In a recent interview with Newsweek, Anglican Bishop N.T. Wright of Durham, former professor at Cambridge, McGill and Oxford Universities and author of numerous books including his newest publication Surprised by Hope, argues that a large gap between the upper-middle and lower classes allows for a division in prioritizing social issues among those classes. In response to a question regarding the topics of gay unions and clergy that are expected to arise at the upcoming Lambeth meeting, Wright gives an uncomfortably truthful and resounding answer:
“I wish we could prioritize so that we were actually talking about issues of global justice…there’s something very bizarre about the rich arguing about sex while the poor are clamoring for justice.”
In an age of innovation, globalization, and agathism, have we still not found the gumption to get our hands dirty and build the bridge between the gaps ourselves? Why aren’t the self-actualizers reaching down to the bottom of the pyramid to provide for those unmet “deficiency needs”?
On Sunday afternoon I went to a meeting for H.E.L.L.O. (Homeless Experts Living Life’s Obstacles, an organization sponsored by The Night Ministry and the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless) at the Unitarian Church of Evanston to hear homeless youths give testament to the life cards they’ve been dealt. Three young folks were seated in front of a group of 15 or so eager listeners, each telling of their homeless experiences with wisdom beyond their years, and taking questions from an astonished audience. I talked and hung out with them for a couple of hours afterward, and all the while I couldn’t shake Wright’s staggering statement out of my head “… clamoring for justice…”
D, a 20-something man with a quick-wit and sly smile, is enrolled in culinary classes and hopes to start his own business someday. Though he was reserved when it came to spilling the beans about his past, he didn’t hesitate to dish out advice from lessons learned.
Lauren: What’s the most difficult thing about being homeless?
D: The most frustrating thing besides being on the street is finding a job. And respect. Respect is about how you treat people. If I have a big mansion next door, and all ya’ll are hungry, how can I just sit there and watch? Respect is like just person to person. If ya’ll are hungry, I’m gonna find someone to cook for you.
L: You don’t get respect?
D: Nah, man. You have to see where the other person’s coming from. You gotta step out of yourself.
L: So you’re taking classes and trying to get a job - why is it so hard to pull yourself up by your bootstraps?
D: The government sets us up to fail. The rich stay rich, and the poor stay poor. You gotta make your own way. I’m making my own way and waiting on my blessing to come.
On the warm concrete steps outside of the church, “Rabbit,” a 24 year-old artist and poet, with cigarette in hand, opened up about his tumultuous past with incidents of rape, abuse and drug use.
Lauren: What’s your story, Rabbit? How did the street become your home?
Rabbit: When I was 13 years-old, I had a mentor at the Art Institute, and one day I saw the Thanksgiving parade going by. I went behind the alley at the Institute to get a better look, but a man put a gun to my head, pulled my pants down and raped me. I was bleeding, and a woman saw me and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I just told her I needed to go home.
L: What did you parents say? Did you tell them?
R: My mom saw the blood and thought I got into a fight, but I confided in my step dad which was a mistake. He told me I shouldn’t be gay, and he put me out on the streets selling drugs for him. When my mom found out I was selling, she kicked me out of the house.
L: Then what did you do?
R: I got heavy into acid, coke, reefers. They say weed is the gateway drug, and it is. I got caught though.
L: How did you get clean?
R: I just did. I knew people who were clean, like a support group. I just quit. Now I want to go to college for art.
L: What’s one piece of advice you’d give to your generation?
R: Family is key. Even though you don’t have a real family, people on the streets can be your family.
D: I’m homeless, and it’s ugly. Don’t do drugs, and don’t give up. Just step out of the box.
Spending the afternoon on those steps left me with tear-filled eyes and with more questions than answers. These young people, making conscious efforts to improve their situations, to give back to the community that has hurt them, and without placing blame on anyone, are continuously being dealt a bad hand. They are “clamoring” for justice -- and Rabbit's poetic pen puts it into perspective.
“A Waterless Soul” by Rabbit
I think about you
All the time
With this waterless soul of mine
I think about you leaving me
In this cold night of October
Your love keeps pulling me down like an anchor
Deeper and deeper
In the cold sea I go
Until my soul can’t feel any more
Pain from you and anyone else
Weightless my mind goes in shock
Thinking of you
Is like a boat stuck in the middle of the sea
No where to turn
My arms wanting to hold you again
But farther and farther you go
Away from shore
I’m sinking
Sinking
Sinking
Throw me a lifeline of love
Or I will sink in a waterless soul again
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Lauren Fleming
Lauren Fleming was born and raised in rural east Texas and now calls Chicago home. She is a graduate of the University of Texas at Tyler with a Bachelor of Science degree in Journalism and works full-time in Illinois politics for a state official. She has volunteered with the Homeless Coalition, served in AmeriCorps National Service, has tutored at-risk youth and coached youth basketball. She has a heart for the homeless and the hurting and works alongside various organizations to help eradicate social injustices. More
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