walk to the bathroom, we discuss the hospitality and rudeness we have faced thus far on the retreat.
Community Reality
The central question of this retreat and project at large: What is community?
There are various angles to take. Take, for instance, the government reporting document "The Current State of Homelessness," which is published every year. It frames “community” as critical to homeless care. Phrases like “community partners,” “community-sponsored,” “community-based service providers,” and “community resources” imply compassion, philanthropy, and service. Not only do important labor and resources come from the “community,” but “community” is also the place where homelessness ends. The goal of all homeless organizations it to reintegrate homeless people into the “community.”
Unfortunately, what “community” signifies is highly selective. For instance, it does not include the community homeless have among themselves. “Community” is not used to describe the collective life of those on the streets, despite the obvious communal nature of their lives. In fact, being homeless means a person is on the outside of the “community.” This is demonstrated by the common use of the term “community re-entry.” The work of homeless service is to bring homeless back into the “community.”
The following statement illustrates the separation between homeless and the community. “Pressures placed on runaway and homeless youth by law enforcement, merchant associations, and hospitality ambassadors cause them to become more invisible and drives them further into the fringes of the city” (p. 29, Arizona Homeless Coordination Office, 2009, emphasis added). Apparently, making the community feel welcome means making the homeless unwelcome. Research by Harter et al. suggests that homeless “invisibility” is a common phenomenon created through social structures (2005). Part of creating a sense of community is excluding those who threaten its predictability.
“Community” is the place where volunteers come. It can be developed through programs. Most importantly, the “community” is where people live. It may be low income, but in the end, “community” is composed of housed individuals. It is not a totally closed boundary, as some organizations provide permanent, subsidized housing, but living in a house is a precondition for participation. Unfortunately, the document excludes homeless from the community, and instead focuses on ways to end homelessness by bringing homeless back into the “community.”
So with this divisive model of community in mind, we set about trying to reconceive community in a more inclusive fashion. What better way than drawing? We drew to the prompt: "Draw community."
So we have a home, but a sign making it explicit it is open to everyone. There is also a gathering at table.
Again a home, but this time the home is encircled by a handholding collective.
This time the hand holding is central, and there are no houses at all.
Again with the hands. Common themes? Circles, people focus, hand holding, sharing, and inclusive housing. Following the community drawing, we drew to a different prompt: "What have you seen so far on the retreat?"
Again, we have some very common threads. Separation, wealth, power, and negative interaction. Clearly the world that we are traveling through is not living up to our notion of community.
There are various angles to take. Take, for instance, the government reporting document "The Current State of Homelessness," which is published every year. It frames “community” as critical to homeless care. Phrases like “community partners,” “community-sponsored,” “community-based service providers,” and “community resources” imply compassion, philanthropy, and service. Not only do important labor and resources come from the “community,” but “community” is also the place where homelessness ends. The goal of all homeless organizations it to reintegrate homeless people into the “community.”
Unfortunately, what “community” signifies is highly selective. For instance, it does not include the community homeless have among themselves. “Community” is not used to describe the collective life of those on the streets, despite the obvious communal nature of their lives. In fact, being homeless means a person is on the outside of the “community.” This is demonstrated by the common use of the term “community re-entry.” The work of homeless service is to bring homeless back into the “community.”
The following statement illustrates the separation between homeless and the community. “Pressures placed on runaway and homeless youth by law enforcement, merchant associations, and hospitality ambassadors cause them to become more invisible and drives them further into the fringes of the city” (p. 29, Arizona Homeless Coordination Office, 2009, emphasis added). Apparently, making the community feel welcome means making the homeless unwelcome. Research by Harter et al. suggests that homeless “invisibility” is a common phenomenon created through social structures (2005). Part of creating a sense of community is excluding those who threaten its predictability.
“Community” is the place where volunteers come. It can be developed through programs. Most importantly, the “community” is where people live. It may be low income, but in the end, “community” is composed of housed individuals. It is not a totally closed boundary, as some organizations provide permanent, subsidized housing, but living in a house is a precondition for participation. Unfortunately, the document excludes homeless from the community, and instead focuses on ways to end homelessness by bringing homeless back into the “community.”
So with this divisive model of community in mind, we set about trying to reconceive community in a more inclusive fashion. What better way than drawing? We drew to the prompt: "Draw community."
So we have a home, but a sign making it explicit it is open to everyone. There is also a gathering at table.
Again a home, but this time the home is encircled by a handholding collective.
This time the hand holding is central, and there are no houses at all.
Again with the hands. Common themes? Circles, people focus, hand holding, sharing, and inclusive housing. Following the community drawing, we drew to a different prompt: "What have you seen so far on the retreat?"
Again, we have some very common threads. Separation, wealth, power, and negative interaction. Clearly the world that we are traveling through is not living up to our notion of community.
Public Speaking
Going out into the community involves more than networking, it also requires actually talking. Our public speaking talk was delivered by Jackie, a student at University of Phoenix, but more to the point, an involved member of Toastmasters.
Unfortunately, our video camera was still charging at the youth house at the time of her speech, so it lives on in notes and description.
She covered delivery, including:
She also discussed content issues, such as giving reasons, knowing facts, telling stories about the kids and the house, and telling your own story. She also had general advice, such as "Make it easy for them to donate," and "Even if you screw up, they aren't going to stone you."
Concluding her speech, I followed up with an organizational structure particularly suited for persuasive speaking (Monroe's Motivated Sequence - 5 Steps: Attention, Need, Satisfaction, Visualization, Action).
Unfortunately, our video camera was still charging at the youth house at the time of her speech, so it lives on in notes and description.
She covered delivery, including:
- Eye contact
- Walking
- Vocal variety
- Emphasis
- Hand gestures
She also discussed content issues, such as giving reasons, knowing facts, telling stories about the kids and the house, and telling your own story. She also had general advice, such as "Make it easy for them to donate," and "Even if you screw up, they aren't going to stone you."
Concluding her speech, I followed up with an organizational structure particularly suited for persuasive speaking (Monroe's Motivated Sequence - 5 Steps: Attention, Need, Satisfaction, Visualization, Action).
Taking the Lightrail
We hadn't been planning on taking the lightrail, but a few people asked if it made sense, and it did.
Public transportation is a homeless youth reality, and the lightrail is no exception. Getting a monthly bus pass also allows use of the rail. Past that, they hop it without paying.
Homeless youth have a healthy fear of lightrail security. Apparently the fine is hefty, and you will eventually get caught. If traveling illegally, the front car or back car is best. That way you can either 1.) see the security as you pull up to the station, or 2.) see them get on and hop off before they ask for the ticket you don't have.
In the spirit of the experience, we all decided to hop the rail without paying.
I then secretly bought tickets.
Public transportation is a homeless youth reality, and the lightrail is no exception. Getting a monthly bus pass also allows use of the rail. Past that, they hop it without paying.
Homeless youth have a healthy fear of lightrail security. Apparently the fine is hefty, and you will eventually get caught. If traveling illegally, the front car or back car is best. That way you can either 1.) see the security as you pull up to the station, or 2.) see them get on and hop off before they ask for the ticket you don't have.
In the spirit of the experience, we all decided to hop the rail without paying.
I then secretly bought tickets.
Morning of the Second Day
On an average day, I sleep from 2 a.m. to 10 a.m. I write well during late hours and generally am having too much fun with my day to go to bed early. Because of this, I have little familiarity with 5:30 a.m. Let's just say I have more experience with sunsets than sunrises.
News flash: It gets light around 5 a.m.
Normally this is a truth pleasantly obscured by the walls, roof, and window shades. When sleeping out in the library park, however, there are no barriers between me and the rising light.
When uncomfortable, I can sleep.
When cold and uncomfortable, I try to sleep. At least I can fantasize about it.
When cold, uncomfortable, and having unwelcome sunshine on my face, the fleeting hope for sleep evaporates.
Fuck it. Time to get up.
News flash: It gets light around 5 a.m.
Normally this is a truth pleasantly obscured by the walls, roof, and window shades. When sleeping out in the library park, however, there are no barriers between me and the rising light.
When uncomfortable, I can sleep.
When cold and uncomfortable, I try to sleep. At least I can fantasize about it.
When cold, uncomfortable, and having unwelcome sunshine on my face, the fleeting hope for sleep evaporates.
Fuck it. Time to get up.
Making it Through the First Night
At first, things didn't seem too bad. We each had two disaster blankets made from woven recycled cloth, and they were surprisingly soft. One folded in half for the ground, one draped over the body. There was some conversation about shoes on or off, and where our stuff should go. Around midnight the talking started to settle. By this point I am feeling pretty tired, and a fairly reliable method of settling people off to bed is bedtime songs. So, drawing on my youth, I sing "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" (chosen ironically because of Michael), and "Where Have All the Flowers Gone." Few would be startled to learn my mother was a hippie.
I don't know when other people went to bed. I slipped off after about half an hour of trying to find which part of my hip I didn't mind jabbing into the ground.
I wake around 2:30 am. It is cold. The blankets may be soft, but they don't hold the heat. I spend more than an hour rustling around trying to figure out how to get warmer. Judging from other rustling, other people are awake, too. Eventually, I manage to wrap the bottom blanket around me as well, which helps. I sneak around the group and wrap other peoples bottom blanket around them. Some are awake and thank me. Others are sleeping.
In all, I managed to get another 30 or 45 minutes of sleep out of the darkness.
I don't know when other people went to bed. I slipped off after about half an hour of trying to find which part of my hip I didn't mind jabbing into the ground.
I wake around 2:30 am. It is cold. The blankets may be soft, but they don't hold the heat. I spend more than an hour rustling around trying to figure out how to get warmer. Judging from other rustling, other people are awake, too. Eventually, I manage to wrap the bottom blanket around me as well, which helps. I sneak around the group and wrap other peoples bottom blanket around them. Some are awake and thank me. Others are sleeping.
In all, I managed to get another 30 or 45 minutes of sleep out of the darkness.
Friday, April 22
End of Day One
Our evening wrapped up nicely. After the talks and activities were through a few people called home, a few walked and talked, and a few played football. No Stand Up For Kids activity is official until there has been the throwing of the football.
Some of our late comers even brought a guitar. At that moment, it felt a little like a camp out.
There were some worries about the sprinklers coming on. Unfortunately, the worries were not unfounded. About ten minutes after the camera was shut off and we were all laid down for the night, the sudden rush and sputtering of the nightly watering surrounded us from all sides. Panic unfolded as disaster blankets, backpacks, and humans were picked up and thrown to safety. A few folks got a little wet, but no one was majorly drenched.
We reasoned the city of Phoenix would not water the rocks. They did not, though the gravel bed was decidedly less comfortable than the grass.
The practice of watering the grass late at night makes a lot of sense. Grass needs to be watered, particularly in the state of Arizona. Watering at night cuts down on evaporation, which increases water efficiency. This policy does, however, make the public space less usable for the homeless.
Staying Safe
Of the three talks concerning homeless issues (staying safe, staying sane, and meeting basic needs), we thought starting with how to stay safe was a good idea.
Presented by Dustin and Sam, it outlined ten basic things to keep in mind when trying to stay safe. Many of the points were backed up with stories.
Tips included:
1.) Stay prepared
2.) Stay sober
3.) Have a weapon or come in numbers
4.) Carry some form of light
5.) Keep something warm
6.) Keep a phone nearby
7.) Change sleeping spots
8.) Sleep somewhere quiet
9.) Keep yourself fed
10.) Darkness can be friend or foe; it's all in how you use it
Following reflections on staying safe, all three of our homeless youth began telling stories. While I don't feel quite right publishing them here, they included foster care abuse, tragically lost love, corrupted shelter bureaucracy, and facing down harsh elemental conditions. Laced through the tales of darkness and struggle were glimmering threads of camaraderie, fortitude, hope, and humorous antics.
I was struck by how smoothly their storytelling went. Generally, homeless youth are somewhat guarded with their pasts. While some have a talent drawing them out, most volunteers never get the full story. Yet here in the park by the library, the stories came.
Why do you suppose that is? Did we finally ask in the right way? Was it the activities? Was it the fact that we had shown a willingness to learn their world? Or was it our willingness to sleep out in the city? Was it the receptivity? Or the fact that the context allowed for one story after another to be told, each drawing another to follow? Or perhaps is it something more primal? Do humans just tell stories when out under the stars?
Presented by Dustin and Sam, it outlined ten basic things to keep in mind when trying to stay safe. Many of the points were backed up with stories.
Tips included:
1.) Stay prepared
2.) Stay sober
3.) Have a weapon or come in numbers
4.) Carry some form of light
5.) Keep something warm
6.) Keep a phone nearby
7.) Change sleeping spots
8.) Sleep somewhere quiet
9.) Keep yourself fed
10.) Darkness can be friend or foe; it's all in how you use it
Following reflections on staying safe, all three of our homeless youth began telling stories. While I don't feel quite right publishing them here, they included foster care abuse, tragically lost love, corrupted shelter bureaucracy, and facing down harsh elemental conditions. Laced through the tales of darkness and struggle were glimmering threads of camaraderie, fortitude, hope, and humorous antics.
I was struck by how smoothly their storytelling went. Generally, homeless youth are somewhat guarded with their pasts. While some have a talent drawing them out, most volunteers never get the full story. Yet here in the park by the library, the stories came.
Why do you suppose that is? Did we finally ask in the right way? Was it the activities? Was it the fact that we had shown a willingness to learn their world? Or was it our willingness to sleep out in the city? Was it the receptivity? Or the fact that the context allowed for one story after another to be told, each drawing another to follow? Or perhaps is it something more primal? Do humans just tell stories when out under the stars?
Visit from Joe
Often, retreats are run on private property, away from the public eye. This offers a controlled environment, where retreatants can adjust lighting, volume, and general flow of activities.
In the park by the library, we had no such luxury. The constant din of traffic sounded from the Central Avenue bridge. Lights were as provided by the city. But we were also in public, which meant we were observed by passerbys. We also had visitors.
Our first visitor came around 9 p.m. He heralded us from the bridge, shouting inquiry as to what we were doing. We responded, shouting up back that we were on a retreat to get a better understanding of homelessness. So he heads down the stairs to meet us. As he lumbers toward us, I can tell he is probably drunk. Not a reason for outright fear, but reason enough to be wary. Besides, rule number eight is stay aware. My friend Michael and I give each other a look, and I ask him with a head tilt to come with me. He does.
We meet him midway up the stairs. Our visitor introduces himself as Joe. I shake his large hand, introduce myself and try to engage him on the stairs, but he doesn't stop. He says, "I'm not gonna cause any problems. Just wanna talk to you guys." He continues down the stairs. Michael and I shrug at each other and follow.
Joe strikes up a conversation with the group. At first, it isn't clear what he is talking about. After about 30 seconds, however, his point becomes clear. We can't get an understanding of homelessness like this. If we want to really know what it is like, we need to empty our pockets, give away our cell phones, leave our group, and live for a month. Then, only then, would we start to have an idea. It isn't until we have nothing that we will understand.
As he is teaching us, my anxiety lowers. This is a valuable experience, I think. But his insistence starts sounding more indignant and commanding. "You go that way, you go that way." I'm not sure if he is reiterating or telling us what to do. I'm not sure how long we talked to him. Ten minutes, maybe. He starts his point over from the beginning. My anxiety starts mounting again. I don't think he is dangerous. But he is pretty large, and I haven't been able to place the substance he is on. He is somewhat slurred but is either an energetic drunk or on something else. By now his point is well taken, but I am uncomfortable.
One of our homeless youth and one of the volunteers engage him in a smaller conversation, stepping away from the larger group. This works a bit. Eventually a few of us thank him. Reluctantly, he leaves. As he climbs back up the stairs, he shouts, "You go that way, you go that way, you go that way. Alone. No phone." "Thanks!" we reply. Then, with no transition, at the top of his lungs, Joe yells "Anybody want to get high?!? I got pot, acid, whatever you want!" "No thanks," someone hollers back. "Just joking," he cries.
I have no idea whether he is joking or not.
The people on our retreat had varied responses to this visit. Some of us read him as "some crazy homeless guy," while others were more influenced by his overall point. As our retreat went on, however, more volunteers started vocalizing how what Joe had said had really been impactful. I found it a important reminder: we are playing at homelessness. While staying out on the streets for a weekend seems radical to those who have always been homed, it offers similar insight as the blindfolded man gains about being blind. At any moment the cloth can be untied and the experiment is over. For us, we could get sick of our retreat, call our friends and family, and go home.
Getting that, really understanding that, was best facilitated by Joe. While there were times I wished I could turn the traffic volume down to set a different mood or turn the street lights up to get a better video, taking this retreat to some private place would have been an error. Being held in public allowed the community at large to participate and offer their wisdom.
In the park by the library, we had no such luxury. The constant din of traffic sounded from the Central Avenue bridge. Lights were as provided by the city. But we were also in public, which meant we were observed by passerbys. We also had visitors.
Our first visitor came around 9 p.m. He heralded us from the bridge, shouting inquiry as to what we were doing. We responded, shouting up back that we were on a retreat to get a better understanding of homelessness. So he heads down the stairs to meet us. As he lumbers toward us, I can tell he is probably drunk. Not a reason for outright fear, but reason enough to be wary. Besides, rule number eight is stay aware. My friend Michael and I give each other a look, and I ask him with a head tilt to come with me. He does.
We meet him midway up the stairs. Our visitor introduces himself as Joe. I shake his large hand, introduce myself and try to engage him on the stairs, but he doesn't stop. He says, "I'm not gonna cause any problems. Just wanna talk to you guys." He continues down the stairs. Michael and I shrug at each other and follow.
Joe strikes up a conversation with the group. At first, it isn't clear what he is talking about. After about 30 seconds, however, his point becomes clear. We can't get an understanding of homelessness like this. If we want to really know what it is like, we need to empty our pockets, give away our cell phones, leave our group, and live for a month. Then, only then, would we start to have an idea. It isn't until we have nothing that we will understand.
As he is teaching us, my anxiety lowers. This is a valuable experience, I think. But his insistence starts sounding more indignant and commanding. "You go that way, you go that way." I'm not sure if he is reiterating or telling us what to do. I'm not sure how long we talked to him. Ten minutes, maybe. He starts his point over from the beginning. My anxiety starts mounting again. I don't think he is dangerous. But he is pretty large, and I haven't been able to place the substance he is on. He is somewhat slurred but is either an energetic drunk or on something else. By now his point is well taken, but I am uncomfortable.
One of our homeless youth and one of the volunteers engage him in a smaller conversation, stepping away from the larger group. This works a bit. Eventually a few of us thank him. Reluctantly, he leaves. As he climbs back up the stairs, he shouts, "You go that way, you go that way, you go that way. Alone. No phone." "Thanks!" we reply. Then, with no transition, at the top of his lungs, Joe yells "Anybody want to get high?!? I got pot, acid, whatever you want!" "No thanks," someone hollers back. "Just joking," he cries.
I have no idea whether he is joking or not.
The people on our retreat had varied responses to this visit. Some of us read him as "some crazy homeless guy," while others were more influenced by his overall point. As our retreat went on, however, more volunteers started vocalizing how what Joe had said had really been impactful. I found it a important reminder: we are playing at homelessness. While staying out on the streets for a weekend seems radical to those who have always been homed, it offers similar insight as the blindfolded man gains about being blind. At any moment the cloth can be untied and the experiment is over. For us, we could get sick of our retreat, call our friends and family, and go home.
Getting that, really understanding that, was best facilitated by Joe. While there were times I wished I could turn the traffic volume down to set a different mood or turn the street lights up to get a better video, taking this retreat to some private place would have been an error. Being held in public allowed the community at large to participate and offer their wisdom.
Leadership
A critical component of community outreach is leadership. With two- to three-person teams, we won't have the luxury of doing a lot of following. Michael, always willing to help, volunteered to give the leadership talk. It took a little to convince him he was qualified and had something to say.
Michael's key points:
Finally: "Don't ask what the world needs, ask what makes you come alive. The world needs people who are alive."
Michael's key points:
- Lead from your strengths. Even if you don't think of yourself as a leader, you can be.
- People act on what is meaningful.
- Leaders do their homework.
Finally: "Don't ask what the world needs, ask what makes you come alive. The world needs people who are alive."
Beginning Interviews
Let's a few of the characters introduced.
Michael
Dear friend. Michael and I know each other well from the "outside" world. He has only a handful of experiences with Stand Up, mostly within the last few weeks. I, however, am quite happy to have him along. He is funny, kind, and pretty much always a good sport. Also un-humiliatable, which is a priceless resource to a retreat leader.
Gabe
Think John Muir, but instead of camping in Yosemite; homeless in Phoenix. While Muir wrote wilderness journals, Gabe writes fantasy novels. Ok, he really isn't that much like John Muir, except Gabe once walked the 40 miles from Apache Junction to Phoenix in the middle of the summer in a day and a half. Gabe is one of our guides this weekend.
Dustin (DK)
DK is one of our two caretakers. He watches over the Youth House and keeps it clean, and in return he gets to stay there. Perhaps more importantly, he watches over the volunteers and the youth alike. Fortunately for us, his weekend college class got over last week, which allowed him to come and share his insight with us.
Matt
The youngest member of our retreat. Matt got very excited about the weekend back in August when we first started brainstorming. He is finishing up his senior year in high school and is uncertain about his future as his family plans to move this summer. Matt (and Michael) are the two members of the Pepperspray Guard.
Melissa
Undergraduate critical ethnographer. Melissa is taking a qualitative research class in the Communication department at ASU, and had everything all lined up until her research site turned her away. A few weeks ago, I get a well written email explaining her need to get 20 hours of observation before the end of the semester. I tell her that a 45-hour retreat is a lovely way to rack up the research hours.
Michael
Dear friend. Michael and I know each other well from the "outside" world. He has only a handful of experiences with Stand Up, mostly within the last few weeks. I, however, am quite happy to have him along. He is funny, kind, and pretty much always a good sport. Also un-humiliatable, which is a priceless resource to a retreat leader.
Gabe
Think John Muir, but instead of camping in Yosemite; homeless in Phoenix. While Muir wrote wilderness journals, Gabe writes fantasy novels. Ok, he really isn't that much like John Muir, except Gabe once walked the 40 miles from Apache Junction to Phoenix in the middle of the summer in a day and a half. Gabe is one of our guides this weekend.
Dustin (DK)
DK is one of our two caretakers. He watches over the Youth House and keeps it clean, and in return he gets to stay there. Perhaps more importantly, he watches over the volunteers and the youth alike. Fortunately for us, his weekend college class got over last week, which allowed him to come and share his insight with us.
Matt
The youngest member of our retreat. Matt got very excited about the weekend back in August when we first started brainstorming. He is finishing up his senior year in high school and is uncertain about his future as his family plans to move this summer. Matt (and Michael) are the two members of the Pepperspray Guard.
Melissa
Undergraduate critical ethnographer. Melissa is taking a qualitative research class in the Communication department at ASU, and had everything all lined up until her research site turned her away. A few weeks ago, I get a well written email explaining her need to get 20 hours of observation before the end of the semester. I tell her that a 45-hour retreat is a lovely way to rack up the research hours.
Retreat Rules
As we arrived at our first location, we sat down and created some rules. I'm not much of a rule guy, but particularly in a high reliability situation like living out on the streets, I like to have a few solid guidelines. Gets everybody on the same page.
In the spirit of participant leadership, we each contributed at least one rule. The rules we created were:
1.) Be respectful
2.) Participate as much as you can
3.) No drugs or serious horseplay
4.) Buddy system, at least 2 people, 3 late at night
5.) No sex
6.) Limit cell phone use*
7.) Stay positive/no unwarranted whining
8.) Stay aware/try to escape danger before fighting
*A note on cellphones
Something one may not expect, but homeless youth often have cellphones. With no addresses and unreliable internet access, the cellphone is often the only form of communication. Most commonly they buy phones with prepaid minutes instead of service plans. The limited cell phone rules was suggested as a way of bettering the retreat experience, not because homeless never have phones.
In the spirit of participant leadership, we each contributed at least one rule. The rules we created were:
1.) Be respectful
2.) Participate as much as you can
3.) No drugs or serious horseplay
4.) Buddy system, at least 2 people, 3 late at night
5.) No sex
6.) Limit cell phone use*
7.) Stay positive/no unwarranted whining
8.) Stay aware/try to escape danger before fighting
*A note on cellphones
Something one may not expect, but homeless youth often have cellphones. With no addresses and unreliable internet access, the cellphone is often the only form of communication. Most commonly they buy phones with prepaid minutes instead of service plans. The limited cell phone rules was suggested as a way of bettering the retreat experience, not because homeless never have phones.
Walking
Homeless doesn't always mean car-less. Plenty of people have lived out of their cars. I spent six months as a vehicle-using homeless person. But most of the youth we serve are jobless, and jobless usually means car-less.
So we walk.
Our first trek takes us from the youth house down on McKinley up to the Phoenix Library. It's only about a mile, and in the lovely weather of an Arizonan April evening, the walk is upbeat, fun.
So we walk.
Our first trek takes us from the youth house down on McKinley up to the Phoenix Library. It's only about a mile, and in the lovely weather of an Arizonan April evening, the walk is upbeat, fun.
Off We Go
Packed and ready, we head out. As of now, no one knows where they are going. Some of the volunteers and homeless youth have prepared speeches and activities, but they have only a vague sense of the order. While the youth and I collaborated on the sleeping logistics, only one knows where we are actually staying.
Uncertainty is a common theme in the lives of the homeless. Also, retreats feel more like adventures and less like meetings when the participants don't know what is coming next.
A few times during the packing process someone would ask for more details. I like to answer honestly, but I'm also a fan of strategic ambiguity. In short, these smiling wanderers are about to leave for three days, not knowing where they will go, sleep or eat. And remember, they are each carrying only one meal.
Packing Up
I'm Micheal's ride to the youth house. I swing by and pick him up, and on the way we discuss dimensions of leadership. I finagled him into giving the leadership talk a week ago. While I am coordinating this retreat, and I call my self "in charge," I've tried to get other people as involved in the process as possible.
Partly, it's because I can only stand so much of my own voice. I love speaking, and at heart I'm a pedagogue. But with seven talks and easily three times that number of activities and discussions, I want more voices. More people talking means more angles, facets, and interpretations. They call it polyvocality in the biz.
Michael has some good ideas. Not only does his mother teach business folks about the subject, but he is also a young and promising leader himself. I'm pleased.
We get to the youth house. Grab disaster blankets from the basement. Food bags from the outreach room. One of the purposes of this retreat is to give Stand Up For Kids volunteers a small sense of what their services mean to the youth. So we have one foodbag with one meal in it that identical to the kind we hand out on outreach. We have government-issue disaster blankets. The ones the kids hate. Our retreat goers show up slowly. Two volunteer to be carriers of the pepper spray. By 6:00 p.m. we are all there, I have emergency contact info, and we pack up and head out.
Partly, it's because I can only stand so much of my own voice. I love speaking, and at heart I'm a pedagogue. But with seven talks and easily three times that number of activities and discussions, I want more voices. More people talking means more angles, facets, and interpretations. They call it polyvocality in the biz.
Michael has some good ideas. Not only does his mother teach business folks about the subject, but he is also a young and promising leader himself. I'm pleased.
We get to the youth house. Grab disaster blankets from the basement. Food bags from the outreach room. One of the purposes of this retreat is to give Stand Up For Kids volunteers a small sense of what their services mean to the youth. So we have one foodbag with one meal in it that identical to the kind we hand out on outreach. We have government-issue disaster blankets. The ones the kids hate. Our retreat goers show up slowly. Two volunteer to be carriers of the pepper spray. By 6:00 p.m. we are all there, I have emergency contact info, and we pack up and head out.
Shopping List
I've been on about 30 retreats in my life, probably more. It has been a rate of at least two a year since I was 15, and I am now 29. I've been in some leadership capacity for most, and I've been the coordinator for about 10.
So I've been retreat shopping many times before.
But this is different. For instance, a tried and true technique for youth retreats is candy. If you want to raise the energy level of a group of teens, Twizzlers are your friends. While I'm sure homeless youth enjoy candy as much as their homed counterparts, I feel that feasting on sugar is the wrong way to set the mood.
Other considerations are different. Audio/visual is less of a concern. We don't need or rather shouldn't have an overhead projector. There won't be mood music for activities.
At the same time, there are other needs I've never considered. I've never had to think about our methods of self defense. I'm an ardent pacifist, so I had laid down a no weapons rule from the outset. Obviously no guns and no knives.
One youth asked, "How do you feel about blunt weapons."
"What if I said I preferred no blunt weapons?"
"Then we need pepper spray."
So pepper spray makes the shopping list. The day before the retreat I call a few gun stores whose websites say they sell it, but no luck. They tell me to call sports equipment stores. I do. The only type they have is bear spray. Over the phone I ask the clerk if you can shoot a person with it. "It'd stop a pretty big person!" he says. Upon visiting the store I discover federal regulation prohibits use of animal-formulated spray on humans. This makes sense, though it is now the day of the retreat, and I am really very desperate. I call a friend to brainstorm what to do now. He jokes that it would be easier to get a gun in this state.
As I drive home from failing to procure our sole form of protection, I pass Tempe Firearms and Collectibles. Perfect.
Well-worn black steel weapons lay casually in glass cases. Four people are working, but they are all busy. Gladly, they are very attentive in providing customer service. A mother is buying a rifle for her preteen daughter. A group of young men cluster and point, discussing the merits of a particular piece with a sales associate whose large handgun (small cannon) bulges off of his chest harness.
Eventually I am helped. They have one kind: WHUPASS. Ok. I buy two.
Other shopping is less dramatic.
Eight green disposable cameras.
Twelve 100-sheet notebooks.
One package of mechanical pencils.
First aid kit.
So I've been retreat shopping many times before.
But this is different. For instance, a tried and true technique for youth retreats is candy. If you want to raise the energy level of a group of teens, Twizzlers are your friends. While I'm sure homeless youth enjoy candy as much as their homed counterparts, I feel that feasting on sugar is the wrong way to set the mood.
Other considerations are different. Audio/visual is less of a concern. We don't need or rather shouldn't have an overhead projector. There won't be mood music for activities.
At the same time, there are other needs I've never considered. I've never had to think about our methods of self defense. I'm an ardent pacifist, so I had laid down a no weapons rule from the outset. Obviously no guns and no knives.
One youth asked, "How do you feel about blunt weapons."
"What if I said I preferred no blunt weapons?"
"Then we need pepper spray."
So pepper spray makes the shopping list. The day before the retreat I call a few gun stores whose websites say they sell it, but no luck. They tell me to call sports equipment stores. I do. The only type they have is bear spray. Over the phone I ask the clerk if you can shoot a person with it. "It'd stop a pretty big person!" he says. Upon visiting the store I discover federal regulation prohibits use of animal-formulated spray on humans. This makes sense, though it is now the day of the retreat, and I am really very desperate. I call a friend to brainstorm what to do now. He jokes that it would be easier to get a gun in this state.
As I drive home from failing to procure our sole form of protection, I pass Tempe Firearms and Collectibles. Perfect.
Well-worn black steel weapons lay casually in glass cases. Four people are working, but they are all busy. Gladly, they are very attentive in providing customer service. A mother is buying a rifle for her preteen daughter. A group of young men cluster and point, discussing the merits of a particular piece with a sales associate whose large handgun (small cannon) bulges off of his chest harness.
Eventually I am helped. They have one kind: WHUPASS. Ok. I buy two.
Other shopping is less dramatic.
Eight green disposable cameras.
Twelve 100-sheet notebooks.
One package of mechanical pencils.
First aid kit.
Thursday, April 21
Scouting
Where do you sleep when you live on the streets? Most places are either owned by someone and therefore you are not welcome, or they are public, and are still unwelcome. Fortunately our retreat planning community included several youth who have been homeless in the area. A few ideas were tossed around, but we settled on an odd, L-shaped alley near the youth house. One Saturday day a youth and I scoped it out, and it seemed perfect.
I do know, however, that the conditions of the streets vary depending on the time, so I figured it would be prudent to check it out in the middle of the night. And so it was that my wife and I took a little drive to check it out.
As we were leaving the location, I noticed that while the place I had picked appeared unpopulated, there was actually one man sleeping nearby in a thick bedroll. There was no reason to wake him up in the middle of the night, but I also wanted to keep an eye out, both so that we did not take his place and also to make sure all went well.
All in all, the place checked out, but we needed to be aware of potential issues arising from the "neighbor."
I do know, however, that the conditions of the streets vary depending on the time, so I figured it would be prudent to check it out in the middle of the night. And so it was that my wife and I took a little drive to check it out.
As we were leaving the location, I noticed that while the place I had picked appeared unpopulated, there was actually one man sleeping nearby in a thick bedroll. There was no reason to wake him up in the middle of the night, but I also wanted to keep an eye out, both so that we did not take his place and also to make sure all went well.
All in all, the place checked out, but we needed to be aware of potential issues arising from the "neighbor."
Wednesday, April 20
How This Whole Beautiful Mess Started
Stand Up For Kids provides services to homeless youth. We go where they are, ask them what they need, and give them what we have. Sometimes they need food, water, clothing, and hygiene products. Other times they need job leads. Often they just want to talk. We also run a drop-in center, a place where the youth can shower, wash their clothing, use the internet, watch a movie, and eat a warm meal.
But all this requires money and other resources. As one might guess, the economic meltdown of recent years increased the number of homeless youth. On any given night in 2008, there were 87 youth on the streets of Phoenix. That number rose to 121 in 2009, and to 180 in 2010. Two years has seen a nearly doubling in the homeless youth population.
As one might also imagine, charitable donations go down when everyone starts losing money. While our need rises, our resources dwindle.
In a conversation with John, the Co-Executive Director, we decided we needed to redouble our fundraising efforts. We considered writing a script so people can go out to organizations and solicit donations. But something about that seemed too easy. A script doesn't attend to the idiosyncrasies of different organizations, and there is no guarantee it will be delivered with much authenticity.
Instead, we settled on the idea of Community Outreach Groups: two- or three-person teams who foster relationships with other organizations. I am in part influenced by my studies of philanthropy, which suggest that simply asking for money often fails. Donors usually give when they have some form of relationship with the organization.
Simultaneously, Stand Up For Kids could have a more developed social mission. Mostly it focuses on the day-to-day delivery of basic needs. But there is awareness to be raised. People need to see what happens to homeless youth.
By giving awareness-raising presentations we can disseminate important information and foster the sorts of relationships that could result in both monetary and in kind donations.
With that as the operational goal, the next step was to get people willing and able to do it. Or, as a priest I used to work for chants: Identify, Recruit, Educate, Train, and Form.
There are a lot of ways of preparing people for doing community outreach. I could train people one on one. We could have an hour and a half meeting. But I wanted something more. Somewhere along the line, I realized I wanted our usual volunteers as well as homeless or ex-homeless youth to be part of these teams. This was the beginning of the more radical model.
So take the following into consideration:
- I have been running retreats since I was a teen.
- I want to create a highly informed, highly motivated community.
- I've chosen to be homeless in the past.
- And I study altruism in organizing, with a particular interest in how people become radical altruists.
As such, I'm not even sure when I thought of the idea of running a street retreat. I had some money from an innovation grant that had to be spent on leadership development. I had a tangible goal. It seemed to be the thing to do.
There are, of course, pretty solid justifications for such an activity. There is a cultural angle. Just like baseball fans have a culture, and EMTs have a culture, there are often cultural differences between homeless and homed folk. Basically, there are different lessons to learn about getting by. As such, communication between and about homelessness is intercultural. One method of addressing intercultural issues is to create a third culture, a place mutually informed by the interests, values, and realities of both cultures. A participant-planned retreat sounded like a solid way of creating a third culture.
Another way of conceptualizing the retreat is from an oral narrative perspective. While we live in culture with lots of text, I believe that oral traditions serve a powerful role in organizing. There is still magic in the story told by a person standing in front of you. The telling, hearing, learning, and retelling of stories has often had a tranformative affect on those involved. Bringing people together for three days would not only give them a chance to tell their own stories, but such an event would also generate its own stories to be told and retold.
Finally, there is an embodied component to retreats. Retreats are invitations to physically become one of the characters in its narrative arc. The task of going out into the community to speak, network, and ask for money is going to require initiative, commitment, and courage. So I figure that becoming part of a living story, an embodied tale, will help foster those traits and put us on a well aimed trajectory.
To follow the retreat in chronological order, click the button "Newer Post" below the comments section.
But all this requires money and other resources. As one might guess, the economic meltdown of recent years increased the number of homeless youth. On any given night in 2008, there were 87 youth on the streets of Phoenix. That number rose to 121 in 2009, and to 180 in 2010. Two years has seen a nearly doubling in the homeless youth population.
As one might also imagine, charitable donations go down when everyone starts losing money. While our need rises, our resources dwindle.
In a conversation with John, the Co-Executive Director, we decided we needed to redouble our fundraising efforts. We considered writing a script so people can go out to organizations and solicit donations. But something about that seemed too easy. A script doesn't attend to the idiosyncrasies of different organizations, and there is no guarantee it will be delivered with much authenticity.
Instead, we settled on the idea of Community Outreach Groups: two- or three-person teams who foster relationships with other organizations. I am in part influenced by my studies of philanthropy, which suggest that simply asking for money often fails. Donors usually give when they have some form of relationship with the organization.
Simultaneously, Stand Up For Kids could have a more developed social mission. Mostly it focuses on the day-to-day delivery of basic needs. But there is awareness to be raised. People need to see what happens to homeless youth.
By giving awareness-raising presentations we can disseminate important information and foster the sorts of relationships that could result in both monetary and in kind donations.
With that as the operational goal, the next step was to get people willing and able to do it. Or, as a priest I used to work for chants: Identify, Recruit, Educate, Train, and Form.
There are a lot of ways of preparing people for doing community outreach. I could train people one on one. We could have an hour and a half meeting. But I wanted something more. Somewhere along the line, I realized I wanted our usual volunteers as well as homeless or ex-homeless youth to be part of these teams. This was the beginning of the more radical model.
So take the following into consideration:
- I have been running retreats since I was a teen.
- I want to create a highly informed, highly motivated community.
- I've chosen to be homeless in the past.
- And I study altruism in organizing, with a particular interest in how people become radical altruists.
As such, I'm not even sure when I thought of the idea of running a street retreat. I had some money from an innovation grant that had to be spent on leadership development. I had a tangible goal. It seemed to be the thing to do.
There are, of course, pretty solid justifications for such an activity. There is a cultural angle. Just like baseball fans have a culture, and EMTs have a culture, there are often cultural differences between homeless and homed folk. Basically, there are different lessons to learn about getting by. As such, communication between and about homelessness is intercultural. One method of addressing intercultural issues is to create a third culture, a place mutually informed by the interests, values, and realities of both cultures. A participant-planned retreat sounded like a solid way of creating a third culture.
Another way of conceptualizing the retreat is from an oral narrative perspective. While we live in culture with lots of text, I believe that oral traditions serve a powerful role in organizing. There is still magic in the story told by a person standing in front of you. The telling, hearing, learning, and retelling of stories has often had a tranformative affect on those involved. Bringing people together for three days would not only give them a chance to tell their own stories, but such an event would also generate its own stories to be told and retold.
Finally, there is an embodied component to retreats. Retreats are invitations to physically become one of the characters in its narrative arc. The task of going out into the community to speak, network, and ask for money is going to require initiative, commitment, and courage. So I figure that becoming part of a living story, an embodied tale, will help foster those traits and put us on a well aimed trajectory.
To follow the retreat in chronological order, click the button "Newer Post" below the comments section.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)