Because We Could Be Them

“The future disappears into memory
With only a moment between.
Forever dwells in that moment,
Hope is what remains to be seen…”

—Rush, The Garden

We did our best to stay focused on our strategic planning, but the raucous laughter and marijuana smoke kept distracting us. The nightly homeless encampment outside city hall was bigger than ever and it had nearly blocked the entrance to the conference room where we met.

It was our planning retreat for the prevention of violence against women city commission. At one point an especially loud but indecipherable argument outside the door silenced us. One of our city advisors broke our silence.

"It's sad and ironic that only this wall separates us from where we could be. Many of us today are still only a paycheck away from being out there; we could be them."

I nodded and said, "I know. We're still crawling out of our last economic crater from what seems like a lifetime ago. But it was only a few years ago."

The painful memory of that distress welled in my throat like bile. What I didn't share is that we almost walked away from our home and our community back then. While I wasn't one of millions laid off from their jobs during the great recession -- one poor business decision by me, followed by a severely compromised income, and with two very young daughters in tow, we had to make some very difficult decisions.

Over 9 million people lost their homes in the U.S. during the great recession. In the development of 15 homes where we bought in 2006 near the height of the housing bubble, one-third either went through a short sale or foreclosed. At the time we could afford it until we nearly couldn't, and so we weighed our options on what to do next: either stick it out and work on keeping the house, or walk away and move to the midwest to be close to extended family. We didn't qualify for any of the public assistance plans at the time and our mortgage lender would not work with us at all. Even our accountant recommended we walk from the house, to get out and start over. Many economists echoed that sentiment for those of us underwater at the time.

But in the end, we never missed a mortgage payment, and we were never late with a payment. The unrelenting stress at the time of keeping a roof over my family's head motivated me to hustle, hustle and hustle some more. Both my wife and I hustled. Apocalyptic visions of living on the street were enough to keep us inspired to stay off it.

Of course homelessness is much more complex than that and a recent Santa Cruz City Council subcommittee analysis highlights just how complex it gets on a local level. And although homelessness is down today overall where we live, we're still living in a community with 60 percent of the homeless population living unsheltered within the city limits. Also, over half have been homeless for a year or more and also suffer from one or more disabling conditions like substance abuse, psychiatric conditions, physical disabilities and more. Sadly one in three have been in jail within the past year as well. Then there's the harsh reality for too many homeless is that there is a potential violence and sexual abuse that comes from living on the street.

The noise quieted a bit outside and we continued with our commission meeting. Afterwards we went went home and went on with our lives. The city of Santa Cruz has since converted the public spaces around City Hall from an open-access “park” to more restrictive office grounds, citing a purported escalation of homeless use and aggression. Which has certainly been the case. But everyday we witness the plight of what any of us could become at any time. We empathize and count on the fact that assistance from local organizations and countless volunteers, family and friends can and will help, along with sound public policy empowering safety nets from all levels of government that includes a continuous investment in public safety.

And the argument that dismantling most business and financial regulations today will free up the economy to keep us all employed, our savings intact and safe from being decimated by the greed of a few, and ultimately to keep us all off the streets, is simply ludicrous and ignorant.

Again, it's really complex and I don't know what the answers are. I only know that ignoring it, chastising it or criminalizing it won't solve the long-term homeless problem.

Because we could be them. And then what?

To Co-exist in the Unforgiving Surf

“I think the ocean has too many waves
There’s gotta be a way to make it behave
The world would run better
If it was run our way…” 

—KONGOS, The World Would Run Better

They huddled together on the edge of the lazy river. They didn't look scared, just hesitant, as if they were waiting in the wrong line and weren't sure where to go next. There were two younger girls, teenagers, and an older woman I assumed was their mother, all wearing colorful one-piece bathing suits, their puffy pale skin smeared white with sunscreen. The mother's face brightened as if she remembered where she was and separated from her daughters. She dipped her toe in the river, smiling a big winning smile.

"What are you doing?" one of the younger girls called out to the older woman.

At this point I floated calmly in the river on my pink donut floaty, courtesy of another hotel guest who was leaving the next day. He wanted another family to have fun with the two floaties they'd been using and didn't want to take home. We gladly took them.

My wife basked in the sun on a nearby lounge chair. Our two girls jumped and splashed in the pool, one of a few the lazy river flowed throughout the resort. Not too far away a sign on the side of a bridge read: All hotel guests must wear a wristband in pool areas.

I noticed the two teenage girls and their mother didn't have wristbands, but I didn't worry about it. Other guests were pointing it out every chance they could. I was too relaxed in my floaty to care, and then the mother said something I couldn't shake.

"For as much as I paid for our breakfast at this place, I'm going swimming."

She swam around for only a minute, pulled her heavy body out of the water and left with her two girls, both with expressions of embarrassed surprise. There it is, I thought. It wasn't that I cared she went swimming without being a hotel guest. I've "jumped the pool fence" a few times in my life. It was the idea that she was owed the pleasure. That she was due. That she was entitled to something else because for whatever reason she couldn't have otherwise due to screwed economic circumstance. And she was clear with her children that it was okay to feel this way.

The next day as we lounged in our small covered cabana, that we paid for, and which sounds a lot more glamorous than it is, another group of non-guests swam by and one of the guys said, "Look at those fancy celebrities."

Wow. And we even packed our own drinks and snacks to save money. At that moment I realized how apologetic I had been about our summer family vacation, still sensitive of surviving the great recession. Prefacing the family fun with the fact that I wove together credit card miles and points to make the vacation magic. Feeling almost guilty about investing in fun and family memories.

Almost, but not quite. I shouldn't feel that way, I know. We work hard to have the little we have, but we weren't due. We weren't owed. We weren't entitled to it because. We made the vacation happen because we could. Nothing more. 

Many of us can be and have been victims of circumstance. Getting the shaft and the short end of the stick due to financial forces beyond our immediate control. But it shouldn't mean we have a right to take because of it. This behavior has diminishing returns, and when it's played out again and again, and it is, we perpetuate the painful socioeconomic disparities that can and do lead to greater conflict. 

It's like witnessing a century-old sea turtle swimming alone in the shallows of a crowded beach. We can either swallow it whole like a monster, or learn to co-exist in the unforgiving surf.