What's Missing? One Key Indicator to Heed...

I'm getting ready to swing out on my 9th round of travels since I started HEAR US Inc. in 2005 to give voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. I've heard and seen lots in these 168,000+ miles. Recently I figured out one thing missing, a very revealing absence.

Smiles. OK, call me crazy but I look at people as I pass by on my mostly backroads' travels.

Elderly man walking out to get his mail. Frowning. Woman on mower. Grimacing. Mail carrier. Numb. Woman driving convertible. Wrinkled brow and downward mouth. Truck driver. Tight-lipped with a cigarette hanging out. Woman pushing baby stroller. Lost. Teen scooting on a skateboard. Isolated. Bicycle rider. Another world.

Interesting but impractical would be to stop and ask my non-smilers how things are going. I'd imagine I'd get an earful. And I don't need any more downer-stories. Working in the field of homelessness, as I have for the past 30 years, gives me enough sadness for a lifetime.

Walking on streets of mega-cities and mini-towns, I've also tried the look-people-in-the-eye gauge to see who makes eye contact and who practices "custody of the eyes." Smaller towns, by far, have people more willing to make eye contact.

Same too with the old-fashioned habit of waving. As a kid, my family had small boats and we spent tons of time traversing canals around Ft. Lauderdale and Pompano Beach, FL. We always exchanged waves with other boaters. Not so much now from what I've seen.

One exception to the waving phenomenon, on the highway, was a stretch of road in southern Nebraska. It was the 1-finger wave, steering wheel hand, kind of a "hey" in a laid back farm country kind of way that gave me something to look forward to on those rare instances when my path crossed another's.

But I've made another fascinating observation: those with the least going for them are the ones who both smile more and respond to a smile. Families and youth without homes, as well as the men and women on the streets and in shelters, seem to recognize the one gift we all can share no matter a person's financial standing.

Yeah, I know. People don't have a lot to smile about. Well, on one hand, I agree things are really tough and our human spirit is being daily tested. But on the other hand, after spending 3 weeks in Tanzania this summer, I also saw a lot of smiles from people who, by our 1st world standard, have very little. Abject poverty was the norm. Grueling living conditions were widespread. Creature comforts as we know them rare.

Not sure what I can extrapolate from all this except to remember that we all have the ability to convey a smile. And the smile, especially when combined with a kind word or two, is a potent tool for creating a wisp of happiness, when woven together wisp-to-wisp will make a full-fledged happy moment...which causes more smiles.

Join me on my travels. Well, at least follow along on Facebook. I'll friend you unless you're an unrepentant ax murderer. And if our paths cross at an event (sign up for our free 1x a mo. newsletter to see where I'm headed), come give me a smile. I need all those friendly looks I can get.

Gratitude--Third World Inspired

My somewhat simple lifestyle, for the past 8 years in a 150 sq. ft. motorhome, should have prepared me for the "lacks" on my recent 3-week sojourn to Tanzania. But I found myself in awe that people across this charming country have little in the way of reliable electricity and water.

Doing without sure made me treasure the abundance I experience here in the good ol' US of A.

Understatement. For sure.

Tanzania, in eastern Africa, is a fairly civilized country. The jarring frenetic pace of their commerce system doesn't compare with our mega stores. Shopping takes on a whole new meaning. So does driving. Road conditions are, well, Third World. Translate hazardous, extremely so.

But at the heart of my experience was the beauty of the people and the unbridled hospitality we were shown. My travel-mates Helen and Julie and I were treated like royalty. Our friends in TZ, Sister Afra and Upendo, made sure things were smooth. They went above and beyond, including making sure our travel was in a sturdy vehicle rather than chaotic public buses.

One purpose of our trip was to explore the work that our nonprofit organization Friends of Imiliwaha NFP has been supporting. Sister Afra, who received her undergrad and graduate education at Benedictine University in Lisle, IL, is overseeing a monstrous project--the building of a school so she can provide quality education and services to children in Sumbawanga. Here's a 5-min video I made about those efforts.

Let me blast a few stereotypes that I held:

• Mosquitoes would be rampant. Minnesota style. Not. At least not at this time of year, their winter, a drier time. And it depends on where you are in the country. (Was this a plot by the medical world to sell expensive medication and shots?)
• Heat. Ditto the time of year element. We were a tad chilly some nights and early mornings. Frost covered the ground one morning.
• Desert. Nope. Most of the countryside we visited looked like scenic northern Wisconsin. 
• Education. It's way more important than I imagined. Neighborhood kids poured into Afra's informal winter break classes to learn the alphabet, among other things. 

I've found myself saying that this trip was "life-changing." I suspect that will become even more true as the weeks and months pass. I think back to a trip I took in high school, almost 50 years ago, as an exchange student. I spent 3 weeks in El Salvador. I still can count on that experience as a life-changer, although it didn't do much for my Spanish language skills.

Hordes of media followed President Obama's recent trip to Tanzania. I suspect none of the crowd saw what we saw. Certainly this country, with abundant resources and needs, will fall out of favor of the mainstream press. I posted this blog about his visit and ours in my AlterNet space.

Now I need to get back to my challenges of HEAR US, my domestic nonprofit organization. Poverty abounds on both sides of the ocean. And my firsthand experiences of life without will keep me fighting for those who can't escape the chains of poverty. 

Let me offer you a souvenir as I end this little post: Take one thing in your life that's a constant--it can be as simple as your morning coffee or your drive to work. Imagine how that one element happens--all the people that make it possible for you to enjoy whatever your thing is. Appreciating the abundances in our lives will fuel our efforts to level the playing field for those who struggle to survive. 

See. I just increased the value of your day. 

Lying or Clueless? Whatever. Hurtful. Minority.

Caricature by Mary Ann Parks

I'm basically a transparent person. I will go out of my way to tell the truth. I value truth and trust.

That's why I get quite frustrated with the likes of Sheriff Joe Arpaio in Maricopa County, AZ, the infamous pink-underwear, tent city, and a host of other tricks of his lawman image-making persona.

My dear friend and stalwart Babes of Wrath travel partner, Pat LaMarche, amazingly arranged an interview with Sheriff Joe while we were on our recent trip out west. Here's the link to her post, the transcripts and my 2-min video-visit of his office. These will give you some inside insights.

One thing that flabbergasted both of us was the Sheriff's total denial of his awareness of homeless kids in his county. "Homeless children?" he asked, astounded. He even sounded a tad concerned. Welp, that was short lived when we found out that he indeed did know about the homeless kids in the Phoenix area...he had attended several fundraisers for area shelters.

Diane and Pat

I suppose I shouldn't expect so much--honesty, decency, etc.--from our elected officials. After all, they're elected...often times by voters who fall for deceptive, persuasive advertising, and who pay little attention to the behind-the-scenes hooligans. But I do expect it.

Fortunately, albeit quite hidden, we have hosts of counter-forces out here too. Good people doing good things. I was reminded of this every day when I thought about Pat's willingness to spend 5 weeks chasing poverty stories while living in cramped, spartan conditions with me in Tillie. I'm used to traveling alone, beating my head against walls alone. It was wonderful to have her along.

We encountered scads of warm-hearted, compassionate people who daily go above-and-beyond to comfort the afflicted. Although both Pat and I try to share some of these stories, (Pat's blogs, my blogs) it's impossible to counteract the surge of media blasts about the abundant Sheriff Joe-type characters fluttering around like snow in a blizzard.

Most delightful, we encountered scads of people experiencing homelessness who inspired the socks off us by their efforts to strive, not just survive, the dire circumstances thrown at them.

Which got me thinking...how do we let the tables be turned upside down--where the good people are overpowered by the bullies and ne'er-do-wells from the, um, other side? What can mostly powerless folks do? Well, let me give one relatively simple, cost-free, suggestion:

When you read a blog post, Facebook comment/post, or news story about poverty/homelessness, take a moment to LIKE, COMMENT and/or SHARE. Top dogs determine what stories are important using a complicated system, I'm sure. Part of it is based on LIKES, SHARES, COMMENTS. So...if you can manage a moment to register on the cyberspace toll board, you'll be lending our cause a hand.

My organization, HEAR US Inc., pushes the idea of a compassion epidemic. It's not a unique concept, but this simple, doable approach is sometimes overlooked in the frenzy of crisis and chaos. Do we have confidence that good will triumph over evil? Then...why don't we push the good envelope even harder.

Stand in the face of the evil-doers and say NO. You don't win, bully. The Babes of Wrath will get you!

'Our Ladies of the Highways,' A Kick-ass Group of Gals

Today I met Miss Lyn. The "Miss" is the Southern-style way of referring to women, no matter their status. Lyn Manz-Walters is the head honcho of the Pride of Mobile, AL, better know as 15 Place.

She's a kick-ass, take-no-prisoners kind of gal, and she's been running this center that cares for/with homeless folks, those most people avoid, for years.

Sitting down to write the post tonight got me thinking about the dynamic women I've had the honor to meet and see in action along my HEAR US journey. The thought left me inspired.

My too-tired brain is not going to try to list or describe these women. Someday, maybe I'll write a book about "Our Ladies of the Highways." But let me offer a few thoughts....

Women I've met, and many more I'd like to meet, are doing the work of compassion that most people run from--serving populations deemed too dangerous, too far gone, too much of a waste of time. These women do what they do, not for money, but because it's what we as humans are called to do.

They buck systems, stare down naysayer authorities, hug the "unlovable," stretch too-thin resources across giant needs, laugh in the face of absurdity, comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable (Finley Peter Dunne).

They're the spark in their community. They're the sparkle in the eyes of the disenfranchised. They're the reason things aren't even worse in society. They're conscience and compassion inciters.

If you know someone who fits this description, emulate them. If you have young girls, let them see what women can do. Stand with them when the going gets tough. Encourage them to run for office. Clone them.

My day is better for popping in on a whim to see if I could catch this whirling dervish. Her southern charm not withstanding, I'd much rather be on her side than going against her. And I will do all in my power to return to this quirky little city of Mobile, where the phrase "Damn the torpedoes" was born.

Heat and Warmth, Tragedy and Kindness

I'm obsessing about electricity this week, mostly because I'm doing without. It's not a self-sacrificing ploy. I'm in the wintery part of the country where campgrounds, at least reasonably priced ones, are scarce, and friends with flat driveways are even scarcer. So "Tillie," my motorhome and I are "parking lot rats," meaning no heat unless I give in and run my noisy, gas-consuming, big carbon footprint (in my mind) generator, so I seek public establishments with heat (and wifi), or park in lots where I can at least get a signal, swaddled in a ridiculous amount of clothing.

My heat deprivation is balanced by knowing how many people don't have electricity or heat--many because of that blustery super storm Sandy that chewed up large swaths of NJ, NY and CT a month ago. Some still lack heat/electricity, the most vulnerable--seniors, disabled persons, and little people. Forgotten in the hurricane's rubble, millions homeless because of the storm of injustice and poverty afflicting our nation.

Among the horrendous by-products of heat-deprived households (and even non-households--those squatting in the plethora of abandoned buildings, or those sheltered in tents or crappy trailers) are deaths by house fires or carbon monoxide poisoning. When desperate for warmth, people do many ill-advised things in search of heat.

A couple years ago I got morbidly obsessed with a fire in Starkville, MS that snuffed the lives of 3 women and 3 little children under the age of 6. I figured, correctly, that their overcrowding was caused by homelessness, aka "hard times." Traveling through that part of the country on my HEAR US journey, I took a chance and stopped, and got to speak with the Mayor about this sad incident. He honestly admitted not knowing about his town's safety net. It didn't exist. It probably isn't much better now.

Google HOUSE FIRES and CARBON MONOXIDE deaths and you'll get tons of stories. None of them pleasant. I tracked house fires for a couple of years, until it got too gruesome. State after state reported house trailers, apartments, and houses turned to embers, taking adults and children in the process. Most of those deaths were probably preventable. Certainly poverty--inability to pay for home heat, faulty wiring, overcrowding, etc.--plays a significant role.

Fires and carbon monoxide have an equally common and lethal cousin--hypothermia. Increased deaths from this affliction are being reported in the Sandy-ravaged area. It freezes your brain, causing you to react sluggishly, erratically, and often leads people to self-medicate, using alcohol or drugs to ward off the cold. No matter that this technique is erroneous; it makes sense at the time.

In my book, Crossing the Line: Taking Steps to End Homelessness, I share fire stories from my shelter running days. What a tragic and common reality: death and injury by fires among the homeless population. Many of our beloved guys (it seemed to be all guys) hung out by fires in the bitter cold. Yeah, they passed the bottle, thinking it would keep them warm. Too many of our friends ended up dead or injured.

Fires kill thousands of people in this country every year (not to mention fires across the globe, like the recent Bangladesh factory fire that killed over 120 workers who make our cheap clothing).

My hopes--and you can help:

• Increased safety practices to prevent fires.
• Increased home heating resources so households don't resort to unsafe alternatives.
• Increased options for homeless persons to keep them from becoming desperate for warmth.

Providing warmth--donating blankets, volunteering at a shelter, contributing to home heating funds, or sharing a cup of hot coffee with a bone-chilled stranger--will warm your heart. What a great payoff! 

Bone Chilling Reminder

We're soft. I'm soft anyhow. I'm a creature-comfort-lovin' gal. So when it gets chilly in Tillie...

Now I really can't complain. In addition to the countless children, teens, women and men on the streets of our fine country without homes prior to Hurricane Sandy, many more folks are learning the hard way how it is to be chilled to the bone.

Electricity still stymied by dangling wires. Furnaces slimed with salt and silt grime. And progress too slow to beat the path of the nor'easter heading in Sandy's footsteps. It's ugly.

For proof of ugliness--the kind most of us have to acknowledge owning at least a part of--the tragic story of a mother whose 2 toddlers slipped out of her storm-wearied arms in New York this past week. Turned away as she begged for help, maybe because her dark skin fired up fear, her boys were washed away forever. Inexcusably.

The bone-chilling cold has settled in over the northern part of the country, showing no mercy for those without electricity after the storm. Well, lest we forget, far too many don't have heat in their homes thanks to the economic storms that have battered those with limited resources.

One noble effort to call attention to this atrocity is heating up in Bangor, ME, the freezy-ass capital of the U.S. Right outside Stephen King's radio station (yes, THAT SK!), my dear friend Pat LaMarche is freezing, intentionally, living this week in what is playfully dubbed the "Hobbit House," a doghouse-like structure that lacks a whole lot as far as protection from the cold.

She's raising money and, more importantly, attention for the issue of heating inequity. It boils down to millions of babies, toddlers, children, teens, parents and senior citizens unable to stay warm. Too expensive. Houses too riddled with poverty-induced gaps that allow cold air in and heat out. Households that go up in smoke when dangerous practices are employed to stay warm.

In every community, someone--besides homeless families--suffers from cold at some point. Those whose houses were whomped by Sandy can often be heard whining about their discomfort. It takes a whole lot of self-control (which I'm about to lose here) to not harshly remind them that people suffer lots worse every day. They do.

If the cold can cause us to huddle together and warm our hearts, then bring on an Arctic blast. Just make sure that I'm out of the path of the north winds. Tillie doesn't like cold.

To help the Pat LaMarche's gallant efforts, here's the link for donations. Do it. It will warm your cold heart, and will touch lives whose existence seems more than a little bleak. 

End to Civilization, or ???

What’s one consistent thread through my 150,000 miles of mostly backroads travel? My astonishment of how devastated our country has become.  I’ve traveled some of the same paths, and can’t help but notice the increased deterioration of communities as I rumble through: for sale signs, boarded-up businesses, unkempt municipal properties, more people begging on street corners…not good signs.

My HEAR US trip from IL to Houston at the end of September was no different. As I wended my way through Illinois highways, I remembered back to the 80s when we saw massive grassroots efforts, led by the likes of Willie Nelson with his Farm Aid, to attempt to stave off the disastrous bank takeover of family farms back in the good ol’ days. 

Not so much anymore, as the tsunami-like economy has managed to ravage those who would help out as well as those standing too close to the edge. With this destruction comes a lot of survival mode, every man for themselves, forget women and children into lifeboats first. We're a nation deep into denial.

And what a mess we’ve made of things. State governments, free to drift the way of political winds, are seeing themselves holding the shredded bag of former government—as in the feds—support. The very states where poverty is the worst are making plans to refuse to extend medical care to people who cannot afford insurance, slashing welfare for those "freeloaders" who haven't managed the bootstrap trick, kicking homeless families in the gut, tax burdens that they seemingly are. All in the name of political brutality.

I find myself wondering if the pace of the destruction of civilization as we know it will match the pace of technological advances. A trade-off if you will. Then my thoughts snap back to remember this world has lasted millions of years, having undergone major events that were nothing less that catastrophic. Becoming immobilized by today’s crises would do no good.

And I call to mind the good people I’ve met along these 150,000 miles, those who have offered support—moral, financial, spatial, and material.  In whatever way possible, we need to preserve and strengthen the thread of goodness, kindness, and justice. Weave it like a rescue line, and cast it to those who would otherwise be lost.

It’s the same story told generation to generation: rich and powerful bullies against the impoverished and seemingly insignificant masses. What keeps me going, among other things, is knowing the sweet taste of victory of the little ones over the big bad ones. The turtle beats the hare. Good over evil. Yeah.  I still believe, after all these years and miles. So stick around. It will get interesting.

If you are able, I’m asking that you consider being a monthly HEAR US donor. It can be a small amount, $5 a month is fine. You may do this on our HEAR US donation page. Your info is secure and your support is treasured.