Commentary by Greg Hertel: Homeless in Seattle

COMMENTARY BY GREG HERTEL

Columns

For most of February I have been living in Seattle taking classes at the Crawford Nautical School and staying with my oldest son in Edmonds. The school is down on the waterfront by the Coleman docks ferry terminal and my son's apartment is across the Snohomish county line on Aurora/Hwy. 99. This is a substantial commute every morning and it's during the heart of the rush so I looked for a way to avoid the traffic and came up with the idea of going early and doing my morning exercise walk along the waterfront before class started.

Monday, February 2, I head down Aurora. It's a just getting light and as I top the crest of the hill around 145th the city is spread out against a backlit Mt. Rainer. Steam wafts from the tall skyscrapers and Seattle looks every bit like the successful trade center it is.

This first commute, I miss my turn along the Alaskan Way viaduct and almost wind up in West Seattle before I can negotiate a turn around. My walk is shortened and I only go up the waterfront side of the street a short way. A few homeless panhandlers approached me but I waved them off and get on to class.

This is my first experience with panhandlers in a long time. I'm pretty conservative and feel that everyone should stand on his or her own two feet. Begging is a sign of moral weakness, etc. I worked hard to get what I have, usually two or three jobs at a time and I'm loath to give it up just because someone claims to be recently out of work and "needs money to feed family." My first thought is that standing on the street side is a damn poor place to look for work if you are serious about employment!

The next day, I had the commute figured out and arrived with plenty of time to walk. It was raining so I decided to travel under the viaduct to stay dry. It was noisy with the rhythmic slap of tires on the overhead expansion joints. Not a good place for a conversation but great for a solitary walk as the tires overhead sing a white noise with a petro mechanical beat and I am free to observe and think as I walk. I love old sections of cities; alleys and cobblestones. The dirty brick fronts of the buildings were haunted with the ghosts of sailors past standing in doors, wool watch caps pulled low against the Seattle mist.

As I came to Madison St. just opposite the ferry docks I stopped to check for traffic before crossing. I looked left and noted the overhead sidewalk that allows foot passengers to exit the ferry and avoid street level until they get to First Avenue. As I turn to look right, I'm stunned to see about 40 people sleeping on the sidewalk under the overhead walk way! They are all laid out in a neat order across the sidewalk with their belongings against the wall of the building at their head. Most are in sleeping bags and lying on sheets of cardboard. A few are simply wrapped in old blankets. It takes a while for what I'm seeing to sink in and as I stand there a long, white, stretch limousine drives silently by the row of sleepers. The contrast between the power and wealth represented by the limo and the row of silent sleepers is simply too much. All that they owned couldn't buy one day of the limo's time! I'm ambushed by powerful emotions that I can't understand and it brings sudden tears to my eyes. I have to turn away and the image stays vivid with me still.

As the weeks proceed, I try to understand the homeless phenomena by observing and talking to the people I meet under the viaduct and in Pioneer Square. Some are willing to talk. Some unwilling. A few are unable.

Some of the younger homeless are there by choice! Unwilling or unable to work in a job that has a boss, they choose to be part of societies underclass for the illusion of freedom of choice this gives them. Whoever gave them this value - and it was taught, not genetic - didn't do them any favors. They will be perpetually on the outside of society and the youngest are preyed upon by criminals and thrill seekers. Right now, they are healthy but even if they avoid addiction to alcohol and drugs, sleeping on the concrete for years will take its inevitable toll. There are few jobs for these unskilled and antisocial kids. Many are honest but petty crime pays well compared to drifting and they are quickly drawn into scams and schemes by the need for money. Add addiction and crime is the only thing that can buy the drugs that they will need.

A few are here due to circumstances beyond their control. Bad luck, a lost job, and a major illness that consumed all of their cash. They may leave at some point if they don't wind up with a bottle or a needle as a friend. If that happens, then they start the long, slow spiral down as first cash and possessions go. Then health and self-respect. Finally, life leaves after dementia accelerates the crash. It takes time though. The body is resilient and resists death long after dignity is gone. Once people have started down this path, I believe their chance of leaving the streets becomes very slim.

A few are crazy. These are the ones with a well-defined clear space around them in any crowd. They mutter to unseen companions and sometimes rage against the world. I blame Ken Kesey for this. Really! One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest was a powerful book and it conveyed a grim image of an authoritarian, corporate state personified in the Big Nurse at a state mental institution. But it was fiction!

The real inmates in these state institutions aren't just a bunch of fun loving guys who only need a fishing fieldtrip and a can of beer to face the world. Many of these homeless are profoundly unable to deal with the world but are cast out because there are no rooms left for them in shuttered state hospitals. Even if given a choice, some would choose not to go to a state home. If that's their decision then there is little the State authorities can do to make them go against their will unless they commit a crime or threaten people. After Cuckoo's Nest, public support for state hospitals waned. Patient's rights groups gained freedom even for those who freedom harmed. Finally, when budget cutters came looking for money to help balance state coffers, there was little support. The public was hostile or uncaring. The doctors, only "self-interested bureaucrats." And the patients, those who needed it most? They were mute.

After three weeks, I don't have many answers. The old ones I used to spout are far too shallow and glib to deal with the problems I saw. All is not hopeless however. There are some programs in the area and some of the homeless take advantage of them. I still won't give money to individual panhandlers though I did share my lunch and talk with them every day. Some are able bodied and don't deserve a handout but in the future I will be more supportive of social programs to help the profoundly impacted and will lobby my representatives to fund these programs. We are a powerful and rich society but while those who are needy are reduced to begging and sleeping on the streets, we cannot yet be a truly great one.

--Greg Hertel

news @sanjuanislander.com

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