Refuge

The clock read 1:35.

It was the second time I'd woken up. The first time was shortly after I fell asleep, not long after 11:30.

But I was in my home, the home I'd lived in for almost five years, in a comfortable bed, the wind noisily stalking the opposite side of the sliding glass door. I was warm, and I was safe. The thought that roused me from my slumber was of my friends who weren't quite so lucky.

Former site of "Golan Heights" homeless encampment

Approximately twelve hours before, I'd learned that another homeless camp was being dismantled. This one was home to a dozen residents, first settled in January. Unfortunately, the land they were occupying was privately owned, and they were forced by the landlord to vacate the premises.

They'd just received a visit from Monmouth PATH social workers, who had vowed to help the folks there in whatever way they could in terms of supportive housing and other resources. They'd also been visited by my friends from Be The Change, as well as a kind woman named Kelly, who came bringing a generous amount of food that she had prepared for them.

Now, they were being scattered to the four winds once again. I was certain Minister Steve would find them at least a temporary place to stay, but wasn't sure where it would be. And with more snow on the way, the thought of whatever uncertainty they faced weighed heavy on my heart.

The clock read 2:20. I sat up; the dim room silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves outside. A vague sense of helplessness gnawed at me. I checked my phone. No new texts, no calls, no recent chat room messages, no replies to my Facebook post. I got up, paced for a bit, let the cat into the room; he promptly took his usual spot at foot of my blanket. I checked on the kids, who were fast asleep, and inadvertently woke up the dog, her paws tapping against the wooden floor as she trotted to the bottom of the stairs.

And my mind raced. Vera and her boyfriend had just lost their apartment. Nancy was already sick, and would she be able to keep her dog? Jeanine needed propane for her stove, and without being able to cook, was she hungry? These people had started to bond as a community; would they be separated? Did the owner of the property, in his sense of urgency to reclaim what was his, realize it was going to snow?

I went back to my room and sat at the edge of the bed. I took a deep breath, said a short prayer, curled back up under the covers. I wondered what the woods might sound like through the thin walls of a tent.

Things will work out, I told myself. Everyone is safe. Minister Steve will see to it.

The time was 3:11. I'd have to be up in just under three hours. There had to be something for me to do during the day once the kids were at school: make more calls, drive people to shelter. Something. Anything besides just standing idly by.

I shut my eyes, took another breath, and thought of the last song I'd heard before going to sleep: "Candle On the Water."A permanent musical fixture in my memory since childhood, and this night, a lullaby to myself.

And somewhere between "lighted by a prayer" and "keep holding on, you'll make it," I drifted off.

"Get A Job..."

A burden to bear: Jack (left) and Joe load up their belongings
after being evicted from their room at the Capitol Motel.

Lakewood is home to what's known as a "muster zone" - an area where day laborers gather awaiting employment by contractors. Former Tent City residents Joe and Jack frequent the site, but are still struggling. Winter is generally difficult for day laborers, as manual labor and landscaping projects are in short supply. When it snows, that might mean some work shoveling and the like, but such jobs are few and far between.

Both men own a fair amount of tools, accounting for roughly a quarter of their belongings, which gives them an advantage. Even still, they must compete with a sizable Latino community, for whom the going hourly rate can be stretched further by the communal living situations to which they are accustomed. Not to mention that, over the course of the past six decades, it has become increasingly difficult to afford housing on one salary.

The room shared by the two men, at a cost of $800 per month.

When Tent City was demolished by the local government, Jack opted to take a $3500 buyout in lieu of the year of free housing. He used the money to pay child support. Meanwhile, Joe had arrived in Tent City after the census and was not eligible for either the housing or the buyout. Fortunately, Jack and Joe decided to team up, pool their resources and make do sharing a hotel room at the Capitol for $800 per month - until work slowed and they started to fall behind. When Joe's employer fell ill and could no longer provide work, they lost their housing.

Now, they've resorted to once again camping in the woods.

"Why can't they just get a job?" That statement reflects one of the most common misconceptions about the homeless.

The truth is, a New Jersey resident would have to bring in more than twenty-two dollars an hour just to afford the basic necessities: a one-bedroom apartment, a used car, utilities, phone, food, and clothing.

For those who rely on manual labor, and who were not privileged with the silver spoon of a good economic foundation for education or job training, it's a losing battle. Moreover, the ratio of affordable housing to people in need is scarce at best, waiting lists are several months or even years, and with unskilled labor in lesser demand, the need is not shrinking anytime soon.

"Get a job." Often, people work two and three jobs. But if they fall behind because of illness and lack the insurance that many minimum-wage jobs do not provide, they could easily lose everything. Including their jobs.

Folks like Joe and Jack are working, yet cannot afford housing. If we as a society cannot supply more jobs or $22 per hour as a living wage, the only feasible solution is to lower the cost of housing.

With limited options and employment prospects waning,
Joe and Jack set up camp in the woods.

It’s been proven that a Tiny Home can be built and rented for as little as $150 per month – an amount that is within the economic means of workers like Jack and Joe. Tiny Homes ensure that even those working a minimum wage job would be able to afford the basic amenities.

Anyone who says “get a job” to a homeless person ought to be pitied for not understanding basic economics – and you can pity the homeless person for having to exist in an insensitive society that fails to provide an economic niche in which he or she can survive.

Out in the Cold

We’re so very fortunate, you and I.

Wherever you are, I can assume you’re reading this from the safety of your home or another location where you can watch the snow fall from a nearby window, or check the weather on your phone.

But tonight, my heart is heavy with the thought of those who are not so fortunate.
As we sit out the storm, four people were putting up tents in the middle of the woods, beset by the sleet, snow, and wind.

For two years, they’d made their home in an encampment in Toms River. Three months ago, just like several other homeless camps in the area, it was shut down by the local government with the notion in mind that the residents would be shuffled off to another town. With the help of Mike McNeil of STEPS (Solutions to End Poverty Soon) and Paul Hulse of HAVEN/Beat the Streets, they’d been placed in a hotel. Today, in the midst of the harsh winter weather, they were evicted from that hotel because their temporary housing term had ended, and they were left with no options. The female of the group, distraught and overwhelmed by the stress of relocating, dissolved into tears. Fortunately, they were assisted by other homeless who were living in woods nearby, who helped move their belongings and clear away ice and snow to make room for their makeshift homes.

I’m left wondering how many more tributes I need to dedicate to those who perish as a result of these faulty measures before someone in the political arena takes notice – and, more importantly, takes action.

I’m left wondering why so many of the poor and needy are caught in this seemingly endless cycle of band-aid solutions, and why so few politicians are willing to exercise compassion, address the core issues, and implement a more proactive and comprehensive approach. Why people in power are so unwilling to step up to the plate and change a broken system that would force people to resort to pitching tents in a snowstorm.

I’m left feeling helpless, frustrated, and angry, because our elected officials prefer to seek the easy way out to making just and moral decisions. Anti-homelessness laws are rampant throughout the country because they've chosen “out of sight, out of mind” over “love thy neighbor.” Ocean County, for example, adopted a policy of giving the homeless a one-way bus ticket to the Atlantic City Rescue Mission – which, incidentally, now no longer accepts homeless from outside Atlantic County. It is there that the politicians demonize the homeless and blame them for the ill fate of the city’s casinos.

You and I, friends, are so very fortunate. And perhaps upon reading this, you will take a moment to pray for the ones who are not.

But there’s more we can do. We need to tell the powers that be that yes, “we the people” care that people are being literally left out in the cold. There is power in numbers, and if enough of us care, and enough of us talk, they have to listen.

Because no matter what their circumstances, all lives matter.

Stay well, and stay warm, my friends. And let us be the change we wish to see.