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HOW TO TALK TO A HOMELESS PERSON essays from on and off the streets 1
Speak Up Magazine gives a voice to the streets—it is written by and about those who have experienced homelessness. It is sold by vulnerably-housed street vendors who become micro-business owners, develop a passion for inspired entrepreneurship and get back on their feet financially.
If you’ve seen a copy of Speak Up before, you know this one in your hands is different from the usual. To learn more about it, visit speakupmag.org/howtotalk. 2
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CLOSE ENCOUNTERS (THREE KINDS) by Matt Shaw
As founder of Speak Up, I’ve had
hundreds of personal encounters with people who have been on the streets. Nearly every person who approaches us and reaches out to participate in the writing and entrepreneurship programs is gracious and hopeful. They defy the stereotypes and humble me with their warmth and depth. But there have been other times over the years where I’ve been the one reaching out—not because they are candidates for our program, but because it was the human thing to do. No interaction ever follows the same pattern or has the same outcome. Here are three of those moments (uncensored). John had a bulbous red nose, was short of stature and wore a coat in summertime. I picked him up on the outskirts of Uptown in Charlotte one August day where he’d been thumbing a ride. This was about seven years ago. I was a novice in helping people on the streets at the time. “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. You might be one of my best friends,” he said after we’d been riding together
for five minutes. We went to a local Harris Teeter so I could buy him a sandwich and some snacks for later. I didn’t know what else to do. He shared about how his mom, who’d been everything to him, had died. Then his wife died, and then he’d lost it and “went off the deep end.” He was articulate and soft spoken. He reeked of afternoon alcohol and carried shame in his voice. I asked if he had a place to stay or some sort of housing. “I have a little hole in the ground, but have to move though. Some thugs beat me and took everything.” He pointed to the bruises and recent cuts on his face. When it was time to let him out and he began to shed enormous tears, he said, “You’re my best friend. I have no one else.” As I pulled away from him, the tragedy and hopelessness of his situation was overwhelming and I was broken-hearted. I wept with him. A couple years later, one November morning as I drove into Charlotte, I spotted a funny figure in a ditch. I veered the car off the road and saw an old gaunt man wearing an enormous backpack and straddling an ancient mountain bike. His blue jeans were brown with filth; his 5
tattered country jacket was one of many layers keeping him warm. Most arresting were his eyes. Small and blue, I’d never seen anything like them. Imagine looking at the face of a dog that had been kicked and beaten its entire life. It crouches in wary fear, expectant of further abuse. David looked like an animal. I asked him what he was doing and what he needed. Nothing really, he said. He told me that he was HIV positive after having been assaulted in prison where he’d been incarcerated for violent crimes. He was dying, he said, and his racking cough sounded deep and diseased. He was just a wanderer, going up and down the east coast, looking for something. “Three years ago, I camped behind the Bi-Lo, and a man there was nice to me. That’s why I came back here. But they cut down all those trees and the camp is gone.” I heard his desperate need for love and community. He’d ridden his bike for hundreds of miles, hoping to find a guy he’d met in passing, whose name he couldn’t remember. Now he was just looking for a place to set up his tent and live quietly. His only hope was to not be disturbed or run off. He hoped for nothing more, just safety from further abuse. I said I could help him and asked him to meet me at a local Burger King that evening. During the day, I reached out to a church I knew that had a dozen acres of wooded property and asked if he could camp deep in their woods. No, they said, too much of a liability...which made sense. In the evening, he was waiting outside the fast food place. “Look what I got,” he said and showed me two crisp $20 bills. “A pastor gave this to me so I could stay in a motel. I’ve got more in my pocket, enough for a week.” He checked into a fleabag motel for a week, and that whole 6
time I was trying to find a place for him. The shelter was out of the question—he was afraid of racial attacks. Besides, he hadn’t been in the area long enough to qualify for the shelter anyway. I visited him for a few minutes every other day. Over the course of a week, his anxious face shifted, and he looked more relaxed, more peaceful, more human. One day, I stopped in to see him and he was gone. Filled with regret, I wished we could have done more. It was a cold and cloudy spring day. Rain was falling in torrents, and my wipers struggled to keep up. As I drove along I-77, a mile from my exit to home, I saw a hitchhiker. Although more experienced and wary now, I decided the least I could do was give him a lift to the McDonald’s less than a mile away. He climbed into the car, shaking off rain. He was thick and barrel chested, with ape-long arms and huge hands. His hair was close-cropped and he had two Nazi swastikas tattooed on his forehead. He smiled spookily at me, and I noticed his teeth were jagged and most were missing. For the next five minutes, as we piloted to McDonald’s, he told me about getting drunk and then beaten up at a black biker bar in West Virginia. He said he was on the warpath for revenge. He was racist and full of hate and murder. I wished I hadn’t stopped for him and wanted him out of the car, rain or not. But somehow, despite my revulsion, I tried to treat him with dignity. At McDonald’s, where I thought I could leave him, he refused to get out of the car and asked me to take him to that nearby fleabag motel for the night. As he asked for motel money, he punctuated his requests with thick-fingered pokes onto my upper thigh. At the first poke,
I recoiled away. At the second, I jumped out of the car. He stayed in. Rain falling upon me, I urged him to come into the restaurant. He refused and I realized that I had to buy my way out of it. Spending $32 to put him up for the night was the last thing I wanted to do. Actually, that’s not true. The last thing I wanted to do was to spend another minute in his presence. So I warily climbed back in and eased across the street to the motel. I led Blake to his motel room door and he invited me in for a moment. I declined. As I handed him the bag of fast food, I reached for his hand in an awkward clasp and he leaned in with his face turned toward mine, moving for a kiss. I jumped back and started moving away. At last glance, he wasn’t watching me, his attention was fixated on two young African American men standing outside their car. I veered into the manager’s office and warned the clerk, who was behind bulletproof glass, that their newest guest seemed violent and dangerous. She seemed unperturbed and smiled. “We’re used to it.” I knew that she had
a shotgun under the counter. Back in the car, I swallowed my revulsion—thankful to have escaped unharmed. Three interactions with different men whose different worldviews—self-loathing, desperation, hate—crippled them from seeing themselves and anyone else with optimism or hope. It’s for that reason, that emptiness within them, that I would stop again. They don’t necessarily deserve anyone’s love—hateful, self-destructive, histories of criminal activity— but then again, who does deserve it? The unrefined landscape of my own heart, selfish, unloving, hopeless, has been been renewed only by an external love that I cannot earn. The loving welcome, the cool drink of water for my soul, and the generous companionship offered to me by Jesus has never been deserved. I’ve been given a gift of favor and hope. It is a gift meant to multiply and affect other’s lives. Keeping it to myself would be the most criminal act of all.
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HOMELESS NOT HOPELESS by James Coltson
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What you assume or understand about homelessness may not be completely true. We would all benefit from leaving preconceived notions at the door and reading the following article with an open mind.
To truly begin to understand what
homelessness is, you must first understand that not everybody chooses to be homeless. There are thousands of homeless people in the area, and everyone’s reason and story is different. The most common reasons are the loss of a job, not making a living wage or not getting enough hours. Without a living wage, people can’t pay their bills and secure housing evaporates. It’s a series of rocks and hard places. The problem with being homeless is that it’s next to impossible to get back on your feet. There is always something that gets in the way and slows you down. It is this demoralizing pit that causes you to feel hopeless and not see any way out. You eventually get accustomed to living on the streets. It becomes your world,
and you do whatever is necessary to make it out there in that world. There are so many people who want to get off the streets, but they do not have the resources nor the support system to make the transition from the street to a home—and remain there. Yes, there are support services, but they can’t do it all. We shouldn’t expect them to either. What is required is a firm hand and a willing heart from each capable citizen to come alongside the homeless individuals and build relationships and connections. It’s hard work, but so are most things that are worth doing. What can we do to help those homeless who are willing to partner with others in order to escape that demoralizing pit? They are the ones who don’t want to be out on the streets and need immediate shelter, such as the families with children. When dealing with the homeless community, you need an understanding of the different types of individuals who are living on the streets. The basic classifications are:
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Mentally Unstable
Those who suffer from one or more mental illnesses and do not have the support system (friends and family) to come alongside them and assist them in holding down steady employment.
Addicts
Those who either use or deal drugs and develop mental illnesses as a result.
Uneducated/Untrained
Those who do not have the knowledge or skills to obtain and maintain gainful employment.
The Educated
Some have college degrees and are homeless because they can’t find employment in the areas they studied.
Lifers
Those who choose or are forced to make a lifestyle out of living on the streets. There
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are many reasons individuals may choose to make a lifestyle out of living on the streets. Unfortunately, a small proportion prefer not to work and would rather manipulate the system to secure the services they desire.
Physically Disabled
Those who cannot work because of illness or injury.
Convicts
Those who have made mistakes in the past and now have tarnished legal records. From the moment they step back into civilian life, they struggle to secure employment. If employment is secured, it is generally a lowend job which rarely amounts to a living wage. There are many things that need to change as a community, and we cannot ignore them if we are going to help the homeless. May the change begin with you.
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WE ARE ALL HOMELESS by Leah Brunett
For most Americans unacquainted with
homelessness, homeless people can stir up many emotions. Simply seeing a homeless person can quicken feelings of fear, distrust, concern, irritation, compassion, guilt, and confusion. Honestly, I think these mixed emotions are generated by the realization that homelessness is the result of a flawed culture. We often find ourselves feeling helpless to make a difference in the pervasive issue staring at us from every city. I have had the privilege of knowing some homeless folks over the years. Befriending the homeless has taught me so much about 12
the state of my own heart. Before making the effort to get to know people living on the streets, I didn’t know what to do about them, so I ignored them. However, ignoring them did not sit well with my soul. One day, I stepped outside of my comfort zone and headed to the streets with a church ministry to visit some homeless people. Once I met them, I fell in love with them. All of them. They were just like me with different backgrounds and stories. I went back to see them several times a week. I learned to stop judging them and trying to figure out if they were victims, scam artists or just ill-fated. My
purpose is not to figure them out. My purpose is treat them with respect and dignity. Do you ever find yourself wondering what to do if a homeless person asks for money? I would suggest that giving money is not the primary concern although it doesn’t hurt to give. The real issue is the state of our hearts when we interact with them. Do we see the person as a human being whom God loves just as much as the rest of us? Do we look them in the eye, greet them with a kind word and smile? Do we ask them their stories? Acknowledging their value and mere existence can move mountains. That is one thing of
which I am certain. In the New York Times bestselling book, Same Kind of Different as Me, the true story of an unlikely friendship transpires between a homeless man, Denver Moore, and an international art dealer, Ron Hall. The perspective of both men inspires the reader toward compassion for all people. Denver Moore explains, “The truth about it is, whether we is rich or poor or something in between, this earth ain’t no final restin’ place. So, in a way, we is all homeless –just workin’ our way toward home.”
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I WORK WITH THE HOMELESS by Harry Griffin
I’ve worked with the homeless for not quite
eight years now. I taught photography for a long time at the Urban Ministry Center before I reached out to Speak Up and then McCreesh Place. There are a good handful of organizations in Charlotte helping the homeless in a variety of ways and with a variety of philosophies. If you really want to know, it could be said that I have had very selfish reasons for helping as much as I have. My long-time interest in photography led me to teaching that subject at the Urban Ministry Center; and when that interest in photography evolved into a love of writing, I started to teach writing at all three of the above-mentioned non-profits. Is that self-serving? Sometimes I think so, because truthfully I get so much more out of it than anyone else does. At least, that is the way it feels to me most of the time. It can be hard to really and truly hear how those I help feel or if they think I have helped them. I hope they know I love them. I hope that they feel me there, just listening, just a presence. I guess that’s my advice to anyone who wants to know how to talk to someone who is homeless. Just hang out. Just be there. I also want to say that there are many things
you can do to be helpful. Do you want to teach photography? Or writing? Are you an actor? Do you have a skill set or interest? What do you want to do with your life? How can that translate into volunteer work? Reach out to these non-profits. They need your help. This has been so meaningful and important to me. Sharing my testimony as an artist, photographer, and writer with others in my life has been very good for me. All I ever want to do these days is to just write and be creative. And I can honestly say that I have learned such amazingly deep lessons from leading and teaching these classes and workshops. I would dare say that some of the deepest creative lessons I have learned have been from these scenarios and, of course, from the homeless people I insist I am helping. I am a better writer and artist for it. Do you need a reason? Do you need to be a passionate crusader with a huge heart? Do you need an endless supply of love or compassion for homeless people? I don’t think so. In fact, I know you don’t. My work with the homeless has not been about them, if you really want to know. It’s been about me! And it’s been one of the best, most amazing things I have ever experienced. I invite you to it today. Thank you. 15
by Nate Casey
It was a cold January night in Charlotte, North Carolina. North Tryon Street was well lit in neon by the bars and restaurants that walled off humanity from reality. Outside of the loud and ruckus watering holes and concert venues, piles of coats and tarps draped over silhouettes sitting on benches. I approached a figure whose head was covered by two hats and a hood. I may have passed by the man if it weren’t for the faint shivering that began to rattle the bench seat. Three friends walked alongside me carrying hot coffee and food.
As I walked up next to the man, I sat down on the ground. “Hello sir. May I offer you a cup of coffee?” As he nodded, the girl next to me poured a small styrofoam cup full of steam and black coffee. “My name is Nate. These are my friends. Do you mind if we join you for a little while?” He nodded again. Looking up from underneath his hat line, just enough room appeared to see his eyes as I asked, “What is your name?” During the next ten or fifteen minutes, we came to know Dan who was from a little town outside of Charlotte. It seemed that as the minutes passed, I found all of my friends sitting on the ground with me at the feet of Dan. We then continued down Tryon Street to pass out more coffee. As we walked, one of my friends asked me, “Nate, why did you sit down to talk to him? Why did you keep saying his name over and over again?” Those questions 16
made me take a step back and really evaluate how I go about street outreach, relationship building, and some of my life principles in general. I realized that four major things in my life have influenced me: my faith, my family, my friends, and my experiences. To the first question, “Nate, why did you sit down to talk to him,” I believe that you should treat a janitor the same way that you treat a CEO and vice versa. I believe that every life is more than a biological makeup of chance. I believe every life holds a story worth telling; and if it is worth telling, it is worth listening to. Life is precious and powerful. It is precise and it penetrates the apathy of the soul. To the second question, ”Why did you keep saying his name over and over again,” there is an interesting lesson that I have come to learn. About a year ago, I had coffee with a man whom I had gotten to know quite well. We had met weekly and talked about politics, religion, and life in general. During our friendship, I began to notice that he repeatedly used my name in conversation. Not thinking of it too much, I asked him, “Hey, what are some good things to keep in mind when talking to someone who is homeless?” “Call them by name!” he replied. He had been a nomad of sorts and had travelled around the country for years without a home. He moved from city to city staying
in different shelters or along the street. Over those seven years, no one had called him by his name. He continued, “Nate, what many people don’t understand is that an individual who lives on the street is hardly ever called by their name. Eventually, they disassociate themselves from their own identity. Being called “man,” “dude,” or “hey you,” begins to infiltrate your very being. Just as you gained identity from your name, you begin to lose your identity and adopt a title that unconsciously makes you just another “hey you” in the world. Call them by name. It is the most refreshing thing they will hear all day. Watch their eyes open as they have their identity and value restored.” So that is what I do. There is not a “hey you” in my world. Each name represents a valuable identity, a personal journey. Life is a gift, a gift that should be called out by name. Most people think that you must “walk a mile in someone else’s shoes,” but what if we ditched that insincere adage and simply took the time to sit with someone? What if we broke down our insecurities about how to interact with people and started by simply saying their name? I hope that the next time you walk by a homeless man or woman, you will take the time to sit and talk with them, offer sincere presence, call them by name and confer identity. 17
TRUE CONFESSIONS by Peggi Knowe
How in the world did I get to the place where
I’m volunteering for a magazine written by and for homeless people? I always had a huge fear of anyone who even looked like they were homeless. I would not go into large cities unless I absolutely had to. Even then, I would constantly look over my shoulder to see who was “after” me. I don’t know where this fear came from, but it was certainly unreasonable. For example, when forced by a traffic light to be situated in my car next to a disheveled person holding a cardboard sign that said, “HOMELESS,” I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead and pretended that no one was there. I was not going to roll down my window and give them money! When my friends, Matt and Lana Shaw, decided to start a street magazine in Charlotte that would allow those living on the streets to get a “hand up instead of a hand out,” I got involved—at arm’s length, of course. I bravely offered to work from home. Eventually, however,I needed to drive into the big city and work at Speak Up’s office. After cleverly hiding my purse in the trunk, I began my whiteknuckled journey out of fear and into love. At Speak Up’s office, I met face-to-face the people I feared the most. What a fool I had been! I found out that most of these folks had lost their jobs and eventually their homes. Sometimes, they lost their families. I learned that anyone could end up on the streets given poor choices or unfortunate circumstances. 18
These folks were very nice and, in spite of everything they had been through, were still positive, upbeat, and extremely grateful for the opportunity that Speak Up offered them. I could learn a lot from them. Needless to say, my perception of the homeless completely changed. I got to know a vulnerably-housed man who was always impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, another man who carried his amazing artwork in a portfolio, and a woman who exuded so much love, joy, and self confidence, that you would never know she is homeless. I learned that “homeless” does not mean beggar, bum, vagabond, robber, alcoholic, or drug addict. It means jobless, house-less, or in transition. There are some people who have addictions or are mentally ill, but they are no less human or undeserving of help and care. I have seen first hand the impact that Speak Up Magazine has made on many lives, including my own. This magazine is making a difference, one person at a time. It has been well worth facing my fears and realizing that the homeless are people too and deserve to be treated with respect. Now when I am stopped next to a person with a cardboard sign, I smile, roll down my window, and offer them some change and a “Take a Step” card (which directs them to a job opportunity with Speak Up). Please share the hope. “Take a Step” cards can be requested from info@speakupmag.org.
WAITING ON A STORM WITH YOU by Sheila Appersony
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A quiet thought of love so unsure to be sure. A love afraid to fly. Waiting on a storm with you. The blackened skies, the fast rolling clouds. Black and gray waiting for something for you to say. Coming into a storm with you. A quiet love lost in Blue. Waiting on a storm with you. Memories of another storm that did not last Long ago from the past. Waiting for something for me to say But maybe not today. A wish to fly into this storm with you. 19
We have conversations all the time...
with our friends and family, the lady at the grocery store, or someone we work with. Conversations with the people who know and love us best are easy. They already know us, they know what we like and don’t like, they know our family. They might share some mutual friends, or we might work together on a project. Easy. However, sometimes conversations are harder if we don’t know the person or if he/she is in a different life place than we are. Bridging the gap between the people in our lives and someone who might be living on the street shouldn’t be difficult. Here are some of the conversations that I have had with homeless or once-homeless people who become self-employed magazine sellers (“vendors”) during the last couple of weeks. Amber is a new vendor for Speak Up. She recently had an interview and shared some of her life details with me. She told me about her last job, and we talked about how we both work in the technology industry. We then practiced sales training, and she said that she also moved here from another city. We then talked about the different parts of Charlotte and how big cities are so different than small towns. Connection pieces like these are vital to starting a conversation. 20
Richard, a new vendor for Speak Up shared that he recently had a stroke and was trying to be healthier. I shared with him my fitness goals, and we agreed that too much pizza was bad for both of us. He told me that one of his good habits was trying to help people—even though he was living in the men’s shelter. We then talked about his goal to help people and what that looked like on an everyday basis. Josh, a regular Speak Up vendor, was recently hanging out at the Speak Up office, and we started playing Michael Jackson’s music. He immediately started dancing to “Thriller” and knew the entire thing. His dance moves to that song were way better than mine, and I will be reminding him often of this new dance he taught me. When you meet someone on the street, no matter how young or old, remember that there is always something that you can relate to with everyone you meet. If the person you meet likes a Grande Cappuccino (no whip, three pumps of vanilla syrup), buy them coffee. If they look like they need a hug, hug them. Just think, if you were cold and hungry and de-caffeinated, wouldn’t you want someone to do that for you?
HOW TO TALK TO A HOMELESS PERSON
by Kaitlyn Tokay
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CONTRIBUTORS Leah Burnett
Peggy Knowe
Kaitlyn Tokay
Harry Griffin
James Coltson
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Matt Shaw
Nate Casey
Ruth Hseih
Maria Valdivieso
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Sheila Apperson
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Speak Up Magazine is a 501(c)3 non-profit and is supported by donations from readers like you. To donate, visit www.speakupmag.org. Matt Shaw Editor In Chief Maria Valdivieso Art Director Editorial Team Harry Griffin, Kaitlyn Tokay, Hayley Pierpont, Leah Burnett, Peggi Knowe, Nate Casey For additional information about the production of this magazine, including design notes, printing details, and photo credits, visit speakupmag.org/howtotalk. We’d love to hear your feedback: magazine@speakupmag.org. SW
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Street Writer = Has experienced homelessness
WORD SEARCH by Leah Brunett W
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FEAR ADVERSITY BACKPACK DONATION SURVIVE BLANKET POVERTY NOISE
SALVATIONARMY WAITING SHELTER ANXIETY GOODWILL STREETS STEREOTYPE DUMPSTER
BUSPASS BENEVOLENCE SOUPKITCHEN CITY ALONE RUNAWAY COLD HUNGRY
PENNILESS MISUNDERSTOOD EXHAUSTED OUTCAST REFUGE SIDEWALK
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HOW TO TALK TO A HOMELESS PERSON 1. Order them a coffee. 2. Order yourself a coffee. 3. Turn off your phone. 4. Sit down, make eye contact, and smile. 5. Ask: “What gets you excited?” (and go from there). 24