To Whom it May Concern

Dear Intellectual,

Tonight I write to you from the solitude of an abandoned house, homeless for a night in order to gain perspective; to exit my comfort
zone and walk in beaten, lonely shoes.
Academic theory on the subject of poverty often falls short of genuine
understanding and speculation on these issues is inevitably filtered
through the lens of socio-economic stability, yielding an incomplete



viewpoint from which we conduct research that is extremely limited.



The homeless are usually discussed in terms of physical needs:



Enough to eat?... A place to sleep?... A little money?... But living this



life has opened my eyes to the more abstract difficulties faced by



those in need.



After only a day on the street, I have begun to see poverty as a glass



prison from which those afflicted are forced to watch the rest of



society enjoy all the comforts of abundance. Even with basic needs



met, this “in your face” stratification stings the soul.

{/left}{/justify}

Assistance programs make it possible to get by from day to day in



Durango but the vast social divide is implied by the sight of families



eating expensive dinners on the warm side of windows or young



people drinking in excess. It's enough to remind anyone left on the



outside just where they stand.



These drinkers and diners - clearly living in abundance - pass us on



the street and pretend not to hear when we ask for change. I can see that



this contradiction between stability and generosity is hard to swallow



and once digested it's enough to make you sick. We walk the streets



feeling worthless and undeserving without purpose.



Each day without agenda drops into a bucket and leaks out through a



hole in the bottom never accumulating or amounting to much of



anything. Unfortunately, “fixing the hole” is an expensive and



complex problem mired by the unyielding gauntlet of bureaucracy.



In addition to a lack of options many on the streets suffer from a



debilitating, broken emotional state which drastically affects the



ability to act deliberately by assaulting one's sense of pride,



motivation and confidence. Our community perceptions of poverty



create the walls of the world in which homeless people live.



Anthropology defines landscape as the meeting place of culture and



ecology. Our human impact on the environment has created an



atmosphere governed not only by nature but also by cultural norms



but in order to survive, homeless individuals must often break these



rules. My first lesson in life on the street involved the abandonment of



pride.



We were panhandling for change outside Wal-Mart trying to come up



with two dollars so we could ride the bus back into town. I had to



swallow hard every time I spoke the words, “can you spare some



change?” and I could feel the disapproval of those who kept walking,



obviously appalled by our lack of respect for their hard-earned cash.



My companion was unfazed by people's reactions. He shamelessly



petitioned passersby for bus fare until we had it, along with an extra



dollar for coffee. My friend and I sat sharing a warm drink and



talking as we waited for the bus.



“You have to swallow your pride to live like this”, he said.



“That's one of the first things you learn”.



I thought about this as we sat in the coffee shop, both grateful for the



simple warmth of being inside. Indeed, it was pride which made it



hard to ask for help, but what was it that allowed decent people to



ignore us? Surly it was more than just greed; we weren't asking for



much. Ironically, it seems the very lack of pride required to beg for



change was the quality which designated us as undeserving “others”.



In the absence of alternatives, pride is a barrier to progress but this



self-sustaining lack of pride seemed to create an impenetrable ceiling



of self-confidence wherein our worth was defined by the perceptions



of those around us. The subtle condescension of the surrounding



community is part of a vicious cycle, perpetuated by people's



indifference. Perhaps genuine acceptance is even more important



than food, shelter or money. Friendship and love foster pride and



rekindle confidence. Both are prerequisites for motivation, which is



the currency of action. The strength of the body depends heavily on



the state of the mind and often companionship is the bandage needed



to heal an emotionally broken soul, producing a healthy attitude



which may blossom into confident action. Unfortunately



companionship cannot be panhandled, it must be given.



There is a loose sense of community among the homeless in Durango



but most keep to themselves. My guide to life on the street is no



exception. He is a decent young man with no serious addiction or



ailments and describes himself as an unfortunate traveler, down on



his luck. He is an artist, a writer and a musician. After several years



in the Navy, he lost everything, “chasing a skirt across the country”,



and eventually returned home to Farmington. His father died shortly



thereafter and his mother eventually remarried a man, much less



welcoming. Recently he ventured home briefly and retrieved the



identification needed to start paperwork for the G.I. Bill. He returned



with a copy of his birth certificate but when I asked if he had stayed



with his family he just looked at the ground and said “No”. He is truly



alone in a world which seems to have moved on yet despite living so



hard, my friend maintains a remarkably good attitude.



“It’s not easy”, he says.



“Being lonely is the hardest part.”



It's true; even after just one night on the street, I've gained a sense of



what it feels like to live in the landscape of poverty and it is lonely. At



the end of the day it's not my empty stomach that's got me down but



rather the distance between myself and others - even in the same



room - that sits heavy in my chest. I feel like Colonel Aurilliano



Buendia inside his ten-foot circle of solitude.





Dear Lover,

Its cold in this old house and I've never been more greatful for your kind companionship. It hurts my heart to think of all the people sleeping outside tonight who will never know the sanctuary of returning to warm, loving arms. It's scary out here and your love is a warm glow that I will always run back to. Life and love seem so fragile and precious from the cold, dirty floor of this abandoned house.





If she was the tree tops, I would learn to fly. If she was the ocean floor,



I would hold my breath to be with her and if she was leaving, I'd chase



the bus till' my feet fell off.



Love and solitude are two sides to a sharp knife; a fine line between



the highest high and the lowest low. Its warmth can inspire us to



greatness but we often stumble in its wake. Whether romantic or that



of a friend, love is a powerful commodity which cannot be bought or



sold yet costs nothing. It is exchanged through warm smiles and



random acts of kindness. Love carries more capacity for change than



any number of dollar bills but the solitude of its absence can be



paralyzing.



I believe solitude is the most common denominator of



homelessness. Living completely alone without family or friends is



like walking a tight rope without a safety net, and one wrong move can



send a person plummeting to the ground. Some survive the impact



but it is a long, steep climb back to stability and there is little sympathy



for the fallen. The social perception of poverty seems to be defined by



the way those in need rebound from hardship. They are inevitably



viewed as “deserving” or “undeserving”, and unfortunately those



deemed unworthy of assistance are often those who need it most.



Forming real relationships with people in need is a way to create a



context for compassion and even a small support network can make a



significant difference in someone’s life. Friendship is free and



represents a potent form of companionship which holds the power to



transform despair into hope and inspire action in place of apathy.











Dear Durango,





Please take a moment to count your blessings.



We live well, in a place where our actions are largely defined by the



pursuit of happiness instead of a daily struggle to survive. We work



hard, but there are few among us who have acquired the comfort and



abundance of “normal life” completely on our own. Most of us owe at



least the foundations of our success to someone who once cared for



us, even if only once. We are proud people and many of us feel



entitled to full credit for our survival but realistically, who here has



never stumbled, screwed-up, fallen down or been knocked off only to



land safely in the arms (or on the couch) of a friend? Our social



networks may have been commodified in order to sell advertisements



and entertain our work days, but they are also a lifeline for those in



need and their absence can translate to a life-sentence of poverty.



Imagine an existence where even your most desperate “posts” were



ignored and no one “liked” anything about you. With pages and pages



of faces and friends at the touch of a button, I'm worried that many of



us have forgotten what solitude is.



I was reminded two years ago after missing a flight home from



Mexico City. I had spent my last ten pesos on the metro to the airport



and when the airline attendant told me I was too late, I asked her



what I should do. She informed me that I would have to buy another



ticket and when I told her that I had no money, she gave me a great



little piece of advice:



“Get a job”, she said.



I laughed at first but my situation was not funny. Without any pesos, I



couldn't even make a phone call. I considered stealing a phone card



but the thought of jail in Mexico City sent a nasty chill down my



spine. Out of options but still too proud to beg, I removed a beautiful



turquoise-inlayed necklace (a souvenir from my trip) and started



trying to sell it right there in the airport. No one was interested and



after two hours I was on the verge of tears. It was getting dark and I



was facing a night alone on the streets of the largest city in the



western hemisphere.



Just a I was about to give up and leave, (with absolutely no idea



where to go) a tall, blonde-haired man in a denim jacket and matching



blue jeans walked over and inquired about my situation. With great



humility, I explained that I was a student, stranded and out of cash. I



was surprised when he smiled at this and as he reached for his wallet,



he simply said, “I've been there”.



The man told me to keep my necklace because it suited me and then



gave me about 100 pesos; more than enough to call home. Later a



store clerk in the airport gift shop also gave me two phone cards for



the price of one. (I was lucky enough to have someone to call) I made



it back to American soil by the grace of a stranger and the love of my



family.



True solitude in the context of poverty means living completely alone



without the social networks needed to bounce back from catastrophe.



It is an all or nothing game without second chances and before we -as a



community- draw lines between the “deserving” and “undeserving”,



let us consider the grace bestowed on us individually whether we



deserve it or not. There is power and dignity in friendship and it



comes only with the obligation to occasionally care about someone as



if they were family (like my Mexico City hero in the Canadian



tuxedo).



It doesn't always require dollars or pesos, the currency of compassion



and acceptance are already in our hearts and hands. Are our comfort



zones so precious to us that we cannot open the door to those left



standing in the cold?