The One Sock Shuffle

Yahoo News Story

Thu, 16 Dec 2004 17:31:13 GMT

I'm going to have to paste the entire story here since yahoo's infamous for deleting stories older than a month:

Detainee Abuse by Marines Is Detailed

Wed Dec 15, 9:09 AM ET

By Thomas E. Ricks, Washington Post Staff Writer

Marines operating in Iraq over the past two years committed a variety of abuses against Iraqi prisoners, including burning a detainee's hands by igniting alcohol-based cleanser in August 2003, according to internal Defense Department documents released yesterday.

Several other incidents, most of them previously undisclosed, are described in investigative reports and legal summaries. In Karbala in May 2003, one Marine held a 9mm pistol to the back of a bound detainee's head while another took a photograph. Two months later, in Diwaniyah, four Marines ordered teenage Iraqi looters to kneel alongside holes and then fired a pistol "to conduct a mock execution."

In April of this year, shortly before the Abu Ghraib prison abuse scandal shook the U.S. military, three Marines in Mahmudiya shocked a detainee with an electric transformer, forcing him to "dance" as the electricity hit him, according to a witness, one document states. The Washington Post reported that incident in June, after two of the Marines pleaded guilty in the case.

This new catalogue of abuses involves members of a variety of units, and is distinct from earlier disclosures of the torture of prisoners by Army reservists at Abu Ghraib and the maltreatment of detainees in Afghanistan by Army soldiers and Special Operations troops.

Overall, according to a summary prepared for the Pentagon's inspector general but obtained and released by the American Civil Liberties Union, there were 10 substantiated incidents of Marines abusing prisoners. Those involved 24 members of the Corps, and resulted in 11 court-martial convictions and three lesser punishments. Charges were dismissed against six other Marines, and four cases are pending, the summary said. All the abuse involved members of various units within the 1st Marine Division.

The August 2003 burning incident, which occurred at Camp Dogwood, near Iskandariyah, blistered the Iraqi detainee's hands and resulted in a special court-martial in which a Marine was found guilty of assault, confined for 90 days and demoted. Other incidents resulted in similar punishments.

The most severe sentences were handed down in the case of the detainee being shocked, the summary said, with two Marines court-martialed at Camp Fallujah in May. One received a one-year confinement, and the other eight months. Several other prosecutions are pending in that case, the document noted.

The internal summary also stated that there were 11 other incidents in which allegations of abuse were not substantiated and five cases in which investigations were pending.

The dozens of documents were obtained by the ACLU under the Freedom of Information Act. The organization recently distributed a series of documents it received from various parts of the military. "Abuse of detainees was not aberrational," ACLU lawyer Jameel Jaffer said in a statement accompanying the release. "The Defense Department adopted extreme interrogation techniques as a matter of policy."

Supporting that assertion, the ACLU said, is a statement taken in October by the Naval Criminal Investigative Service in which a Navy corpsman who had been attached to the Marines in Iraq stated that it was routine to take a prisoner to an empty swimming pool, place cuffs on his hands and legs, put a burlap bag over his head, and then "the EPW [enemy prisoner of war] would remain in the kneeling position for no longer than 24 hours while the EPW was awaiting interrogation."

A Marine spokesman said the documents underscore not only that abuse occurred but that allegations involving mistreatment are taken seriously. "Each of these acts referred to by the ACLU resulted in courts-martial convictions," Maj. Nat Fahy said. "This clearly demonstrates our commitment to thoroughly investigate all allegations of detainee abuse and hold those people accountable. Any behavior that does not constitute humane treatment of detainees is simply not tolerated."

Fahy said he was unaware of the Marines' having issued statements disclosing any of the incidents, but said, "We made the information available if people asked for it."

Lawrence T. Di Rita, the Pentagon's chief spokesman, said that there have been more than a dozen major investigations of the handling of detainees in Iraq and Afghanistan, and that probes of individual cases have resulted in about three dozen courts-martial and an equal number of lesser "nonjudicial punishments."

"We've held a number of individuals accountable," he said at a Pentagon briefing. "We will continue to hold people accountable. And we will continue to pump out documents."

John Miller, who commanded a Marine rifle company during the Vietnam War, said he thought the incidents of abuse were an aberration for Marines. "The Marines are very well-schooled in the law of war," he said. But, he added that "there are guys who were bums when they came in, and they'll be bums when they get out."

Huh

Tue, 14 Dec 2004 16:24:08 GMT

I got a bizarre email from someone explaining the stalker/weirdo that has been posting on my journal. It's from a girl who says this person thinks she is me. My question is, why?!

More questions: Was this girl pretending to be me? And why is some random guy stalking her? She said she doesn't know him either. And then I have to wonder if she's telling the truth. Did the guy get the girl to write the email for him? They have different IPs. I'm pretty sure they are different people.

She was at least polite and apologetic about it. I think I will email LJ with my complaints, and hopefully they can sort it out.

Link

Thu, 09 Dec 2004 21:54:27 GMT

Wow.... I am amazed by this ruling.

Mom's evesdropping violated law

I'm not sure what to think about this. I agree it shouldn't be valid evidence for a trial.

Homelessness update

Tue, 07 Dec 2004 11:34:40 GMT

I haven't heard from any of "my" homeless people for an age. I have to go up for a doctor appointment at 2 PM today; am going to attempt to find 'em and see how they're faring, but if I manage to locate just one it will be a success. I will bring up a few bags of groceries, a flashlight or two and some batteries, and I am pretty sure they're going to need some propane for their gas stove/heater.

I am really, really hoping that Tom made it into a shelter. He was calling them every day, I know, but I can't call him, is the problem. It is a real hinderance to be living 45 miles south of them now. So much harder to help. Ron used to be able to stop by on his way home from work, drop off a few groceries, etc. Now it has to be basically a scheduled trip.

I also think I'll take an excursion into Washington DC (sigh) and navigate the endlessly confusing streets in order to find the homeless people in the parks. This is more dangerous, since a lot of them are severely mentally impared, but after my experience with Judith, I can't just give it up. I don't think I've talked about Judith yet in this journal; my next entry will describe her and how I met her. She's really awesome, just an incredible person. I hope I'm able to find her again today.

Frustration

Mon, 06 Dec 2004 21:16:44 GMT

I wrote this a couple days ago, but didn't get a chance to post it until now.

Aaaaargh!!!!! American Sign Language, or ASL (as I'll abbreviate it from now on) is not consistant, at all, as a language. In several of the best and biggest dictionaries of signs, lots of signs differ; and not by just a regional or local dialect gap, either. It's just a completely different sign. So how do you tell which one is right? Do you just make up your signs as you go along? It seems like that's what's happened in a lot of cases. And then there's "pigin sign language" as well as regular. "Pigin sign language" is simplified ASL and a lot of the signs are different from what they are in American Sign Language. It's a current fashionable trend to teach newborn babies pigin sign language, but I think that it only confuses the issue. The real ASL signs aren't that much more complicated. It's like teaching babies the word for water is "wawa" instead of actually saying "water."

I wish that ASL could be officially standarized. Good grief, there's a man employed by the French government to give official names to things like "Le Internet" and decide whether they're masculine or feminine nouns, but with sign language, an entire verb like "to cook" or "to arrive" varies.

And there's really no good way to teach yourself ASL either, unless you're fortunate enough to be able to enroll in courses at a college and learn from actual deaf people who already speak it. That's basically what every book says when they attempt to answer the question, "how do I learn sign language on my own?" They say, "well, the only real way to learn is to practice with other deaf people." GREAT. Send me a few in the mail so I can get started.

So what do you do with a 3 year old who is deaf but doesn't know sign language and doesn't have an opportunity to learn signs from deaf people? I can't teach him it because I can't tell him what the signs mean. I can't explain a concept- how do you even explain what the alphabet is if you can't speak?! I can't show him pictures or flashcards for the word "to think" or "to awake". Flashcards are useful to teach him nouns and objects, but there are so many things in the world that require more explanation. Like for example, colors. Colors in themselves aren't that difficult a concept; we all point at something and agree, "it's green." Whatever your specific concept of green is might very, but we're at least all agreed that we are describing the pigmentation of the object and how it looks. If I point at the grass and sign "green" I'll get a puzzled look, and rightly so- because he doesn't think it's "green", he thinks the sign is "grass." How can I explain I'm describing the grass?! If I sign "green grass" he thinks I'm just modifying the original sign and now all grass must be signed "green grass."

I am reminded so many times of Helen Keller's life story when I'm thinking about all this and how impossible it seems to be to break through and help him. There is a profound sense of sadness about the whole thing, though we both are doing our best to make signing happy and cheerful. But I've never seen a 3 year old before that hangs his head in depression when unable to express what he wants. His entire body just droops and he looks downward as if- well, the weight of everything is just too much. I'm looking at an intelligent mind trapped in what is essentially darkness.

I think that what makes it worse is that Mrs. Smith (not her real name) who has had the boys in foster care for 6 months, ever since they entered the system, makes little to no effort to sign with him. If Mrs. Smith ever reads this, I hope she understands I am NOT saying she is a bad foster parent, on the contrary, I think she is great. She's patient, kind, has a sense of humor, and I am confident that she would never, ever abuse a child. (Unfortunately I know that a lot of parents who do foster care are often as abusive as the original parents.) I've even come across one or two of them so far... one woman went so far as to tell me "there are lots of options for how you can dicipline them so long as you don't care about following the rules." She proceeded to tell me to pick them up by the ankles and hold them upside down and spank them that way. My husband thinks I should report her to CPS, (child protective services) but I am pretty sure no investigation would be done because it's just my word against hers- I never actually SAW any abuse. In addition to which, she's very, very rich- and I've noticed that the police are very hesitant to associate abuse with someone who has a lot of money. An extreme case being that of Michael Jackson.

So considering what's out there, I must commend Mrs. Smith. I really wish more foster parents were like her. She's so laid back and easy-going. Sure, that tends to spoil kids, especially kids like Ryan, but I would so much rather see a child who's spoiled rather than abused. Mrs. Smith is a grandmother and loves children. She's a single parent. Next to her I feel like a wimp- I can barely keep on top of my house's mess and 2 kids, even with the support of my husband. She basically has all she can do to keep up with her own 4 children without the extreme effort it takes to learn ASL on her own. I can't say I blame her- she is already carrying a huge load. And learning ASL really has to be something you with a tremendous effort- even my husband is kind of flagging, feeling as if ASL is impossible to learn and he'd like to give up. After he started noticing discrepancies between the signs in ASL, he got discouraged. "What's the point of learning it if the letter K can be signed 3 different ways?!" he says, and I understand where he's coming from.

I am also confused as well because the social worker asked me if Ryan was 'responding at all' to signs we made to him. She said "at all" as if she was pretty sure he hadn't been responding, but she needed to check. I said, confused, "sure, of course he's responding." I didn't get what the problem was. She got very excited and said, "Wow, really, because he doesn't respond to signs with Mrs. Smith at all." That's because SHE DOESN'T SIGN WITH HIM. How can he respond to non-existant signs?

I said, "He responds about as often as I'd expect a 3 year old to respond verbally- about half of the time." Even children who can hear don't always respond to your questions at age 3. They're still taking things in, learning how things work. But yes, I said, there's been no problem with getting him to RESPOND to signs. He'll sign "more- eat" if he wants more to eat. He'll sign "potty" if he needs to go.

(To go off on a tangent, I have just realized that I now know the word for "potty" in not only English, but American Sign Language, Spanish, and Swedish.) Babysitting and fostercare may not improve your math skills much, but it sure does wonders for your vocabulary. I'm picturing the next time I visit Sweden. Stepping off the plane, smiling, I wave to the crowd. "Time out!" I say. "Potty and pacifier!" "Ikea!" Then I follow it up with "nap time". I do know how to say goodbye, which sounds like "Hey dough", but I'd rather close requesting a nap. I've never had anyone over age 12 argue with that one. I figure I could campaign for and win the presidency of the United States simply on an "enforced naps daily" platform.

So my problem, boiled down, is basically, how to get "Ryan" to learn new words and signs, especially those of concepts. I have no idea. All I really have is a profound pity for him and a determination to help, if I can. And it needs to be done soon, because not only can he not communicate, he is getting badly spoiled because of it. I spent Thanksgiving weekend basically putting him in and out of time out. I hadn't even set many rules, only the basics, like "no hitting", "no scratching", "no pulling the dog's leg until she cries." I think these are probably universal rules, or they should be.

I can understand the urge of Mrs. Smith to give him his way about everything and not enforce any rules because he's deaf. It really tugs on your heartstrings to see how depressed and frustrated he gets when he doesn't understand why he can't do a particular thing- for example, banging his toys really hard on the top of our glass coffee table. Sorry, that's just not acceptable. Time out. Potty and Pacifier. Ikea.

Just a warning...

Sun, 05 Dec 2004 12:55:35 GMT

I'm glad to see that whoever was spamming this journal with obscene and harassing material has stopped, for the moment at least, since that makes my decision easier. My husband and I have been debating about whether to report the harassment not only to the individual's ISP, but to the social service agency and police as well. As foster parents, we are aware that what could be random harassment might not be; and if so, the state needs to hear about it, and conduct an investigation if needs be. These are children with special needs or strange circumstances, and as such, the state is prepared to investigate on their behalf.

Part of the reason we have been debating whether or not to report this is because I have been getting some strange emails as well, which have been asking for personal contact information in a very deceptive manner. They may or may not be connected to what was posted in this journal- but as foster parents, we've been told to report anything suspicious. There have been several instances of obsessive parents and relatives who have stalked and harassed their child's foster parents, both online and in person. So this is basically my open warning to whoever is taking an interest in this journal; it needs to stop. Otherwise, I will assume you are a stalker with an interest in the children and I will react appropriately.

To anyone else reading this journal; because we're not sure if an investigation will have to be done, the comments cannot be deleted, so I would advise not viewing the comments on previous posts. This is (hopefully) the last time I will need to address the subject.

Caution.....

Fri, 03 Dec 2004 09:45:58 GMT

Friends and LiveJournal friends....

Watch out, there is a spammer who's been responding to my journal. Until I can take care of the situation, it's probably best not to click on "comments". He has posted some disgusting photos there. I will not take them down until his ISP has finished investigating the complaint.

He was kind enough to leave his IP address, however, so steps can be taken against him, as most ISP providers will terminate the account of anyone who attempts to flood or spam another person. But I wouldn't leave your email address or anything lying around in this journal. Just a word of caution.

My new position

Wed, 24 Nov 2004 09:26:49 GMT

Well, I am now officially a mom. I picked up my first two foster kids today from preschool and afterward, sheparded them through the very first meal at McDonalds (and what I hope will be the last at that particular restaurant, but hey, it was their choice.) I attempted to say "How about Wendy's? Subway?" but got looks of disgust and decided, why not let them pick. Besides, I've never been one to argue with the magic words "Happy Meal." There's just something about a cardboard box with a toy inside that makes you feel good.

I just feel overwhelmed right now... one of those few, rare moments in life where you are filled with happiness. Yes, I realize that I'm up at 4 AM because one of them just had a nightmare, but I don't care! It's nice to be needed. I have wanted to be a mom for so long... I have always known it was my calling. If you can really call it a 'calling.' Even back in high school, once somebody looked at my school picture and said, "Wow. You look like a mom." I remember feeling proud. I suppose most people would have been a little bummed, especially since the guy who said it was one I had a crush on. But no... besides, he always was a stick in the mud.

It was so sweet to wake up hearing him cry. I mean, I was alarmed at first, but it turned out he'd just had a nightmare. Only a hug was needed. Poor little guy, looking so lost and confused. He went right back to sleep too. I would have sung him a little song too but unfortunately, he's deaf.

My foster kids are two boys, age 4 and age 3, and the youngest is deaf. It's so strange... so much I never realized about how the loss of one of your senses changes everything, even relationships with other people and the way you grow up. Of course, logically I know these facts, but you know- I've never SEEN the impact. I have watched the Miracle Worker before and read a lot about Helen Keller, but I have never realized until today how strange and sad it is to see a mind imprisoned, unable to communicate adequately. I'd estimate that "Ryan" (these aren't their real names, but I'm not supposed to share their real ones), my deaf child, knows about 25-50 signs, perhaps. I mean, when I think about it, my DOGS understand more human words than he knows signs. He's not had much time to learn them, plus he is so confused, being taken away from his birth home, placed in a temporary home, taught a mixture of what they call 'pigin' sign language and real sign language. Sometimes, watching him, I think about my friend's children, who are both at the same ages, 4 and 3. It makes me sad, thinking of how her intelligent little 3 year old talks and talks and talks, exploring her world through sound, while little Ryan is imprisoned in his mind. He doesn't understand so much of what goes on, but Ron and I, just in the space of 10 hours, have been able to see a basic, fundamental intelligence there. Actually, we estimate it's probably ABOVE the average level of intelligence. He's a smart kid. But what is so sad is his inability to communicate- I don't think that right now he even understands why we're moving our mouths.

His brother (I'll call him "George") is interesting. Though they share sibling rivalry typical of that age, it's facinating to see how protective of Ryan George has become. And nobody's told George (He's only 4, of course!) that he should protect his brother and make sure he understands what's going on- he seems to do it instinctively. So George is a bit... older, I'd say, in wisdom and relationships. Other than that, yes, he is a normal 4 year old. I almost burst out laughing at a few of the things he said while we were in the car. But I held it in. If there is one thing kids hate, it's to be condescended or laughed at.

So we're doing all right, day 1. But I'd better get back to sleep or that could quickly change... I don't want my lupus to flare.

Thinking of splitting it up

Sun, 14 Nov 2004 14:52:32 GMT

I'm thinking of splitting this journal up into basically two things: a log of the interaction with the homeless and how things go in that direction, and a separate journal for everything else in my life. I don't want to babble on and on about personal things if someone comes here to read about the homeless and what they can do to help- you know?

I recharged the phone card and it's been used consistantly every day since. I haven't gotten up to DC yet, been about 2 weeks, but will probably go either today or tomorrow to drop off more food, refill the propane cannisters, photograph the burned out building/shelter, and talk with the guys. I'm hoping that Terry will be there because I've never been able to really talk with him much. I need to figure out what his specific needs are and if we might be able to get him off the street as well. I realize that in the end, nobody will be really able to get him of the street but himself- but for God's sake, someone can provide a helping hand. And that's what we're trying to do.

I'm going to attend the Al-Anon meeting tomorrow. I'm hoping it will be a bit more helpful than AA. Well, AA was helpful, but most of the people that were there.. I got the feeling that maybe they were not the best candidates for helping others since it seemed like they were doing their best to just keep going on their own. Which is great, I support that, not everyone can give. Not everyone wants to.

What bothered me a lot was a feeling I got from some of the AA people that they were ashamed to be there. It wasn't a strong feeling, but it was still there. It kind of puzzled me.

I forgot to add....

Mon, 08 Nov 2004 14:47:31 GMT

I forgot to add that yesterday, we stayed after church and asked the Reverend if the church could help us in providing support to the homeless, especially if we ended up taking Tom in to stay with us for awhile. We felt so lucky that we are members of an awesome church that is willing to help us- they even have AA and Al-Anon meetings every week. Actually, those groups are meeting there tonight, and I think I will go to see how they work and talk to the people there. Just in case Tom doesn't manage to get into a shelter or loses his place in line, Ron and I have decided that yes, we will take him in... though there is a lot of stuff to do beforehand. For example, if we do, we'll write up a contract stating exactly what his responsibilities would be while living with us, and what we would be willing to provide for him. And unfortunately, the time would be limited- we could only offer him about 6/7 weeks of shelter with us because on January 1st, we have committed to starting foster care.

Which brings me to another snag- will the foster care people be worried about the fact that we are helping a homeless person and he is staying with us for a little while? Even if he won't be staying with us while we are doing foster care, it still might alarm them. The Rev. helped us talk out some of these issues and I am kind of ashamed to admit I cried a lot... the stress of all of this is getting to me and I feel so helpless in the face of these problems. It's like the juxtaposition of walking into a third world country and then saying "hope you guys will be all right!" and walking back to my comfortable (if old) car and driving home. Having enough to eat, and more! It just.... I dunno, it has been mentally a huge stress on me. Perhaps I haven't even realized what a big stress it is. We prayed and Ron and I asked for guidance from God. I know that it's difficult for Ron to pray- we are both so open that we feel that God is too big to fit into just one religion- but that doesn't change the fact that we need the bigger support of God and people who are compassionate.

I feel that we got an answer to our prayers when we got the message from Tom- he doesn't seem to need to come stay with us right now, but I will keep it in mind as an option, and make sure I am prepared.

You might ask, why Tom? Don and Terry need help too... but the fact is, Don and Terry are not fighting anymore. I realize this. They've been on the street for so long, they are almost accustomed to it in a way (which is not to say they're not miserable on the street, they are.) But helping them is, I realize, beyond my reach. Whereas Tom has been on the street for less time; he has the desire to leave it, and will really make an effort. Though he's addicted to alcohol, I have a strong feeling that he can break his drinking habits because he is still fighting- Don is not.

My heart bleeds for Terry and Don, but my husband and I realize we have to start with the person we feel we could actually help. Tom is fighting his way up and to be honest, he may make it to a long-term shelter without much more help from us (other than the food, clothes, propane, and phone cards.) If he does get in a shelter, I'll visit him there, and help him write a resume and apply for jobs. He has skills as a carpenter which are really in demand right now- real estate is booming. I am hoping our mental support will pull him through. Where we go from there, I have no idea.

Tom called!

Mon, 08 Nov 2004 14:12:55 GMT

I am so excited. Tom called me the other day. This past Friday, I had stopped by their shelter (the burned out house one) and left a bag of groceries and some more rat traps and a note. Just walking through the filth I got a ton of it splashed up on my skirt- I made a note to next time wear pants. I can't believe they wade through this garbage every day. And in the spring, it's of course garbage mixed with mud.

The note I left them said that we hoped they were all right, that we were thinking and praying for them, and to please call as soon as possible (with our phone number attached.) I had hoped greatly that we'd be home when they called, but we weren't, we were in church, and they got the answering machine. Still, I was so happy just to find a message! Friday was about the second or third time I'd stopped by only to find no-one. They don't stay in the shelters by day; they're wandering the streets, asking for food and money, as well as attempting to get medical care and jobs. I think one thing a lot of people don't realize is that for the homeless, just the process of staying alive takes all their time and energy; they must walk everywhere, to get everything they need- even water! We take so much for granted. I had some extra flashlights in our house and brought them to them- they were so grateful it brought tears to my eyes. Which reminds me, I need to buy more D cell batteries so they can continue to use them.

So most of the major difficulty I have in interacting with them is just getting in touch with them. At about 11 AM Sunday, Tom called- he said that he had been in a bus accident recently with Terry and that they both are ok, but had minor injuries. His grandmother also died and he spent my $20 going to her funeral. As for the phone card I gave him- he said that he has been using it consistantly and that he's now on the waiting list for the shelters! He said that hopefully he can get into a long-term one next week. He sounded optimistic and it was just so wonderful to hear that tone in his voice- usually he is depressed (as who wouldn't be?) though he tries to hide it. He's been on the street so long it's hard for him to imagine getting off it. He really sounded amazed that he has a really good chance of getting into a long term shelter... i am just so excited for him I barely know how to express it!

I recharged his phone card (which had only 11 minutes left on it) and bought 1250 minutes. It cost $50, but it is worth it- he's the one doing the hard part. I think that I really need to make an action plan with these guys and set my goals, long term and short term. My biggest goal, obviously, is getting them into a shelter and getting their medical needs taken care of. The expense of food, clothes, propane, phone cards, and the gas I need to drive to Alexandria is starting to add up- a little here and there doesn't much matter, but Ron and I noticed we had to withdraw from our savings last month. It made us nervous, but we realize we are doing it for a good cause. Even if we spent every last dime, I'd feel that way. Sometimes it's difficult to put your money where your heart is; but then I realize if I really want to live my heart and my belief that all people are connected, I need to give no matter what I have. Jesus had nothing! He gave. So did Buddha. So did Mother Theresa. I'm beginning to understand that religion is so connected, so vital to life- you don't have to be a millionare to make a difference. I've seen that belief in action on the street- I give a homeless person a pair of gloves, and they in turn give them to someone they feel needs them more than themselves. I have seen this happen several times. How can I refuse to return such generocity?

I uploaded a photo and will try and do the whole set later on today. I finally unpacked/found the digital camera by a process of basically opening up all the remaining boxes and digging through them. It was driving me nuts not to have it! I need to buy a video camera, too, so I can record the homeless and so other people can see what I see. But the expense of that will have to wait.

Here is the first photo: it is from their tarp-tent shelter. They are not currently living in it since the spiders were so bad this year. One of them bit Don on the back of the neck during the night and when he woke up, his neck was swollen and turning black. They walked to the hospital and got it treated. So they moved into the rat infested, burned out building. (I didn't get to take photos of the building, since I ran out of daylight.) I will take photos of it when I return.

Here's the picture of the garbage heap. Their shelter is right next to it.

Garbage Heap

Here's a picture of their 'bathroom'... where they shave and brush their teeth.

'Bathroom'

Here's a picture of the tarp-tent that they used 2 years ago- it's collapsed now. It is right next to the new one.

Old Tent

Here is what it looks like inside their TarpTent:

Inside

Here are the propane canisters they use to cook and heat their tent:

Heater

All of the floor underneath these shelters turns to pure mud in the springtime... I'll take more photos then, but it's just horrible. At least now, there is no snow and the ground is solid.

Well! It's good to know...

Fri, 05 Nov 2004 03:28:43 GMT

...we still have a solid separation of church and state. If that Mr. Darwin was alive, well, crucifiction wouldn't be good enough for the bastard.

Government Confirms: Grand Canyon Now Officially Created by Biblical Flood

I can't stand it

Wed, 03 Nov 2004 09:33:51 GMT

I can't stand it. I can't stand it again- the impending legal battles, the false hope- this is how people feel when their child has been kidnapped. They don't have the relief of knowing the child's dead, although they probably do know it in their inner hearts, but can't admit it to themselves until they see the body. They are torn. And that is how I feel right now.

I can't admit the death of my hope for a good president until I hear that yes, George W. has been sworn in again. Have we ever had a decent leader called George? It was good ole King George the colonists rebelled against; however, in my opinion, this George is far worse. He has us under the tyranny of obediance to a bastardized constitution.

So I am up at 4 AM feeling seriously depressed- for the saftey and security of a country I once loved, fear for damage that will be done to schools, jobs, and most of all, the homeless. The population that has no voice and cannot vote.

The homeless have been a pet project of mine for a long time now, as you can see if you read more of my journal. I now have 5 homeless friends, 4 men and 1 woman, who are in the DC area. One of them actually lives in the park across the road from Capitol Hill. Our senators pass her and her shopping bags daily as they go to work. Yet they never see her. She is an incredibly sweet woman; she has so much hope that it hurts me to talk to her. Right now, she's sleeping on a park bench but she continues to believe in the best of our government. After talking to her for about an hour, I realized that her optimism is her drug; everyone on the street has a drug, whether it's crack, heroin, alcohol, etc- but this woman's drug is optimism. And strangely enough, her optimism is what depressed me.

I don't work with an organization, (I've never been much for team work) but I go out to where they 'live', which is shacks, tents, park benches, etc. I bring them bags of clothing, food, medicine, and I listen to them, their stories and their ramblings and occasionally, things that make no sense. They don't always recognise me, but they're always glad to see me.

I take photographs when I'm given the opportunity and permission. And I see things that- well, I can never convey to you, not in words. I've seen mounds of undisposed, festering garbage, and people living within feet of them. It's not that they're naturally filthy- it's just that there is no trash pickup in an abandoned part of woods. And lugging the trash to a nearby dumpter draws police attention to the land they've build their 'shelter' on. I've seen feces, I've seen cracked, shattered glass and mirrors; I've stepped over discarded, rusty razor blades. I see and smell what comes from the maw of hell. And then I step back into my first-world car and house and leave it all behind.

One of my homeless men is near death. If he doesn't make it to a shelter soon, he will die of cancer and D.T.s, as a result of alcohol abuse. But he's been on the street so long, I have little faith that I can get him to a shelter, if it involves the strict, stringent rules that most of them have. If "embracing Jesus" isn't a rule, then always "being clean" before entering the shelter is. The hypocrisy of this kills me. Do the people who run the shelters even KNOW that quitting alcohol and drugs while living in a rat-infested, garbage filled dump is impossible? On the other hand, Rush Limbaugh goes to a drug-treatment facility to get clean, where they hold his hand while he goes through withdrawl, and he has all the comforts of home. But my homeless guys, in order to enter a shelter, are expected to quit smoking/drinking/etc cold turkey, in the comforting surrounds of a garbage dump.

So, you might ask, why don't you drive them to a shelter in your car? I've tried. Good God, have I tried!! Here's why it doesn't work:

Shelter funding has been cut to an amazing extent in the past few years. While the budget for Iraq has boomed, it's the homeless, the mentally impared, the indigent who suffer budget cuts. Maybe because they don't vote?

There's ONE homeless shelter for the city of Alexandria, Virginia. In order to enter it 'long term', you must first be seen and screened by a social worker, getting an appointment first. And then you must get on and stay on the shelter waiting list. The waiting list for is 2-3 months long. You can't just put your name on the waiting list and wait, either. Anyone homeless who is attempting to get a place on the long-term shelter list has to call them in person, every single day, and re-confirm that they want a place on the list. I can't call for them.

As you can imagine, this presents quite a technical problem for the homeless men I deal with. Having no phone, it's a bit difficult to call a shelter EVERY DAY in order to stay on the waiting list. It involves a 2 mile hike to the pay phone, an investment of 50 cents a day for the pay phone call (which is a lot if you're only making about $5 a day panhandling). And speaking of panhandling, the men I'm working with have amassed about $10,000 in unpaid panhandling tickets and fines each. This total hangs over their heads; one of my homeless guys told me 'What's the use in trying? If I get out, I'll only have to pay back $10,000, and I can't make enough to do that.'

My greatest hope for the election of a Democratic president was that shelter funding would be increased, not cut, for once. Thinking that Bush will remain in office is enough to make me scream. It's at least deprived me of sleep for the night. I feel as though it is a death sentence for Tom, Don, and Terry, three of my homeless guys I fear may never get off the street, unless I succeed soon. But how am I supposed to approach Republican senators and make them see the filth these people are living in, the depression that consumes them almost completely because they're fighing in a system that will not let them win?

So here's my question, here's my plan. I'm thinking of taking in one of the homeless people I know and letting him have our basement bedroom. The youngest guy, the one who has tried and gotten various jobs since he became homeless. He always loses his jobs, though, in large part because he is unable to show up consistantly to work; because his work boots have fallen apart and he's been unable to afford more. So he's fired.

But since we recently moved, we now have the space. But I'm wondering, is this a good move? Has anyone ever tried it? (If not you, someone you know?)

I'm not that concerned about the guy's character. He has been scrupulously honest for the year and 2 months I've known him; I've even seen him make sacrifices for the comfort of others on the street, when he didn't think I was watching. And all of them, the 3 I know best, watch my back and have taught me how to be street savvy. I no longer walk into the woods with my wallet, for one thing.

I can barely make any inroads into the 25,000+ homeless population in the DC area by helping just a handful, but I want to try. I want to know, has anyone here had experience with the homeless- have you been able to help?

Legally, if I take a homeless person and let him stay with us for 2 months, do I run legal risks? I have no idea. I don't even know how to research this kind of thing.

I'm so tired, and I feel so defeated.

America and Rome...

Wed, 03 Nov 2004 07:39:00 GMT

Again, with the re-election of Bush, I'm reminded of the parallels that can be drawn between the US and Rome. Here are some that remain most on my mind:

In 10 B.C., the Emperor (Augustus Ceasar) ruled completely, even though there was a powerless Senate, which was forced to approve anything he desired. After he died, he was made a God. His great grandson, Caligula, made himself a God. He told them he had undergone a 'transformation', enabling him to rule divinely, which sounds a lot like being 'born again', if you ask me.

As for the emperor Tiberius, at one point, he was calling for executions and bills to be approved without the Senate being allowed to read them. Those who opposed were deemed treasonous to the state. And executed.

Rome was imperialist. They viewed themselves as bringing 'enlightenment' to the people under their rule. Every time I hear something about how the Iraqis have been enlightened... I have to wonder.

As for the end, when it all fell, it was due in large part to simple complacency: thinking that Rome could not fall simply because it had never fallen. This type of thinking weakened their defenses, and allowed the "barbarians" (future Germans) to break through. And along with the destruction of Rome's corruption and massive empire, they destroyed much that was good and beautiful as well.

I hope this cycle does not repeat.

What I saw on Sunday

Wed, 03 Nov 2004 05:30:16 GMT

I think this little anecdote might possibly explain why a president can spend billions on an unjustified war and then get himself re-elected...

On Saturday, I was driving through my small town (Fredericksburg, Virginia) on my way to work. I went through a busy intersection, probably the busiest in the town. On one of the four corners, I saw approximately 10 women standing in a parking lot, holding signs that said "Christians for Kerry" and "Vote Kerry!"

4 hours later, driving home from work, the women were all gone from that parking lot. In the parking lot across the street, dozens of Bush signs had been put up, and a bored looking 10 year old stood, holding the biggest Bush sign I've ever seen. Every once in awhile he'd shout, "VOTE BUSH!" and then he'd look behind him, up at the house, as if seeking approval from his parent or whoever had placed him there.

I think maybe the brainwashing of our children to be a part of a political party without teaching them to examine the evidence in front of their noses may be a large part of what is wrong in America today. Though I was raised Democrat, I'm a registered Republican and frankly would have have voted for John McCain if I'd ever had the chance... I'd have voted for Arnold Schwartzenegger in California, had I had the chance to do that. I believe strongly in voting whoever presents the best policy, appears to have the most brains, and most importantly, respects ALL human life- not just that of unborn fetuses. The estimated 100,000 Iraqi civilian deaths don't seem to count for ANYTHING with some Republicans I've talked to. Their attitude seems to be, "but it's all for the good of the country!" What country? America?! Since when does one American life stand for more than one foreign life?

Another failed attempt

Thu, 28 Oct 2004 21:52:21 GMT

Last night, about 10 PM, I went to Tom and Don's backup shelter (across from the Auto Imports Dealership. They weren't there. At least if they were there, I couldn't tell, there was no light- I have this horror of someday going to their shelters and finding them dead. I tell myself it will never happen, but knowing how sick Don is with the alcoholism and cancer combined, it's probably more likely than I can admit to myself.

I can tell they've been using the 600 minute phone card I gave them. Well, that I gave to Tom, anyway. I also gave him our phone number and the numbers of some other shelters, and told him to call every single day to stay on the waiting list. The number of minutes used on the phone card is consistant, the amount that would be gone if he had managed to call every day. I hope to God it's so.

I'm beginning to get concerned about the proximity of their shack to the Auto Imports Dealership. A man who appeared to work there was watching us last night as we pulled up, I ran behind the shack, and returned in just a minute or two. Ron said "well, maybe he thought you had to go to the bathroom", which I suppose is likely... but I doubt it. From the expression on his face, he looked both puzzled and disapproving. I suppose it's only a matter of time before someone from that business walks across the street and takes a look at what's back there. And it's not going to be good when they do.

Some thoughts about Iraq

Wed, 27 Oct 2004 14:28:01 GMT

Like hundreds of thousands of other Americans, I sincerely hope that we can end our involvement in Iraq as quickly as possible. I have a lot of theories about why politicans (including Kerry) are so reluctant to pull us out of there, and the best one I can think of I like to call "Vietnam Syndrome." I believe America has a self-image problem, and would rather stay in denial than admit that it has made a military mistake or "lost" a military conflict. Like what happened in Vietnam, we'd rather stay, occupying a foreign country for months, even years longer than we should have, because we cling to the hope that somehow if we stay there, we'll have 'won' and be able to justify our position.

That never happened with Vietnam; it's clearly not going to happen with Iraq. We are never going to 'win the hearts and minds' of the Iraqi people. What a stupid phrase, anyway. Did an occupied people EVER willingly embrace the occupation? Even back in Roman times, the Roman soldiers were viewed as a scourge by those they occupied. In contrast, the Romans themselves believed they were bringing enlightenment and civilization to the people under their rule.

Ron and I are watching the entire British series "I, Claudius." I highly recommend it to those who would like to better understand Roman history, and the parallels between it and our society today. We are, whether we admit it or not, an imperialistic society.

Still haven't heard...

Tue, 26 Oct 2004 20:48:18 GMT

I'm seriously starting to get worried about Tom. He hasn't called (at least, as far as I know, he hasn't.) We are dialing up to the internet on our only phone connection, so it's very possible he's tried to call when I've been dialed up. (Like now.) I am trying very hard to only surf the web at night, those times at 3 AM when I can't sleep due to back pain. It also helps my husband that I'm not tossing and turning next to him. Everyone benefits!

But it's unlike Tom to tell me he will call and then not do it- it's usually ME who is late, who doesn't show up, etc. I can't help but picture him with this horrible cold, getting only worse in their...er... shelter. 'Shelter' seems like such an inadequate word for a house that's missing an entire side.

I wish there was a way I could reach him. I've been discussing options with Ron (my husband) and we might get him a cell phone so he doesn't need to walk a mile every day in order to call the shelters and get put on the waiting list. The expense is so great, but perhaps it's the best option. I've thought about ways I can raise money. I'm definately going to have a garage sale in the spring to get rid of junk, and all profits will go to the homeless. I feel so squimish about asking people for money, even the people at my church, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing it. Because who am I to give a guarantee that that money won't be misused/abused? When people give to established charities, sure, the money gets misused too, but people feel a sense of security about the fact that the company is labeled 'non-profit', whereas I'm just an individual who drives around, purchases food and used clothing and blankets and hands them out. I have no oversight, you know?

So first on my list of things to do is to get another phone line for dialup so people don't spend hours on the phone trying to reach us. I've also thought about showing Tom how to establish a library account and then use the internet through the library; then I could email him. Maybe this is a good idea? I wonder if the shelters would, instead of taking phone reservations every day from Tom, accept an email from him instead? But then I'd face the old "well, if he has internet access, he must not be REALLY HOMELESS." I'm so tired of hearing those kind of excuses from people who work in a homeless shelter. I just want to scream, "look, you work with these people, how can you not care?!"

Ron and I have also discussed the possibility of rearranging our basement so that the computer room could become a bedroom, and letting him live there for a month or two, if he hasn't managed to find space in a long term shelter by December; it's just so difficult to know if that's a good idea or a bad one. I know some people who would tell me I'm insane to even consider letting a homeless person live with us, (namely, my parents) but then again, when have I ever stopped to listen to my parents? Ha ha.

I'm having kind of a twisted sense of humor day because I slept until 3 PM, feeling both lupus and bronchitis sick, then I got up to let Ellie, my chihuahua outside, and I fell, smack, directly on my knees on this stupid fake wood laminate floor. I guess I should be glad that some of the fall was broken by my elbows. But it was one of those times you swear, cry, and curse the Home Depot for popularizing this type of flooring.

No phone call....

Mon, 25 Oct 2004 13:03:54 GMT

I really hope Tom is all right. I didn't get a phone call from him this weekend- he told me he'd call and let me know what day I should plan on coming to take him to meet a social worker so he can get into the Carpenter Shelter.

This is one hell of a cold I have, and I really hope he's doing all right- all I can do is picture him being sick on the floor of that awful building. At least now they have some rat traps, but I doubt I bought enough. :(

Destroying Democratic Registration Cards....

Mon, 25 Oct 2004 12:44:50 GMT

hmmmm... just going to let this news story speak for itself:

Arizona-based Sproul & Associates is under investigation in Oregon and Nevada over claims that canvassers hired by the company were instructed to register only Republicans and to get rid of registration forms completed by Democrats.

"People who are homeless are not social inadequates. They are people without homes."

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 02:49:08 GMT

Yesterday I was too exhausted to write up the results of my trip up to Alexandria. But hey, at least I made it there- I guess that's what counts. Here is what happened:

I had planned on visiting Tom, Don, and Terry in Alexandria first, and then going into DC in order to find Judith (and hopefully Joe, if he's still alive- I have not seen him for several years). I was going to go give them some of the food I'd brought as well, and flashlights, but I didn't make it to DC, basically due to lack of time. I had given myself 4 hours, but time sped by. As always, it's difficult to locate the homeless. The lack of a fixed address creates quite an obstacle.

I thought I was going to meet Tom near his tarp-tent, but he wasn't there. So I took a few photos of it and then walked about a quarter of a mile to their 'house.' I put the word 'house' in quotes since all it is, essentially, is a burned out shell of a shack that's missing the entire back wall. Upon close scrutiny, I believe that some of the support beams holding up the structure are on the point of collapsing, and it is most definately not safe for occupancy. Still, it's more safe than the OTHER burned out house about a half a mile down the road. I'm pretty sure that if the city of Alexandria knew about these buildings, they'd knock them down. Which is why, of course, I can never identify the exact location in this journal, or reveal where they live to any city officials or policemen.

To return to my story, I approached the house and called out my standard greeting of "Hello?!" "Hello?!" (Despite efforts to be creative, I can't think of a better greeting.) Maybe that's why people have been using it all these years.

So, nobody responded. I took a moment to sniff back the uncontrollably runny nose I had and hack out a few coughs, still caught in the grip of a massive cold I've had for two entire weeks now. My lupus impairs my immune system so that when I get a cold, it is extremely difficult to get rid of it.

After hacking up what felt like part of my lung, I spent a couple minutes crawling over garbage, feeling miserably sorry for myself and my awful cold. My self-pity was cut off abruptly by the emergence of Tom's head from one of the house's 'rooms'. (The best way I can think to explain it without the aid of a picture is this: it's a normal sized, 4 room cabin, but missing one wall entirely, like the way a child's dollhouse is cut off so that the children can see inside.)

"Hey," Tom greeted me weakly. "Sorry I didn't get up and walk out to meet you but I think I'm sick."

I dammed myself inside. I probably gave him the cold on Wednesday. I had been SURE that I was no longer contagious. After all, by last Wednesday, I'd had the cold for 9 days.

I also felt ashamed. Not only was I guilty of passing on a cold to a homeless person who had no way of treating/dealing with it or seeing a doctor, I had been feeling *pity* for my poor self just a few seconds ago. While I looked at Tom, surrounded by trash, I realized that at least I was able to be sick in a bed, surrounded by the luxury of our heated and furnished home. I thought about this a second and then thought about what it would feel like to be sick in this burnt out hellhole. My self pity turned into self loathing. I'm an idiot.

"I'm sorry, Tom," I said, as he crawled out from the trash that littered the house, inside and out.

"Hey, it's ok!" he said, with a smile and an attempt at optimism. He looked older than ever, around 50 years old. He's 35. "Please excuse me while I run to the bathroom."

"Sure," I said, and turned my back while he stumbled off into the bushes. I mentally made a note to look up whether typhoid can still be spread (since I know its primary source is caused when human waste contaminates water supply) and tried to look as if I was not shocked by the state of the building and living conditions. Frankly, after seeing this shelter, their tarp-tent looks like 4 star, hotel luxury. It may be surrounded by garbage too, but at least a lot of the garbage is outside the tarp-tent, and they don't need to sleep in it.

To those who wonder why all the trash is there, inside their dwelling and out, I can only offer this explanation: the homeless have no trash pickup. They are able, sometimes, to gather the stuff of life (among which is stuff such as disposable food containers, toilet paper, shaving razors and old clothing) but they run into a snag when it comes to the disposal of such stuff. They have no dumpster and no regular curbside trash pickup.

Their tarp-tent, which is located in the woods, off a side-street, is not visable to the naked eye. When you walk down the street, past the area in which it's located, you'd have no idea it was there. You follow a path back into the woods to get there, passing several giant mounds of trash on your way. At the tarp-tent, they do what they can about gathering their trash and piling it into a heap, as far as they can from where they actually live. It's only a couple hundred feet, but at least it's better than nothing. But they can't do that with the small building, because it's located much closer to the main road; and in fact, it's only several hundred yards away from a luxury auto dealership. Which is both a blessing and a curse. The blessing is that from the auto dealership, the house looks solid and abandoned; you'd never guess anyone was living inside. The missing wall faces away from the dealership. However, the downside to this is that in order not to attract attention from the people at the dealership, they can't pile up trash; and it has to go somewhere, so they end up putting the trash close to and actually IN the house. So when wealthy Alexandria residents who come to pick out their Lexus or BMW, they drive away, unaware that just a few yards away, people are literally sleeping in filth. I saw it happen about 10 times yesterday, and each time I was struck with a sense of surreality; as if we were standing in a third world country but they were located in a different time and place, so great was the disparity, the irony of having this luxury auto showplace so near.

Another blessing in the location of this house lies in the fact that I can easily park near the auto-dealership and my car is not noticed; however, whenever I park off the street, near the path which leads to their tarp-tent, I'm highly conspicuous, as the only car down a side street with absolutely nothing on either side. I realize that if a police car ever drove by, I'd probably have my car ticketed or towed, or I might be observed and followed. A policeman who was not compassionate could (and most likely would) arrest Tom and Don and Terry for tresspassing, littering, and loitering. The county would be notified and so would the owner of the property. After it was all cleaned up, they'd have to find a new place to live. Which is difficult in a city where almost any acerage which has not already been turned into a park is being converted into 2 bedroom townhomes whose base selling price is $500,000.

While Tom was gone to the...er... bathroom, I snapped a couple of photos of the house on my old-school, non-digital camera. I still haven't found our digital camera which we packed up when we moved. I'm getting really frustrated about not being able to find it, now that I have this golden opportunity to take photos. Tom's previously told me he doesn't mind if I take pictures of him or the area in which they're living, but Don minds. So I photograph it when Don's not there. And to tell the truth, I know that Tom minds too, he's embarrassed of it and the mounds and piles of festering trash. I mean, who wouldn't be? So I try not to be obtrusive when I snap the shots.

While Tom was off relieving himself in the woods (or perhaps he was vomiting from illness, I don't know), I was staring into the mounds of trash inside the house's main room, and understanding why it is infested with rats. I wondered, in fact, if I set out rat traps, would they even do any good? They already have a smorgasboard in the trash that is there. It would be kind of like laying rat traps out around a dump, and expecting them to accomplish something.

When Tom returned, I asked him if he needed any cold medication or anything. He said no, he was just trying to sleep and get better. I said I hoped he felt better soon and then gave him some phone numbers for long-term, residential shelters. I explained that in order to stay on the waiting lists, he had to make it to a pay phone and call the shelters EVERY SINGLE DAY without fail. The irony of this rule kills me; someone without a phone or home is expected to call (and have the money for a pay phone call) every single day in order to enter the shelter. The shortest waiting list for these two residential shelters is currently 4 weeks. That's 28 phone calls, minimum. That's a total of $14.00, at 50 cents a call, which is what payphones charge around here. If Tom misses just one day, and doesn't call the shelter and ask to be put on the list, he is removed from the list completely and must start all over again. These are THE RULES, apparently absolute, complete, and unchangable. However, the waiting list for the shelter usually grows to about 3 months long in the middle of the winter, so it's best that he attempts to go now, I suppose.

In addition to this, one of the shelters told me that Tom must be a resident of Arlington County in order to use their shelter. I asked how Tom was supposed to prove this. I was met with silence, and then an angry defense of, "well, we can tell when they call!" I asked exactly how they could tell. How does one prove one's residency without an address, telephone number, utility bill, or even current driver's licence or photo ID? The woman got angry at the question. She sidestepped it and simply reiterated that he had to be an Arlington County resident in order to enter the shelter.

I've gotten used to this in my prolonged telephone calls with shelter managers and workers. Some of them sound as if they've recently come off the street themselves. Which is fine; I'm happy for them, that they managed to beat the odds and make it off the street. But I'm usually struck by their perverse manner and unwillingness to help. I often feel as if they want to shut the door in the faces of other homeless people- as if they feel that once they themselves got in, if they help others to get off the street their own help and priviledges would somehow be revoked.

I've also gotten used to facing arbitrary rules for shelter entrance. For example, one 'rehabilatative shelter' in the area specifies that a person must be absolutely free of alcohol or drugs *before* entering their shelter. The irony of this kills me. It's not even enough that the person be WILLING to stop using alcohol or drugs; they must accomplish this on their own, on the street, before they will be given any help at all. I think of rehab clinics and celebrities who pay thousands of dollars just to have someone hold their hand while they go through withdrawl, and then I think of how the homeless I advocate for are supposed to quit, cold turkey, in the shelter of a burned out, rat infested building.

Another shelter specifies that the person have a permanent job before entering the shelter. I think of what it takes to obtain a job- for example, the ability to do laundry and bathe one's person on a regular basis, to have work-appropriate boots, coats, and gloves, and the ability to keep them clean. Last spring, I witnessed the floor underneath their tarp-tent turn to pure mud in the spring rains. You'd sink in it up to the ankle if you entered the tent. And yet they were supposed to create some space to store their belongings and keep them clean.

Some of the shelters I called were confused by who I was. "Why are you calling instead of him, if he's the one who needs a space?" one woman asked me, suspiciously.
"I'm calling on behalf of him," I explained, "Since he is homeless, and to a large extent, unable to advocate for himself."
"He's got to call his own self if he needs a place. Why can't he call himself?"
"Because," I said, taking a deep breath in order to control my rising temper. "Because, being homeless, he doesn't have a phone."
"Oh." (Pause.) "Can't he walk to no pay phone?!"
"No." I said, "It is over a mile from his shelter to the nearest pay phone, and, as an example, today when I called here, I was disconnected or misdirected to the wrong extension 6 times in a row, and once I was deliberately hung up on. Being homeless, he barely has enough money to feed himself, let alone make 4 hours worth of phone calls in order to find a shelter which will accept him." (At this point, I had been on the phone 4 hours.)

One woman was insulted that I asked the exact address of the shelter and its zipcode so that I could use Mapquest.com to create a map and drive Tom to the shelter (provided he was able to get and stay on the waiting list.) "Y'all are going to DRIVE HIM to our shelter?" she said, disgustedly.
"Yes," I said, "I am going to DRIVE HIM to your shelter. Seeing as it is a distance of 20 miles from where he is currently to where your shelter is located, and the Metro doesn't run that far."
"Well we take people in who really need our help, if y'all are willing to drive him, it sure doen't sound like he needs your help!"

I must admit that I simply hung up the phone on this call, since I was so angry I couldn't trust myself to say anything more. Better to let her think we were disconnected, I suppose.

I realize this is such an incredibly long journal entry, very few people will have actually read this far. But I'd just like to say that I will never, ever forget the look on Tom's face when I handed him a 500 minute phone card, the two telephone numbers and told him that if he called them both, each and every day, that in a month or two, he would have a space at a shelter. (Provided, of course, he can have the willpower to stop drinking a few days before there is a shelter space, and provided that he can somehow meet their absurd requirements to 'prove' he is an Arlington County resident.) Still, despite these odds, his face lit up; it was as if I had handed him the moon. He thanked me profusely and politely. He told me I was the greatest, and that he knew that God had sent me to him.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him that no, God hadn't sent me to him, it was more likely the devil. Because I feel the anger of the devil in me; I'd like to rip open these organizations that call themselves charitable but really don't manage to help that many people at all. The former president of the United Way was, up until last year, being paid over half a million dollars a year for his work. That money, of course, came from donations, from good people who want to help, but trust in a company (albeit a non-profit company) to distribute their money for them. Yes, the former president of the United Way lives in a mansion while Tom, Don, and Terry live in a rat infested garbage dump. He lives in a mansion while Judith and Joe sleep on a park bench. He lives in a mansion while Steve sleeps in a pop-up tent with holes in it, just off an exit ramp. These are the people I see, and these are the people who the United Way, the Salvation Army, and other local charities seem to find it impossible to help.

It's a heartbreaking thing to be told that someone sees you acting as an extension of God to someone. It makes you remember all the little petty thoughts that went on inside your head today and the excesses you have indulged in, in the past; for example, the Godiva chocolates you ate last Valentine's Day without a thought for how much they cost and what that could mean to those who need it.

This homeless shelter system is unbelievably flawed; so much so that although I have been dealing with it for almost a year now, I continue to encounter things that literally take my breath away. I encounter attitudes that I would have thought died out with the sinking of the Titanic- that of "women and children first." Even though the majority of the homeless are men, shelters hold out the attitude that women and children must be served first; and not only that, they must be served best, and with a higher level and quality of care. This attitude is taken to such an extreme that one homeless shelter I called explained that men in their 'residency program' (which is basically just a program that allows a homeless person to stay at a shelter longer than one night at a time) have 30 days to stay there, provided of course that they are admitted after the 4 week waiting period. Then it is required that they get clean, get a job, and raise enough money to get an apartment...all in 30 days. If the man is considered exceptionally promising, the time period can be extended to 60 days, but only in rare cases. This same shelter explained to me that single women, or women and children are allowed 18 months to stay in their system, to use their services, and that time can be extended as well, if the woman is showing 'good progress.'

It boggles my mind that anyone can be expected to pull himself up from the street and become self-sufficient in 30 days. Even people attempting to lose a few pounds on the Atkins diet take a longer amount of time! But the homeless are expected to transform every single aspect of their lives in 30 days, and if they prove unable, they are simply not trying hard enough. They are expected to do this primarily on their own, as well. Though a shelter telephone is provided for their use, and though they're allowed use of the showers and are given food and some supplies, for a large part, their progress must be self-motivated and self-guided. Few shelters take into account or can treat the severe depression that accompanies homelessness; depression that drives them to drink and drugs, depression that results from the fact that they are viewed by both society and themselves as failures.

The one thing Tom mentions to me over and over, again and again, is the amount of depression he faces, living on the street. "If I could just get a hand up," he says to me, with a look in his eyes that smites my heart. "If I could just find a way...." He wants, so desperately, to break the cycle. He's never given up trying, but he hasn't made it yet. I am afraid for him; afraid that if he stays on the street much longer, he will begin to grow the apathy that I see in Don and Terry, who have both been on the street for 10 years or more. I know that Don is dying. I don't know how much time he has left. I would give almost anything to get him off the street, but frankly, I don't hold out much hope for Don anymore. His cancer and his alcoholism both are killing him; I am afraid that some day, I will come to visit and find him dead.

There is hope for Tom, however, because Tom is a fighter, and more importantly, Tom is still fighting. He wants to get off the street; he recognizes that he's depressed, and he recognizes that he HAS to get off the street if he is to survive. This is why I'm concentrating my efforts on Tom first. Because if I cannot accomplish it with Tom, I can't accomplish it with anyone.

Here's Tom's explanation of the cycle, as best he could explain it to me. First, by dint of extreme effort, countless phone calls, and visits to companies, he manages to get a job. He's had several while living on the street. But usually the only companies that will hire the homeless, or people without a fixed address, are government sponsored jobs, which means they pay the bare minimum they can get away with (and often less than that). Then, the homeless person is forced to buy the company uniform and regulation tools from the canteen- supplies which are not reasonably priced. After that, he pays for transportation to his job on the Metro, food for lunch in the company cafeteria (again, unreasonably priced), since he can't bring his lunch from home if he has no home. Then he pays for his clothes and tools, and at the maximum, he's left with about $15 or $20 dollars a day to show for it. No matter how he saves, $20 a day is not going to pay for an apartment, electricity, telephone, water and sewer, food, and all the essentials of life.

I have heard a lot of people tell me that homeless people are rude, ungrateful, and crazy. I have been involved with the homeless for almost a year so far, and frankly, I have to say that usually, the homeless shelter workers I have talked with are more rude than the actual homeless people I meet. No homeless person I have met has ever refused food I have offered, or has ever tried to hurt me. This is not to say that none ever would; but I am prepared to accept that risk.

I realize that yes, a good deal of the homeless are mentally impared, but this doesn't lessen their need for help. And frankly, even the mentally impared people I meet are generally kind and grateful. They're not angels, they are human, but many of them go so far as to give their own hat or gloves or coat to another homeless person who needs it more than they do. I have seen this happen numerous times; the strongest evidence I have ever seen of the goodness of the human spirit has been manifest to me in the charitable actions of those who have least to give.

Goals for Today

Fri, 22 Oct 2004 14:39:47 GMT

Today's goals: (hopefully I can explain and update this later today, as well as introduce you to Tom, Don, and Terry.) This entry is mainly for my own purposes.

1. To call and actually reach someone in the Alexandria or Fairfax county office of Social Services. More difficult than it sounds! I need to schedule an appointment for Tom to be evaluated so that he might enter a residential homeless program. At this point, I believe that Terry and Don are simply too dependant upon living on the street to be able to make the effort to leave it. This worries me, since Don's cancer is so advanced and I am not sure he will actually survive another cold winter outside, but I have to start somewhere, and Tom seems to be the one with the best chance of succeeding.

2. I need to leave here by 2 PM in order to have time to stop at Home Depot to buy rat traps, flashlights, and batteries. Tom told me the rats were the biggest problem; they don't mind the dark or lack of heat but if I could help them with the rats, he'd be most grateful.

3. To find the digital camera and take photographs of the area in which Tom, Don, and Terry are living, including the tarp-tent, and the rat infested and burnt out buildings. I need to make sure I have their permission before doing this. They are embarrassed of the way they live.

4. To interview Tom, Terry, and Don about the extent and length of their homelessness, the exact causes, their completed education, etc. Before I leave the house, my goal is to make a question list and print it.

5. To request their permission/get ideas of what I should try and tell my senators and representatives about the impossibility of getting off the street. Tom keeps telling me it is a cycle, but I need him to elaborate; what are the steps of the cycle? How does one fall into the cycle?

With a single seed

Fri, 22 Oct 2004 13:22:32 GMT

Although I've tried several times before to create one of these "blogs," I never really saw a need until now. I didn't see the point of detailing my every movement for the general public to read; after all, my life is fairly boring. But yesterday, I decided that instead of keeping my daily journal and log of my interaction with the homeless on paper, or even as a text file on my computer, if I write and post it online, people will be able to walk with me in this very long journey. They will be able to see, through my descriptions, the homeless people that I see; the burnt out buildings they're living in; the rats and spiders that live with them. They'll be able to hear my anger when I meet someone who has been living out of a dumpster for the past 3 days. This is the reason for this journal; so you can see what I see. In addition, this first entry will serve as my mission statement, my goal, and an explanation of why I do what I do.

I strongly encourage anyone, whether they know me or not, to please post comments or feedback or questions or ANYTHING as a response to this. My goal in working with the homeless is nothing short of revolution; I have recently come to realize that the system as regards our growing homeless population is broken, and badly broken. Homeless shelters focus too much on simply giving homeless people food and a bed for the night and nothing else. There is little to no hope that they can ever get off the street for good. I equate this 'solution' to the so-called solution of orphanages in the 1930's. It did not solve the problem- it was only a containment solution. Likewise, homeless shelters encourage further dependency on shelters in the future. The few shelter-residential programs that exist are not big enough, and focus mainly on women and children; the thousands and thousands of men who are homeless are expected to pull themselves up off the street by sheer willpower, overcoming obstacles such as alcoholism, drug abuse, and mental problems on their own. In this journal, I will explain exactly how the system currently works and how it is irreparably broken; riddled with hypocrisy in the guise of charity. I don't believe it's conscious hypocrisy; we all like to think we are helping when we donate to a well known charitable organization. But when that organization is forced to operate in a way that doesn't provide a permanent solution to the problem- it is a joke to expect to accomplish social change that way.

I, here and now, would like to state that I refuse to give up. I refuse to accept the so-called facts which tell me nothing can be done because there are simply too many homeless people and not enough shelters; I REFUSE TO WALK AWAY. I make this statement for the times in which I am tempted, tired, cold and depressed. I make this statement so I can reread it in those times and gather courage to go on.

The things I have seen in the past year have made me physically sick at times. After seeing people sleeping next to and in piles of garbage, in and around human waste and filth, I have been tempted to crawl back into my comfortable home, surrounded with a refridgerator (and an automatic icemaker, even). I've been tempted to have a hot meal and forget that some people do not even have the luxury of mopping a floor or cleaning a toilet because they don't have any to clean. It's a huge temptation, but I am tired of living in comfortable luxury while attempting to ignore the twinges of my conscience.

Part of my journal's goal is to help people realize that homelessness could happen to anyone. Even you- yes, YOU, whoever you are, reading this. I'm assuming that because you're reading this, you have access to the internet; you may not be a millionare, but you have a roof over your head. Your concerns for the moment are not those of immediate survival. So I ask that for the moment, at least, you pull yourself out of this mindset and think about how many steps remain between you and homelessness. As an experiment.

Step 1, I suppose most people would agree, is your job. Now suppose you lost it, became permanently disabled, or this happened to someone you are dependant on (your parents, your spouse, etc.) You would appeal to the people in Step 2.
Step 2 is your relatives and friends. How long do would they support you, with no income? It varies from person to person. Some people have no Step 2- they have no relatives or friends with a basement and the kindness to let a friend stay there. So they must fall back on Step 3.
Step 3 is Social Services and the government. This step can almost be discounted, it's so shaky and unstable. You cannot live on unemployment compensation; it is only a booster to get you through until your next job. Without some substantial savings or a relative or friend, you would quickly run out of options.

The homeless are simply people whose saftey net has failed them when a crisis came. And that could happen to anyone, in any circumstances; a disability, a loss of job, etc, and even those with college educations and wealthy families can and do end up on the street. I have seen it happen.

Until a year ago, I was unaware of the fact that within less than 5 miles of where I live, homeless people pitch makeshift tents made of a couple tarps and sleep beneath them in freezing cold temperatures. How could I not know that until just 12 months ago? Was I willingly blind? How could I not know that men dying of cancer and pregnant women are crawling beneath a few newspapers to spend the night? This is not a third world country. This is America. I didn't understand....

These were the questions that hit me in the face and left me dazed, breathless, a year ago. I couldn't understand. I also admit that I ran from the truth for awhile. I didn't want to face the scope of the problem. Even after a year of advocacy, I still realize that in some ways I am still blind. As I work with the homeless more and more, and actually listen to them, watch them, help them, I learn exactly why the problem is so huge and why shelters don't make a real difference. In this journal, I will attempt to let homeless people speak for themselves, in their own words. I will introduce you to them; describe their living areas and the problems they face.

Whatis perhaps most discouraging in all of this is the many people I come across who are NOT homeless, but are content to remain willingly blind. Or rather, I think, they cannot see because their eyes have not yet been opened.

I think the biggest reason for that blindness may be because homeless people are, by definition, homeless- and unable to advocate for themselves. Therefore, the most interaction many people have with them is to see them holding up signs on street corners- "will work for food" or "please help support a Veteran." Most people drive on by, unwilling to give food or money because it is simply easier to drive on by, comforting yourself with an excuse or two. I know these excuses well, because I used to give them to myself whenever I saw a homeless person. I did this until one cold December night last year, when life stripped my pretensions from my eyes and showed me what it is really like, to live on the street. I will eventually write the story of that night up, in this journal; how something, someone, took my hand and showed me what I was afraid to see.

Here are a few lies I used to tell myself, only a year ago, when I saw a homeless person begging.

"But if I give him money, he'll only go spend it on alcohol or drugs."
"I didn't have any food in my car to give him, but if I had, I would have."
"I was late for an appointment and couldn't stop."
"I was afraid he would rob or hurt me."

In this journal, I will address and give answers to all of these excuses. But if you are going to read on, understand this: I do not sugarcoat the truth. It's often painful to hear or see the truth, and if you want to read what I do and what I see, you must be prepared for this. That involves being willing to let go of comfortable excuses. The truth is never easy; it comes at a price. I strongly believe it is worth that price, but I am fully aware of the fact that some people do not agree.

I realize that if you attempt to change the world you must be, by definition, unrealistic. Or at least, willing to attempt unrealistic things. But all revolution starts with a seed, a desire in the mind of an individual. Whether it grows and bears fruit, that's another matter.

I intend to do everything in my power to help it grow.