Class justice

I'm back home now - back to the routine of showering, eating well and watching rented DVDs on Friday nights. Two weeks ago, I was faced with less comfortable circumstances. Along with fellow Gonzaga Prep seniors Kurt Hafer and John Ulmen, I was "homeless."

John, Kurt and I decided to spend five days living as homeless people for a justice class project. Justice is a required senior religion class at Prep, and every student must complete a charitable activity. This is the first time students have taken on a project like this, and the first time the school has given students such responsibility.

Our goal was to leave the project with a greater understanding and sympathy for the social injustice of homelessness. We did just that. After five incredible days and four cold nights, I have experienced homelessness on two levels. Objectively, I see homelessness as an overlooked problem. Thousands of homeless men, women and children wander Spokane's streets day and night, like unseen ghosts. On a personal level, I have seen the desolation they face and the struggles they go through.

We began our week of homelessness on a rainy Monday afternoon after our classes, searching the neighborhood for abandoned materials. Using several wooden crates, an 4-by-8-foot piece of plywood and a large plastic tarp, we spent two hours building an on- campus shanty. Duct tape, one of our few luxury items, was essential to building our feeble shack.

We came into the project without money or food and few resources. Begging and digging in the garbage were our most successful ways of collecting food. After building our shelter, we set out in the rain to panhandle near a local grocery store. Public sympathy was abundant that evening, and we were given enough canned food to feed us for a few nights. With $7 in donations, John and Kurt bought charcoal briquettes, lighter fluid and some cheap French bread. We then headed to Mission Park for a much-anticipated dinner.

We met two homeless men wandering the park. We made eye contact with the men - not as condescending teenagers, but as "sympathetic brothers," as one of the two called us. "We're tramps," he said, explaining to us the difference between tramps and bums. Bums are not interested in work or improving their situation, he said, while tramps are constantly searching for odd jobs.

We asked the men to join us for a dinner of clam chowder and canned corn. They hungrily agreed, and we shared hot food and stories.

The men told us about their situation. Their lives are full of uncertainty; they never know what will happen next. Their few belongings are scattered around town in hidden places. "Sometimes we wake up drunk and forget where our stuff is," the skinny man said with a grin, adding that many people living on the streets are alcoholics. I could smell alcohol on their breath as they shared their stories.

Collecting cans and trawling through garbage are their daily routines. The men said they walk 20 miles a day and often are arrested for trespassing. While some Spokane residents are sympathetic, others are not, they said. The more aggressive citizens throw eggs and bottles and hurl insults at them.

Over the next few days, we found ourselves in situations similar to those of our dinner guests. On Tuesday evening, Kurt and I were feeling dirty enough for a bath. The men we'd met in the park had advised us to bathe in the river, wearing nothing but a bar of soap. The water was freezing and the breeze wasn't friendly, but we came out of the river feeling clean and refreshed. On the way back to meet John for another canned dinner, Kurt and I found an abandoned, '70s- style couch on the Gonzaga University lawn. "Pillows" we shouted, as we swiped two cushions.

We walked everywhere. Two miles to the river; one mile to the park; five miles to downtown. Doing all this walking made more than our feet sore. Our clothes were stained and ripped, and we carried packs and sleeping bags on our backs. We constantly were stared at and ridiculed.

Many teenagers, sporting name-brand attire, stared mockingly at our greasy garments. As we headed downtown on the Centennial Trail, female joggers avoided us out of fear. My favorite occurrence took place Wednesday night as we walked along Division Street. A group of girls drove by in a sports car. A few hung out the window. They dumped their Mountain Dew on us, and I don't think it was a charitable gesture.

Every day, we dug through garbage and collected cans. One day, Kurt collected $9 worth of aluminum cans. We found a bag of 200 day- old bagels in a bakery Dumpster. The next day, we found 200 more in the same spot. I found three large boxes of old athletic uniforms in a Dumpster behind our school. All of them were in nice condition. Couldn't the jerseys and bagels be put to better use? We ate the bagels and sold the Gonzaga jerseys to our classmates for 50 cents each. (The money we received for the jerseys and from panhandling will be given to a local charity to help support homeless people.)

The most humbling experience occurred while panhandling downtown. Our cardboard sign read "Teens on the street." Most people didn't seem to care. Asking for money is not easy, and desolation is degrading. Rejection is the worst because people ignore you, or worse yet, look away in disgust.

In one week, John, Kurt and I have begun to comprehend the injustices of homelessness. I learned how disgusting it is to dig through garbage cans for scraps. Many people are unaware or unconcerned about the homeless population. My sympathy goes out to the homeless people who have been picked on and beat up, largely due to their circumstances.

The next time you see a homeless man begging for spare change, don't ignore him. He won't go away. Instead of giving him money, buy him some food at a grocery store. If you can't do that, give him a sympathetic smile. And be thankful you have a warm house and loving family to go home to.

Copyright 2001 Cowles Publishing Company
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.