Perhaps you have formed an opinion about who is homeless and why. I am in hopes that this story may change your mind
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On the front page of the Daily Sound, a Santa Barbara daily newspaper, it reads, “County finds drug factor in homeless deaths.” There has been a significant increase in deaths among the homeless in Santa Barbara this year. Our mayor, city council, social service organizations and churches along with others work hard to provide services to this population.
 
 
I am a member of this population. I have been officially homeless since February in Santa Barbara. No, I don’t live on the street, at least not yet. I have been staying in a no frills long stay hotel on lower State Street. I gave up my apartment at Friendship Manor in Goleta, about one year ago. My baby brother, age 46, schizophrenic and for many years homeless, had been diagnosed with colon cancer and given six months to live. I made a conscious choice to spend that time with him, my children, and my other siblings. I am so glad I did.
 
 
I returned to Santa Barbara, feeling confident that I would find suitable housing. In order to get into Friendship Manor, I had lied and said I was 62. I will share more about Friendship Manor later in this article. After spending a week in a hotel on upper State Street, I relocated to my current residence. The managers of this place have made many allowances in order to help me keep a roof over my head. Many homeless men and women populate the area where I am staying. In fact, some of the homeless get a monthly check and often they will rent a room for a week, just to get off the street for a short time. I have gotten to know many of these homeless people. One day, I passed a man in a wheelchair that asked me for help. I looked squarely at him, meeting his passionate gaze. I said I wish I had something to give you today. “He said, '
my sister, you have just given me the greatest gift of all, I felt your love, thank you'”.

    
The Indian/American family that manages the hotel are ambassadors of good will for the whole neighborhood. You would not believe how Skinny (his affectionate nickname) advocates for the people in this community, he intercedes, encouraging them to stay sober, offering advice, care and concern and always hot coffee and tea in the morning. My heart breaks for him, because often the same people he helps harass him. It is not uncommon for him to be up all night because of someone who is drunk, angry or having a melt down mentally. Two Latino women keep the place clean. They take such pride in their work; the place is always clean and neat.
One woman shared with me recently that she has worked here for almost twenty years. She says she loves her job; she is beaming as she shares about her life and her family.
 
    
Recently, I was running to catch the trolley and fell flat on my face, in the middle of State Street. A white woman, about my age, helped me up and offered me something to drink. She was neat, clean, appeared reasonable educated and very very kind to me. Although, my ego was far more wounded than anything else. I was shocked when this woman told me she had been living in the streets of Santa Barbara for five years! She had homelessness down to a science; she had learned how to be a survivor. What touched me the most is that this woman was filled with hope and optimism about her future. Imagine that!

     
When I first moved to Santa Barbara, I met another white woman who had lived in her car for more than five years. Once, her car had been towed and she had to seek refuge in a local church. Some of the parishioners, I am told was upset with the minister for allowing her to sleep on the floor, behind the sanctuary. 
   
Many of my street friends are mentally ill. They all have a different story. Most are hungry, this is in spite of so many food programs here in Santa Barbara. I share food whenever I am able, often I will buy additional to have something to give away. The expressions of gratitude, the tears of appreciation, melt my heart. One day, a man outside of Subway said he was hungry. I invited him in with me and told him he could order and $5.00 foot long that he wanted. You should have seen my new friend, he was like a kid in a candy store, it was clear that he had not been give many choices and therefore was having a problem deciding. He wanted it ALL, toppings, cheese, condiments, he was so funny. He made my day.

    
One day, a homeless man, Bob, (not his real name) a young white guy of about thirty who loves to sit and talk with me, shared that he was afraid for his life. He said some young dudes had been threatening and harassing him and he felt ill equipped to defend himself. The streets can be a very threatening place. Many on the streets are physically ill, with cancer and other chronic illnesses, some are in wheel chairs.

    
This experience has been eye opening in many ways. First, this is not the first time I have been homeless. Once, when my daughter was small, we were evicted. We had been the caregivers for my mom and grand mom. Both had just passed away. Neither had adequate health insurance, and I had missed so much time from work, caring for them (unpaid time). After they died, I was weary, too tired to even think. My daughter and I moved to a rodent infested motel at the Jersey Shore. Up until this time, both my children had been raised mostly middle class. In many ways they were privileged. Not long ago, my daughter said that because of that experience she has so much for compassion for the homeless.

    
Years later, while doing community organizing work in a Southern city, I was living in my car for most of the summer. My dear white friends offered me room in their homes in the suburbs at no charge. With few exceptions, I turned down the offers because I felt strongly that my presence was needed in this inner city. I would drive around for part of the night, find a safe place to park, wash up in Hardees in the morning, put on my business suit and hit the pavement as an activist, advocate and friend to many. One of these nights was the 4th of July weekend. I was shocked by the number of times the police were called, and how humiliated the young people were by the
police presence, harassment and warnings to disburse. One crowd were all college students home for the summer. They were gathered in front of a convenience store, shooting the breeze, having lots of fun, catching up on all the news they had missed. The business owner who claimed to be afraid, called the police. I observed several police cars pulling up, officers jumping out, the scene was chaotic.
    
The officers did not listen to what the youth were saying. I was horrified, I got out of my car and told the officers, that I had observed this group for at least thirty minutes, and the youth had broken no law. The officers reluctantly told the crowd to move on and left. I have often wondered what the outcome would have been that night, if I had not been there. After the officers left one of the young black men, thanked me and said he felt like I was the group’s Angel.
Because I have lived mostly in middle class suburban neighborhoods, I know first hand about parties thrown by white youth, I have witnessed the destruction of property, public drunkenness, loud music and NO ONE ever calls the police! It is acceptable, unquestioned behavior...for whites. When my son turned 15, my sister gave him a party at the town home where we lived in a Jersey suburb. I left briefly to go to the airport, when I returned, the party had been shut down, someone had called the police, who felt there were too many people gathered in one place. So when my daughter turned 15, we rented a suite in a hotel instead. This was a common practice for parents in that suburban neighborhood. We told the hotel that it was a birthday party for 15 and 16 year olds. We asked for a suite that was a little out of the way. Within one hour the police had been called, they shut down the party, my daughter was hysterical, asking, “Ma why? Why Ma? Why?”
 
  
I share these stories not because my experiences are so unique, just the opposite. My experiences are the everyday facts of life for so many people. The issue is no longer primarily one of race, rather it is class . . . the haves and have-nots. Stories help us understand more fully the joy, pain, and fears of others.
I feel strongly that in order to come up with long term sustainable solutions to the myriad of problems confronting us as a nation, we MUST be willing to confront and dismantle the structures of oppression in all aspects of our society. Some of you may remember when Ross Perot ran for President, he had a famous saying “Is this a problem, you really want to solve?”
   
In Santa Barbara there is much activity, lots of focus on homelessness, crime etc. What I don’t see much of is critical and ongoing dialogue about the systems of oppression that we all collude with. There is a homeless task force in SB; participation is by invitation only to be a part of this group is a status symbol to some.

    
One thing I know for sure is that the people who are victims have the answers and solutions to their own problems. An ex-offender is far more able to run a re-entry program than I. A former drug addict or alcoholic is more effective working with others who are addicted. Homeless people, many of them have a code of honor and ethics that we can’t begin to understand. There is such camaraderie, sharing and mutual support from one homeless person to another. Some of these people are more than capable of offering long-term solutions to the problem of homelessness. They are the experts; they understand the problem from the inside out.

   
  I have had the privilege of meeting some phenomenal people across this country. Mostly poor, black, religious, yet committed to social justice. One woman minister with a small congregation had the church basement remodeled and installed about 20 computers. During the day, Latino mothers are taught English and computer skills. After school the youth are tutored in homework and computers skills. This center is operated on a shoestring budget and without recognition from the press or city leaders. I know so many of these unsung heroes. My personal experience outside of Santa Barbara has been that white organizations and churches are well funded, yet have no idea how to work with the populations that need them. An example is a white group that got considerable funding for a re-entry program. The volunteers were mostly white middle class women, many of them were seniors. The clients were black and Latino men. I was so afraid for the safety of these good “white folks”, that when I was approached by the director of the program, I wrote a handbook of safety tips, dos and don’ts and gave it to him, never receiving a dime of compensation. 
 For the past twenty years, I have supported my work by borrowing large sums of money, using my own money and the kind and generous donations of so many white women. This debt hangs over me like a cloud.
  
   
I want to turn the focus now to some real solutions in Santa Barbara that are under-funded and lack volunteers.



(1) Friendship Manor in Goleta is low cost housing for those over 62. For about $900.00 a month you get room and 3 meals a day. There is transportation and recreation for a nominal cost. The Director Dan and Patricia, who heads up marketing, are two extra-ordinary people. They have more need than they have money. They have a heart for the seniors and treat everyone with dignity and respect. This is not the case in many low cost senior housing. Some are in it for the money, or have formed a non-profit that offers them a tax shelter. I have experienced disdain, hostility, harassment, and so many other things in this type of housing. I honor Dan and Patricia. The biggest problem at the Manor is the facility itself. It was at one time a dormitory for UCSB. It is not handicap accessible. With sufficient funding the Manor could build a facility with all the amenities that would offer seniors a life of dignity at an affordable rate.

(2) JUST Communities is a social justice non profit in SB. Jarrod Schwartz is the Executive Director. This organization does cutting edge work, preparing youth to be leaders and activists. Jarrod, a young white man, has a heart for this work. He is passionate, committed and a pro at what he does. This organization could be duplicated across the country. With sufficient funding they could change the lives of so many families.



(3) Department of Parks and Recreation - Santa Barbara is providing valuable services to many at risk youth in this area. There funding has been cut significantly and the need is far greater than the resources. It is proven that providing alternatives to young people can greatly reduce gang participation and criminal activity. The arts, sports, social activities all play a part in building community and keeping at risk youth out of trouble. They have some phenomenal programs and a committed staff that does so much with the little they have. Every child that we help stay in school, graduate and go on to college is a part of a long-term solution to homelessness.


     In conclusion, I would love to have an apartment where I could cook my own meals, sit in the garden and have a few friends over. My social security disability is $1099 a month net. My precious son helps to catch up the slack by sending me money near the end of each month to eat. I have worked hard all of my life. In fact, my claim to fame has been my ability to earn a decent living. This past week has been especially difficult because of the stress caused by my arrest in Arizona for protesting against the immigration law. How I long to take a hot bath, chop some veggies and make a pot of home made soup, sit in the garden and meditate, listen to some cool jazz and just chill out.
  

    
   
Just for tomorrow, stop and talk with someone who is homeless. Offer a smile to someone who is troubled. Look someone in the eye and offer honor and respect for the service they give. Ask yourself, is there something more I can do? What is being asked of me today?