Homeless for the Holiday

By: Victoria G. Smith

 

We won’t have a tree this Christmas. Only the second time it’s happened in our family’s history. The fi rst was due to a house move close to the holidays. This time, it’s because our home is undergoing extensive renovations. We’re living in the guest house, surrounded by boxes that can’t be unpacked for lack of storage and take up what little space we have. But we’re grateful. For we still have a place to live in, meantime. After all, home is where the heart is. And this little guest house has a big heart—our hearts combined, my husband and I and our two children who will come home for Christmas, uncaring of our tight quarters, yet eager for mom’s yuletide cooking and cozy family togetherness. Instead of a tree, we’ll scour the woods for nature’s gifts—an abandoned nest, perhaps, and some twigs with Spanish moss, and pine cones and branches. It’ll be great.

Recently, we’ve had to go to a couple of Seattle stone and tile galleries to pick out countertops and backsplashes. I couldn’t help noticing that along a chain link fence right next to these stores was a long line of makeshift tents and dilapidated old cars and RVs whose windows and windshields were covered with cardboard, newspaper, black plastic, old sheets, and any other material that could provide privacy. I realized people were living in them. Homeless in Seattle. That’s what they were. The irony didn’t escape me. There I was—stressed out with having to choose countertops and backsplashes, and there, not far from me, were people who hardly had a roof over their heads.

Seattle, like most homes of big tech companies, has a freakish real estate market—one where values have skyrocketed to the point of driving even the natives out of their homes and apartments. Many among them are young professionals who can no longer afford to live in the town they work in. And those who’ve lost their jobs turn to the streets or under the bridges. There are few sadder things to witness than that of young people sleeping on city pavements, dulling their pain with drugs. It’s easy to spot cannabis. To me, it’s the smell of skunk. And in Seattle, it’s everywhere. We have to ask ourselves: What kind of society have we become where multimillion dollar condominiums and homes exist side by side with the homeless? This is capitalism gone awry. Shouldn’t big tech companies share in carrying the burdens of society they helped create? If so, what form should such support take? Housing subsidies? Homeless programs? I’ve got to say this: Could the Gates foundation please remember that charity begins at home? We appreciate what it’s doing for the rest of world, but perhaps it might also help address the problems to which Microsoft has contributed.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe in social justice and democratic socialism but not in Bernie Sander’s and Elizabeth Warren’s rhetoric that appears to automatically blame the rich for the plight of the poor, thus promoting a class war between the haves and have nots, just as the extreme right likes to do. Why? Because I too was once poor, and by the grace of God and humans who funded my education through public scholarships and my natural talents and industry, I picked myself up to where I am now. I know how it is to be poor and I know what it means to have pride of ownership and the freedom that goes with it. My husband likewise came from humble beginnings, and by his own skills and hard work created a good life with me. Many might even consider us rich now. Should we then also take the blame for the poor’s plight, for the homeless? Sanders and Warren are to me echoes of dinosaur revolutionaries who thrive on class confl ict, which is just another easy scapegoat for much more complex societal issues that have at their roots the incredible complexities of human nature. Today’s true revolutionary begs for nuanced solutions to systemic social, economic, and political problems. Surely, old revolutionaries have to evolve too?

While my husband and I are renovating our current home, we’re at the same time also thinking many years ahead about our fi nal home—where we’d like it to be, which to us depends on the kind of lifestyle we’d like to live when we’re much older. We’ve determined this should be in a place within walking distance to great shopping, dining, and entertainment. Yes— walking. But where in America could this be had, apart from expensive high-rise downtown living? And we also want a sense of community and belonging. Do people who live in metropolitan condominiums and apartments know their neighbors? The dichotomy between our urban business centers and suburban residential areas is all wrong. Are we limited to a choice between soulless city living or soul-sucking suburban existence?

I yearn for a good, old village life. The kind that one fi nds in a Currier and Ives Christmas card—of friendly village scenes glowing in the light of warm fi res and candlelight, people snug in their colorful winter coats, happily walking from their local stores to their homes, greeting neighbors along their way, gift boxes and packages in hand. I’m aware there are urban planning movements dedicated to building precisely such environments where people reside close to where they work, surrounded by green parks and good stores, restaurants, and theaters all accessible by foot, thus promoting a balanced work, social, and home life. To them I say, echoing Dickens’ Tiny Tim: God bless them, every one! And for the homeless, I pray: May they fi nd room at someone’s inn.

(All rights reserved. Copyright ©2019 by Victoria G. Smith. For updates on her author events & publications, go to VictoriaGSmith. com. “Like” her on Facebook at Author Victoria G. Smith. “Follow” her on Twitter @AuthorVGSmith)