This is just one of many tent cities around the US. This is a sign of the times, but I’m not sure every tent city is that new, as the story almost fails to tell us this one in Sacramento isn’t all newcomers (the writing is clear as mud).
Nearly every time I’ve dealt with people who run programs for feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, and in other ways helping the unfortunates, I get sick to my stomach. I have volunteered for quite a few projects, often at the lower levels. Once or twice I’ve been asked to lead some portion of the project at hand. It’s bad enough so many projects are just pure fakery and headline seeking by some blowhard. I won’t name names because I can’t prove it in a court of law, but I was there and I know.
There are plenty who really do care, but they seem utterly clueless in dealing with their clients. Why is it no one who has been in need is allowed to run charity? How come the folks who contribute refuse to give to those who actually understand what it’s like to be on the bottom of things? I grew up on the bottom. I’ve lived in a broken down car far from my previous home. I’ve had to leave more than one residence because I could no longer afford it. I’ve gone without food because there was no money to buy any, and I wasn’t willing to steal or beg. I’ve seen the day my wardrobe was limited to the clothing I wore right then. Sometimes I did without because the only place I could get a hand-out were hatefully blind to what really mattered to me. They only wanted to do what made them feel good, and that meant I had to feel like crap.
I hope the words of the mayor aren’t lies:”He said city officials would meet individually with each of the tent dwellers to discuss options, and a special task force would finish devising a long-term strategy for all the city’s known homeless.” I hope those interviews don’t consist of telling those tent dwellers what they want, but that’s really what I expect. It’s certainly the only thing I’ve ever seen from government bureaucrats and self-aggrandizing do-gooders.
If you come upon me living in a tent somewhere, do us both a favor — find out what really matters to me, because it might be I’m there to avoid the “kindness” of folks who want to take everything I have because they don’t believe I should have or want certain things, herd me into a stinking pit with predatory thugs, and in every way make me as much a prisoner as the guys on the chain-gang. So maybe I’m in that tent because I like it, and would rather you just enjoy my company, then leave me in peace. Tell me I have to move on, but don’t tell me I can’t live independently.
Right near me here in Choctaw, Oklahoma, is a large charity operation called Master’s Market. You are supposed to make the association they serve the Master of Heaven, but that’s simply a lie. I’ve had better treatment from drill sergeants. They never let you forget, if you aren’t middle class, it’s because you are stupid and evil. They will even do their best to persuade you to enslave yourself to the government welfare system. I’d rather go to prison, where I would at least have some rights.
