I Dreamed of Houses
A Dream Share from Kate Towson
Yesterday I dreamed of houses. Houses upon houses, built upon even more houses. And inside: heat, beds, food, furniture. A family that supported you. And a lock on the door.
Yesterday I marched with homeless and formerly homeless people, peace activists, social workers and leaders of churches, mosques and synagogues. We marched from Loaves and Fishes (one of the biggest service providers in Sacramento) to City Hall.
(A word about homelessness in Sacramento: On any given night, at least 2,000 people are sleeping on the streets. Mothers, veterans, children, gay and lesbian youth, single fathers, mentally and physically disabled individuals. They have been ousted from their homes for a number of reasons. The main one? Because there are no homes. In this country, we have a more effective system for dealing with homeless pets than we do homeless people. And in Sacramento, the city has responded violently to the issue of homelessness. Last year, a group of homeless created a Tent City, a transitional living situation. It was home to hundreds of people, until the government came and literally demolished it. Not only that, but on any given night the police would come by and harass individuals, verbally and physically. It was a very unsafe place, but at least it was a place, a place that wasn’t a bus stop, a doorway, a park bench or the road. Safe Ground, an organization run by homeless individuals and homeless advocates, has responded by calling on the city to create a literal Safe Ground, a permanent camp site where homeless individuals and families could live somewhere transitionally until they were placed into permanent housing. Not only would a permanent camp site represent a semblance of a home, but it would form an unbreakable community that would support and listen to each other. At Safe Ground, the hope would be for a protected space that also was home to service providers. )
Safe Ground is, of course, controversial. And, of course, Safe Ground has as many supporters as it does opponents. I was impressed, frankly, by the number of participants yesterday. I was disappointed with the way we were ignored by some passers-by. Just like people who are homeless, homeless causes and issues are typically ignored by the general public. The march tried to make enough noise to “shake the windows of City Hall” (in the words of one of the ministers) and rouse them from their complacency. People were agitated yesterday, no doubt, they were upset and anxious. They chanted: What do we want? Housing! When do we want it? Yesterday! This is a city that has abandoned buildings, lots and businesses on every street corner, yet due to pathetic city ordinances no one can live there. A city where the average cost of a studio apartment is $200 more than the average amount given in disability checks. This is a city where women and men who are homeless are abandoned by society, looked at as if they were a disease; molested, beaten, raped, discriminated against because they are the most vulnerable. A city where the public buses stop three blocks from where most of the shelters are because they don’t want homeless people riding the bus (they didn’t want the public to be “uncomfortable”). A city that is just like every other city in this country.
I hope it worked. The mayor has half-heartedly joined the cause, although I suspect its only for brownie points. There were many speakers yesterday. One was a woman from the Women’s Empowerment Project, a local non-profit. She is currently homeless. She has four children: 21, 20, 19 and 17. One son is in jail. Her other son can’t stay with her in the family shelter because he’s too old: 17. She lost her job when the recession struck and she, like many Americans, had no savings. She doesn’t know what to tell her children. She doesn’t know what to feed them at night. She doesn’t want to separate the family, so instead they sleep outside sometimes. A whole family. You know what she said? “Shelters shouldn’t separate families based on their age. I don’t care if my children are 99 years old. They are still my children.” And then she started crying. Sorry for my language, but I really fucking hope the mayor was listening.
My point for this blog is not to make people feel guilty or depressed. My point is to show how one common dream—really, a universal human right—united a whole slew of people yesterday! No bickering, no disagreements, no platitudes. Shelter. A home. A Bed for Every Head. At night I imagined all the homeless people in this country (by underestimates, at least 3.5 million adults and 2 million children) dreaming. Dreaming of huge homes and small homes and backyards and porches and dining room tables and privacy and safety and warm pillows and showers and bathrooms. I wish that at night, the power of all of their dreams, the power of all those combined dreams, could make something. Wouldn’t be amazing if, in the morning, every single homeless person and family woke up to a house at their feet?
I thought about this and I thought about the Dream Share Project. It’s similar, right? Coming together to share dreams and motivate for change. Yesterday, the passion and hope of the people was so powerful you could feel it. You could feel the force of those dreams. And whether your dream is changing the path of your own life, or someone else’s, it’s probably the most important thing you’ll ever do.
