Today I learned how to argue against the use of an owner's tools to dismantle his own house.
Today I learned how the name "The Second Great Awakening" is misleading as it was only a continuation of the first.
Today I learned how Hawthorne was the only writer willing to risk his reputation to create strong female characters—the only to come out of the Romantic period.
Today I walked into my apartment building after an insightful day of classes and I found a homeless man sitting on the stairs, minding his own business, drinking wine out of a bottle.
I responded with laughter, or actually more of a chuckle. "How odd" I thought, "to find a homeless man sitting here on my steps." Of course I then felt guilty for finding the situation humorous. I barely made it home ok; I was shivering and freezing and glad to be in the warmth of my building. I'm sure, yes I am, that he felt the same when he found a building with a door ajar. A building where he can sit and drink away the problems and worries that a homeless man has and feels: "Where will my next meal come from?" "Where will I sleep tonight?" "Will I die in my sleep from the cold?"
I stood there at the bottom of the steps with a look of curiosity on my face as I assessed my emotions and processed my guilt. Up I climbed, weary of the possible reactions this stranger might have. "Hello." I said as I approached him. He responded with a small wave, one full of fear and shame, those emotions being mirrored in his desensitized eyes that dared not make direct eye contact with me. He was afraid of me. Me: able bodied, latin, middle class, male, student. I suddenly realized the labels he used to name me, whether he knew it or not. It's easy as a minority to label those better off then we—white, middle class, heterosexual--but then find it so easy to forget, we too are oppressers to someone else. Why would he fear me? This hurt me to the very core. There was a stranger in my building, and it was him that feared me. I had the power to cast him back into the cold. To force him to leave this, his momentary vacation from the bitter cold of the outside.
Once inside my apartment, I debated taking him a sandwich and an extra sweater—I knew his time in my building would be short lived. I texted my roommate out of surprise and told another friend via instant messenger. Both of them responded with warnings: "Stab him!!!" "Call the police!"
But why? He was no harm to anyone. I was told I would be responsible if anything bad happened. But aren't I already responsible? How easy it is to pass off blame to those who are oppressed. "That homeless man shouldn't have come into your apartment building." But he was only responding to the most primitive of instincts; he was only looking for shelter, for a room of one's own. And I am here, being told that I have to take that away from him, even if he only has it temporarily. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I had so little growing up. And here was a man who had even less than I did at my worst. Pathetic is what I felt. I felt pathetic. How ironic. Here I am sitting in my apartment arguing with my friend, trying to make him see the generosities fate has offered me, and how because of these generosities it is up to me and others like me to make up for the lack of privileges others are born with. "There are people in place to deal with these sorts of things" I'm told.
How very American.
We institutionalize a problem and wipe our hands free of responsibility and guilt. "Let the police deal with it." And so the police can come and take him away and drop him off at a shelter, where he will be given an uncaring hand of generosity with an expiration. He will be forced to leave as soon as someone else comes along needing his spot, and there's a line outside. "You just have to be more careful" I'm told. Yes, more careful. And so I will wait for my bullet proof vest in the mail before worrying about what will become of this man. I will offer my assistance as long as, and only if, I am safely seated behind a barrier of bullet proof glass. How intimate is this compassion we have for each other! I'm embarrassed to say I have so much and give so little. Embarrassed indeed.
The frog must be kissed before he turns into a prince. When will the rest of the world understand this? And better yet, who will lay their lips on his when we finally do?
Embarrassed Indeed.
-T
