Go With God

Tonight, I attended the annual dinner of the Interfaith Task Force on Homelessness, which this year honored Reverend David Bloom's more than thirty years of service to our community. David laid the groundwork for the ITFH somewhere between his work at the Church Council of Greater Seattle and one of his numerous faux "retirements" while he was employed as the "Faith Community Organizer" at Real Change. While that position wound up being something we couldn't sustain, David's work led to the first Building the Political Will to End Homelessness conference and the deepened involvement of congregations in homeless advocacy and service provision. Over the years, I've learned that seeds that at first don't seem to take can send down roots that remain hidden for years. Then, one day, there's a new tree for people to climb on.

It feels as though the faith community is on the verge of a turning point of sorts. The Church Council of Greater Seattle has new leadership in veteran community organizer Michael Ramos, and is more committed to their social justice mission than ever. More and more congregations are supporting SHARE/WHEEL's tent city work by hosting the encampment on their property. Numerous congregations have aligned with the Sound Alliance organizing effort for economic justice. The Archdiocesan Housing Authority is organizing churches for legislative advocacy on housing issues. Rich Lang over at Trinity is working with faith community allies to engage more deeply in this work and move through charity toward justice. The Rauschenbusch Center for Spirit and Action has roared to life and is starting to hold public speak-outs in Westlake Center.

Tonight David spoke of the difference between optimism and hope. He is not optimistic, he said, over our prospects of ending homelessness. This pessimism is well-founded. Bullshit pronouncements from the United States Interagency Council on Homelessness aside, things have been getting worse for approximately thirty years, and that trend line shows little prospect of changing.

There is, however, reason for hope. Optimism under these circumstances is just whistling through the graveyard. Hope, on the other hand, is an exercise in prophetic imagination. Hope is visionary, and is less about belief than will. Hope, said Emily Dickinson, is "the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all."

When Michael Ramos spoke on behalf of the Church Council at Camp4Unity last June, it gave me hope. That hope is sustained and furthered whenever I see people or institutions extend themselves in the service of justice. We're not winning yet, but the tide, it seems, is beginning to turn. Michael's speech is reproduced below.

In the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, we read, “God says, this rather is the fasting that I wish; releasing those bound unjustly, setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke. Sharing your bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and homeless. Then, your light shall go forth like the dawn and your wound shall be quickly healed.”

The Church Council of Greater Seattle mourns the deaths of the more than 250 women and men who were homeless and who have died in recent years. A county and city as prosperous as ours can only be considered great when we are moved with radical compassion such that the most displaced are valued with the most affluent, and that our very selves are offered as a bridge to mend the unconscionable gap between rich and poor in our midst. Homelessness is, from a faith and human perspective, a scandal that calls for a conversion of heart in all of us, lest we grow complacent and tolerant. Behind each death is a name and a life, that that to the Women in Black, Church of Mary Magadalene and Real Change, matter. In memory of these people, let us stand so that others may not fall.

Our faith traditions call us to prioritize those who are poor. The measure of our economic and social decisions is our impact on those who are most vulnerable. What is done FOR the people most affected? What is done TO the people most affected? How do they take part in the decisions that affect them? When more than 2,600 people can be counted on the streets in our county as homeless on a given night, a 15% increase in the same areas over last year, we must ask ourselves how we are addressing this priority. When one night in May, 42 people are turned away from Operation Nightwatch, a final sanctuary for those without a place to stay, the crisis is lack of shelter, not a few tents in the woods. The principle must guide the policy must guide the practice. The people who are marginalized, neglected, abandoned, homeless need to be made the basic criteria for a continuum of care that provides for shelter first even while we create new sources of housing.

As a key partner in the Ten Year Plan to End Homelessness in King County, we too believe that housing is a right and that we need to come together to provide the home and the support services for each in need. More than 150 of our congregations demonstrate their commitment to this vision each year, as well as our own programs. Yet, when there is nowhere else to go, even the legitimate health and safety considerations for our public spaces must yield to the demand for survival of those who camp in order to live. As sweeps become a matter of policy, it is these people who bear an inherent dignity who must have a say.

We appreciate the 20 additional shelter beds and the case managers who visit the tent encampments. But, the primary concern for safe shelter has not been adequately addressed. We ask the city to revisit the Tent Encampment policy so that the loopholes in it not serve as an excuse for further harm to those with whom we ought to be concerned. That would be a thoughtful follow-up to another memorial for those whom society judges, but whom we uphold and affirm as people whom God deems worthy and valuable in his sight.

Revel-ution

Yesterday I drove to the Tacoma Convention Center to witness the founding convention of Sound Alliance and watch my friend Revel speak to a crowd of nearly 2,000 on behalf of Real Change. We were one of 80 organizations there to support the launch of this very necessary cross-class, cross-issue organization that builds power for the bottom eighty percent.

While we're not members yet, Real Change is definitely in the courtship phase. A number of us have been to their trainings. We have adapted their relationship-focused organizing style as a means of creating real solidarity across class. We helped their housing committee frame the broad goals for Sound Alliance's housing agenda. It was inspiring to see nearly 2,000 people letting Governor Gregoire and House Speaker Frank Chopp know that people are organizing and expect accountability.

Without pressure for the broad, structural change we all need, homeless people will get little more than a shit sandwich with extra mayo, which is pretty much how I'm visualizing the Ten Year Plan to End Homelessness these days. We need these people, and they need us.

My brain took the day off today and I didn't think to bring a camera. It's too bad. Seeing Revel make the case for housing, reflected on the huge screens to either side of the stage, made me very proud to be her friend. Maybe I'll find a photo later. For now, I'll just put up this postcard of Emma Goldman speaking in New York's Union Square in 1916, because it was kind of like that but with a better sound system. Revel's speech is below.

Hi. I'm Revel Smith with the Real Change Organizing Project. I live in very low income housing in Seattle and I've been disabled with Multiple Sclerosis for 10 years. This disease slowly erodes the nerves in my brain and spine. Without warning I experience symptoms such as blindness, vertigo, the inability to walk, the inability to speak, and memory loss. But I can pray with sincere thanks that, for me, treatment successfully slows THIS train down.

But there is something worse, something much bigger which we ALL have to face. Lose your job, experience a change in income, get sick, have a family that is less than supportive, find yourself caretaking for a loved-one . . . any one of these life-changing events can occur overnight. Then what do you do to get an affordable, safe healthy home for yourself, much less your family? How do you find this kind of shelter in the Northwest when you become vulnerable?

I used to have a good career in healthcare, and participated in my community. When my ability to work was compromised, the first thing to go was housing. When I looked for help, my impressive resume and strong sense of responsibility meant nothing. It would be a long wait.

So a friend’s family let me live in the unfinished basement of the fixer-upper home they'd just bought. I attempted work again and became eligible for a tax-based apartment for "working poor." I was *that* place for 6 months when I finally became too sick to work at all. I used-up my last month's rent and left. I had run out of options. So I moved to a room in a bonafide slum and applied everywhere I could for help. Finally, in 2002, I got a HUD apartment through a housing organization in Seattle. I was "in". Those were the days.

I've never lived in a healthy or safe apartment situation. Federal and Local funds are unavailable to maintain buildings that exist. Section 8 is closed again ( I was one of thousands rejected when the housing lottery reached capacity– another 2 to3 year wait). Safe secure housing is something I dream about. I don't know when I'll get it, but I can't wait.

We call this particular barrier to survival a "housing crisis". It's a human catastrophe. In the Northwest it's unconscionable. It dehumanizes the least and poorest of us. The middle class is being destroyed as affordable apartments in this major city are turned into high-rent condos. Billion dollar highrises eclipse people trying to survive on the streets outside. It’s up to a 3 year wait now, just to get a modest place you can consistently sleep eat bathe and live in.

Survival is a right. Housing is a right. It's time to unite with others who understand the nature of poverty and how to cope while actively working to improve this broken system. I joined the Real Change Organizing Project because they "get it." We are all peers it this grave situation, no matter what our background or class. With tears in my eyes I realize, it’s through allies like Real Change and Sound Alliance that we will find solutions and thrive.

Thank you.

Don't Try. Do.

My most extraordinary twenty minutes of the year so far were spent on Wednesday morning at the Sound Alliance leadership retreat. It was the beginning of the second day, and as we prepared for the session, I noticed this little Jewish old man in a cardigan waiting expectantly off to the side. This, it turned out, was Dick Harmon, the lead regional staff for the IAF Northwest, and one of the two main organizers who built the Industrial Areas Foundation along with Saul Alinsky.

From the moment he opened his mouth, he no longer seemed little at all. He had gravitas. He had duende. He spoke as if the words welled up from the ground beneath his feet, slowly, directly, forcefully. His vision was huge, and seemed to come from the sort of spiritual center and political grounding that one very rarely encounters. I felt, funny as it sounds, as though I were in the presence of greatness.

Together, we will create a new spirit, not grounded in optimism, but in hope. A full employment economy. We need to redo every building and car to be energy efficient. We need to build levies to hold back the waters. All of our infrastructure needs to be redone. We are embarking on a task that is more radical than any New Dealer ever dared to dream of. Not because we want it, but because it is being forced upon us.

We need to reground our imaginations. What is being given to us is a new world view, in an early state of articulation: low carbon economy, full employment, power among. When people get together, their imaginations change, as well as their hearts. And so it comes to discipline.

This is a great enterprise that respects the great mix of our people. Wall Street has committed to $6 billion for clean energy. These guys are out in front of us. The churches and institutions are lagging behind. We are present at the founding of the birth.

After Harmon spoke, he asked each of us to think of all of the social pressures that motivate us to work for change, and to assign our commitment a value between 1 and 10. After a moment he asked for someone to share. Someone who hadn't talked much. Since I'd uncharacteristically kept my mouth shut for most of the retreat, I raised my hand.

"I gave it a nine," I said, "because I don't even know what a ten is. If I were at a ten, it would be dangerous." The room laughed. "Our group is cross-class in its work, but my work for twenty years has been with homeless people. I see a system that is massively broken, and these are the people who fall out on the bottom. And the bottom seems bottomless. And I see people seeking advantage at the expense of the most vulnerable people around. So, yeah. A nine."

Harmon stood up front, searching my eyes. "Do you feel grief?"

The question took me by surprise. "Um, yeah. I feel grief."

"What do you do with that?"

"I channel it. I'm not big on despair."

I'd stopped taking notes by then. But Harmon took this as his opening to talk about the need to embrace our grief. To not succumb to the easy denial of optimism. To walk toward what makes us uncomfortable, own it, and make this the source of our passion.

"When we talk together, when we plan and understand," he said, "our hearts are strangely warmed. We need to live in this warmth, and discover new life."

Beneath the Mountain

I'm at a Sound Alliance key leaders retreat today. While there isn't anything especially retreat-like about it, and as a member of an unaffiliated organization I'm hardly one of their key leaders, still, here I am. The only way homeless people will ultimately win more than a shit sandwich with extra mayo is in the context of a mass movement. We need economic justice for the bottom 85%.

So here I am, looking for allies.

Ever since I read Saul Alinsky's Rules for Radicals in college, and then, as a young organizer, his biography, I've been an admirer of the mass-based model he inspired. The Industrial Areas Foundation that he helped build, with 57 affiliates across the US, Canada, Germany, and the UK, is bringing membership organizations together to reclaim democracy.

Sound Alliance is the IAF organizing effort in this area. While they've mostly focused on Thurston, Pierce, and South King County, over the past year they've been building for another run at Seattle. Two previous attempts have failed, leaving a certain amount of cynicism in their wake. Seattle is a turfy sort of town, and there's a half-assed coalition pretty much everywhere you look.

This time, they're taking it slow, building on their successes to the south. If it works, there will be a founding conference in June attended by around 4,000 people, all of whom are organizing for power.

And that's the sort of thing that makes my tired hopeful heart go pitter-fucking-patter. Seriously.

So we began today with an extended exercise in metaphor. A photo of Mount Rainier was projected on the wall. I happen to like the one above, which is the view from South Seattle.

"What do we notice about the mountain," asked organizer Joe Chrastil? He went on, but I'll summarize.

First of all, it's massive. Mountains are awe-inspiring. The base is unbelievably broad. Mountains create their own eco-systems. They are defining. People see them from everywhere. But here's the cool part. All of the energy in Rainier is below the surface. There are all these pools of hot magma that come together, and under the right circumstances, are forced up through fissures for some truly spectacular results.

Volcanic mountains, someone objected, are destructive. We are instead constructive and focused. This is where the metaphor breaks down. Or not. "Some things need to be destroyed," murmured someone nearby.

My own imagery of volcanoes and magma comes from watching Tarzan on TV when I was around seven. He's inside a volcano, crossing an orange lake of lava by stepping carefully from rock to rock, barefoot. Even at seven this struck me as ludicrous. But that's us, I think. Inside the mountain, coming together, building for power, playing with fire, trying to not get burned.