Fundamental Quiet

Poor people move in quiet ways that spotlights need, edgy hopelessness and resignation.

I've noticed it again and again.  The struggle to overcome the moment robs folks of voice, agency and hope.  Poverty poses an existential threat to those forced to battle it. 

Few choices emerge beyond daily struggle.  The struggle can seem crushing, sapping energy as well as voice from life after life. 

But poor folks walk on with rare exceptions in the quiet.  Loud voices represent a minority report.  Those determined to overcome, to persevere, save their energy by retreating into almost silent places.  The few boisterous voices signal at least the edges of mental illness and its extreme despair. 

Our large courtyard at the Opportunity Center serves as a laboratory for the study of quiet.  People sit and rest.  Or, they walk about without a sound.  Poverty produces voiceless life. 

Yet, I've noted  many times that when a person feels respected, the desire for conversation returns. Usually the words are found to tell a  personal story, as if even the appearance of appreciation unlocks a room for evaluating options and life once more. 

Still, the volume tends toward the lower settings, but voice can be rediscovered if others seek to hear and to learn out of basic respect for a fellow traveler. 

The silence can lead to deeper depression, unless someone comes seeking to hear the voices of others, extremely important voices. 

When respect interrupts the silence, hope returns. 

How do we take conversation to scale? 

Building spaces for cultivating respect inevitably leads to breaking the hard silence. 

Discussing race. . .with the gloves off!

Things happen at "the Porch" there at the corner of Malcolm X and Dawson.

Last Thursday I was running late, but made it to my normal sitting place about 2:15 p.m., a quarter hour late.

Seated on the steps were two men, one a friend, one a stranger.

Art, my friend, happens to be African American.

The newcomer, Mr. Ortega, Hispanic.

As I took my seat a bit behind the gents, I realized that I had stepped into a lively conversation.

Art, who used to work/volunteer at the Austin Street Shelter, defended himself for his decision last year to "kick Mr. Ortega out" of the facility for a indiscretion in behavior.

The conversation seemed to be heating up just as I sat down.

In just a few moments Mr. Ortega turned his anger my direction.  After overhearing a brief conversation I had with two other men who passed by, picked up a bottle of water and engaged me in a conversation about the possibility of entering some of our permanent housing; Mr. Ortega lashed out at me.

"And, what the ______ are you doing out here?"  he asked indignantly.  "You can't do nothing.  You're giving these guys false hope. Your water don't mean nothing!"

"Well, I need more housing units for sure, but you all deserve much better than living in a shelter," I tried to explain.

"I'm a Mexican, man!" he exclaimed, now shouting at me.  "I don't need none of your ________  _________ help!  I stand on my own feet and I don't need nothing you got!" he dismissed me.

"You might be surprised," I quipped with a smile.

"Yeah, you don't understand, Ortega," Art injected in my defense.

"All you White guys are alike," he played the race card with defiance. "You're afraid of the blacks and you 'kiss up' to them and give them whatever they want."  

At this point Art and I both laughed.

This conversation went on for almost two hours.

We argued.

We reached momentary agreements.

A couple of times we almost arrived at conciliation and mutual appreciation.

When it was time for me to leave, Mr. Ortega called out to me, "Don't be afraid to come back!"

"Oh, I won't be afraid and I'll be back.  We need to keep talking."

As I've thought about this conversation since Thursday, it has become clear to me that three men, one black, one brown and one white engaged in an honest conversation, expressed deep differences of opinion and perspective, but parted amicably with the notion of meeting again.

I'm not sure but we may have stumbled upon a pathway to community reconciliation.  The secret is found in conversation, no matter how hard, rough or challenging.  We'll stay at it.

A new "Gathering"

Following our recently completed registry project as a part of the national 100,000 Homes Campaign, I began thinking about what my on-going response should be to what I observed/experienced among some of the most "shelter resistant" of our neighbors. 

As I mulled my question over, an image began to emerge.  I know that credit for my new idea must go in part to my friend in Waco, Texas, Jimmy Dorrell.  This year marks the 20th anniversary for "Church Under the Bridge."  Jimmy's congregation is exactly what it sounds like:  his church meets under the I-35 freeway that runs through his town. 

My time with the registry project took me under a stretch of the I-45 overpass near Downtown Dallas.  What came to me was a vision of a new gathering of folks in or near that same location.  My idea was to simply show up for a couple of hours each week at the same time, at the same place.  There would be no agenda.  The commitment would be to meet folks, to listen to their ideas/struggles/reports and to see where a growing relationship might lead us all. 

So, last Wednesday we began.  We showed up with ice cold bottled water and time marked out to spend on and with whoever crossed the common space. 

It turned out that the location was just across the street from the location of our new Opportunity Center at Malcolm X and I-30.  We discovered a "corridor" of sorts running from the Austin Street Centre back under the overpasses of the highway system that forms a latticework of concrete and rushing vehicles just above what is "home" for far too many people. 

What follows are simple notes I entered in my journal after the first two hours spent at this forgotten spot in our city:

• Movement among the trees on the west end of the property where a plan is working to build 50 single-family homes for the poorest homeless persons among us. . .
• A woman far away in the bushes likely relieving herself thanks to the absence of any accessible rest room facilities. . .
• During the first few minutes, provided water for half-a-dozen folks (Ben, my friend from MetroCare had advised that we bring water!)  "A cup of cold water given in my name" came to mind; now I realize that those words were not intended to be literary, but simply practical for the poor.
• Dallas police stopped by to check out what we were up to. . .had pleasant visit before watching squad car equipped with bull horn roust people out and away from a fence row where they were trying to enjoy a fast food meal. . ."Keep on moving!" was the order. . .
• . . . "Where will we eat?" is a far different question for these people than for me and my friends!
• A man and a woman with a dog on a bright pink leash walked by and accepted the offer of water; the dog wore a shirt!
• Cocaine sales transpire on far side of the property. . .prostitutes walked the area. . .
• Amazing number of private jets flew over as we talked to the homeless--bright white, trimmed in mainly blue; speeding toward or away from Love Field, coming or going on some adventure or another, oblivious to what played out below.
• Moved up to an old, abandoned house by the one business in this part of town, an old filling station.  Visited with several people who sat on the porch, passing out more water.
• Joe, just out of prison two days; still wearing prison shoes and clothes, needing to get to family in Ft. Worth. . .asking for a hug. . .
• Holy week. . .
• Ran into Jeff, an old friend from East Dallas and the Food Pantry--asked about lots of people we both knew--big cities can be broken down into very small segments, neighborhoods, friendships. . .
• Talked to several people about Opportunity Center and work--one man called me the next day to follow up, may land a job on the construction site. . . wanted "reference". . .
• Every time I've been to this corner long enough to have a conversation, every time, the subject of "finding a job" comes up. . .
• Some people chose not to engage. . .
• Lots of folks were clean, "together" and ordinary, if anyone can be simply that. . .

Next week:  same place, Thursday afternoon from 2:00-4:00 p.m. No agenda.  Just hanging out for a visit. 

A new "Gathering" in S. Dallas/Fair Park.