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| Martin Weiss (Holocaust survivor) and Kristy Medo |
On December 26th 2017, I received the phone call awarding me the position leading an alternative spring break service trip to Washington D.C. where eleven students and I would serve people who are homeless in a variety of ways such as preparing food in soup kitchens and assisting various organizations that fill the needs of many in their community. I felt very privileged to share my previous experiences working with the homeless, with the students of University of Wisconsin Stevens Point and had hoped it would benefit them as they went about the service trip. In the past, I did not have a mentor while I tried to create meaningful ways to help a few individuals I would continually pass by each day, so it was my hope to pass forward some of what I had learned and wish I had known when I began working with the homeless. I scheduled three pre-trip meetings where I would not only convey the travel logistics of the trip, but to provide basic information about homelessness and its causes. I took care to assemble various power points which would bullet point the basic human needs such as food, water, shelter and clothing followed by secondary needs such as personal hygiene, socialization, communication tools, transportation, healthcare and education. I offered the perspective of what it would be like if we had to carefully contemplate and wonder if our basic needs would be met on a daily basis. I would use myself as an example, and describe my daily routines. While I wake up in a bed very near to a bathroom and a kitchen each day, a homeless person might wake up unsure of where they might use a bathroom for immediate needs, nonetheless must carefully schedule a walk to wait in line outside of a soup kitchen to acquire a hot meal, all of these things take time above and beyond how quickly we are able to move through our day. I also described how difficult it was for a homeless person to locate showering and laundering facilities where they could safely go about managing personal hygiene tasks. Aside from these topics, I talked extensively about the varying types of locations where homeless people sleep or casually “live”. Encampments are places where more than one homeless person will set up a makeshift home usually a tent or system of tarps that somewhat protect them from the outdoor elements. I also described shelters, and how many homeless people prefer to stay away from shelters due to addictions which usually disqualify them from utilizing the services of a shelter, or how some social dynamics within the shelter cause fear of personal harm or theft. Others might feel a stronger sense of independence living away from shelters, encampments or other organized living situations. The students seemed to listen but did not question too many things about the topic.
In order to engage the students, I asked questions such as what types of human encounters they thought homeless people might have in their lives. We talked about varying positive and negative encounters on the street where perhaps people ignored or belittled them, while others might offer a few dollars, food or other resources. I began to recall and share stories from actual homeless people I had gotten to know in the past. A man once told me that friendship was rare since he would have to worry about the motives behind others befriending him on the streets. He said it typically meant someone was going to steal things they needed from you. Because of this, he avoided friendships and shelters completely. I told the students of another man I had known whose mother became ill and as her caretaker he lost his business, income and home. He said that human touch was very rare and he felt too dirty to be hugged. He just wanted to feel compassion and sensed that people would avoid him physically. He died of heart trouble sleeping under a table in a small studio apartment where three other homeless men had gathered enough money to share a space and co-exist. The last man I knew lost his home after he attempted to care for his autistic nephew after his sister had died, leaving no-one to care for the boy. The needs of his nephew often conflicted with his work schedule making it hard to keep a job. Eventually he would lose his apartment, which in turn would not deem him fit to care for his nephew, so he lost him to foster care as well. This man would find comfort in sleeping with his back to a tree in the park near ducks that he said would give him peace since they would “go off like an alarm” in the night if there was any sign of movement nearby. Ironically, I have read other stories of homeless folks speaking of ducks in the same way. Talk about man’s “connection” to nature! Indeed, what a perfect example.
Sunday March 19th 2017, I had acquired the flu and was vomiting a few hours just before we departed on a bus to board an airplane in Minneapolis Minnesota. I was determined to force myself to survive the trip even if I puked in a Ziploc bag the entire time. Needless to say, I was unable to make small talk as we set out, and while the students understood, it was unfortunate to be a “leader” who was unable to fully “lead” our team. All I could think of was how awful it must be to live on the streets with an illness, when all I wanted was to lay in a bed. After the initial symptoms subsided I discovered I was developing a sore throat, and eventually lost my voice. All of these factors made it difficult to lead discussions or shout out navigational instructions on busy city streets and underground metro stations but I managed to press on. The twelve of us slept on the floor in one room within a church hostel and shared a shower room with two showers. I did not want to wake the students with my endless late night coughing, so I decided to sleep in the hallway outside of our room. Living in such close proximity of a group of young women twenty-four hours per day for a week, you begin to see how personalities change and social hierarchy develops. As a group leader, I learned it is very important to make sure participants are comingling well, otherwise some feel socially excluded or underappreciated. Oddly, it seems as though it would be best that a certain level of unfamiliarity remains so that everyone stays open to being kind and supportive of one another out of the need for each other’s input and advice on matters. A good example of this, is that if one student becomes too familiar with the city, then they tend to lead people where they prefer to go, whereas if they are all unfamiliar, they work together as a team to evaluate locations and decide as a group where to spend their time.
On Monday morning, we were given our overall work assignments for the week. We would break into two groups of six students and were dispatched to various locations across the city. The first group (Group 1), was sent to a work site where they would organize household goods for less fortunate families. As the families would arrive, the group would help them to choose supplies and assist them with the checkout process. Group 2 would prepare and serve lunch at a soup kitchen. I was a part of group 2 and on this day I would stand at the entry doors handing out meal tickets to those who stood outside awaiting a free meal. To my surprise, many of the less fortunate people standing outside would not greet me and the tickets with kindness, even to the extent that one man intentionally bumped me with his shoulder and said “I don’t need no damn ticket” and walked past me into the soup kitchen. Others took the ticket but said nothing, which I could sincerely understand, as I would feel it is difficult to accept help under such sad circumstances. It was those who were intentionally rude that bothered me most, but I kept silent and dealt with those feelings on my own. I and the five other students were permitted to sit and eat with those in the soup kitchen. I witnessed the discomfort of the students, as it was the first time they had come out of the kitchen. You could see the luggage, bedding and other personal goods each of the unfortunate people were carrying with them. Large pieces of carpet underlayment bungeed up with cords next to wheeled carts of personal belongings. The people themselves were wearing multiple layers of cloths under thick bulky jackets carried by tired feet tucked within worn shoes. The first conversations some of the students had with these people would travel in strange circles of incomplete sentences and disjointed thoughts as many of them were mentally ill, high or had lost a sense of the ability to have normal conversation. I will never forget how silent the students were, as I tried to move around the room starting conversations that I knew would not have clear meaning. In these situations the normal flow of a “hi, how are you today”, “good, how are you”….is somewhat unlikely. Many of these folks sit with their thoughts each day and seldom have an outlet to speak them to, so it is best to be a good listener and to offer a question or two to allow the person to more fully express their thoughts. It’s as if you need to be prepared to have a one-sided conversation and that is not always expected or typical, especially when the person speaking is mentally ill or high. This was a new experience for all of the students on this trip, excluding myself. For me, it was like an old hat. I could write a fiction novel, inspired by the many conversations I’ve had with creative, yet mentally ill homeless people across the states. Some soup kitchen visitors would have personality conflicts with others and would get quite vocal. In one case two African American men began shouting at one another with loud booming voices to the extent that the entire room would look toward the commotion, but yet they had a sense to discontinue, and naturally separated for fear they would be asked to leave and not ever return. A free meal, will tame a conflict in strange unspoken way. Later we would return to our hostel and I would lead a reflection about the activities and I was privileged to hear how the experiences impacted the students. Some became aware of how difficult life really could be on the streets, others expressed fear during tense situations when conflict would arise between homeless visitors. As the first day of service concluded, we all turned in for the night being glad to sleep on the floor in the safety of a church.
The second day, group one would be sent to clean homes of disabled people, while my group would be sent to a warehouse called Capital Food Bank, to repackage what I would call “reclaimed” food items. Imagine every damaged or slightly expired food product you might find at the grocery store, that is exactly what this food warehouse would package and redistribute to the needy. Pallets and pallets of boxes would be opened exposing the contents which we would then separate into categories such as canned or dry goods, prepackaged meals including fruit or other shelf stable edible food like substances like fitness shakes, granola bars etc. You would not find any produce, dairy or meat items here. The most incredible thing about this experience was that over twenty volunteers showed up for a four-hour shift and we moved quickly through the warehouse sorting through all of this “damaged” food. I recall opening various boxes where mouse and rat excrement were apparent. Many packages of food that had been scathed by these varmints were still included such as paper products and candy bars. The strangest items were things like opened and “returned” feminine creams, toothbrushes and even opened glass jars of food. All of which were scanned and either approved or disapproved by the two colored men who supervised us. The men offered enough guidance to get the job done, however not once did they look me in the eye while speaking to me. Another Caucasian volunteer mentioned the same while conversing in a waiting area and she agreed that it felt like although we were there to help, the fact that we were white was still an area of tension for those who were not. It was as if even the act of helping was a “white privilege”, no effort to make small talk was made. Although it was a fast-paced whirlwind of activity, like ants working on an anthill, I was among my fellow students who I would still share smiles with as they were sharing the same experience and would point out the uniqueness of items they were seeing too. Our evening reflection revealed that group one had only one home to clean and they spent their day sightseeing, while our reflection offered varying eye opening opinions about the vast amount of food waste in America (since that is what we were working with). I’m sure, as each of us goes forward in life, we will never look at another dented can of vegetables the same.
By this point in the trip, it had been made known to me that there were a few obstacles to address as a group leader. One was anxiety and motion sickness. People who have anxiety often do not want to make it known in advance, and attempt to deal with the physical symptoms quietly. Those with motion sickness take over the counter medications which make them feel very foggy which makes navigation on busy metro and bus systems a bit of a challenge when you have to make sure that twelve bodies fit through merciless automated doors, or fear losing part of your group as you move about the city. I scheduled breaks for these students to take their medications and allow them to activate before moving into the stress of travel, but this adjustment was a frustration to others who felt that a break was uncalled for. One girl had been harassed on a city bus by a colored man because she was white. There was lack of space on the bus for her to move, so she quietly just let him verbally harass her the entire time. I was not present, since she was a part of group one, and could not exchange places with her or silently shift her to another position to avoid the harassment. This was the first time she had ever felt the hatred that colored people sometimes have toward white people and it shocked her, and she became afraid of going on the bus-line again. Some varying attitudes about logics began to arise with individuals having their own idea about how they should conduct their time, however I reminded our group that the trip was a complete focus on bettering the lives of others, and that we should always start with those in our immediate surroundings and then extend that kindness and consideration outward. The fact that I had to mention it aloud irritated the individuals who needed to hear it, but I pressed on and ended the discussion with the statement that kindness and consideration is not a light switch that we turn on and off as the occasion demands, it should always be a part of our interactions with the entire human race. Personalities and group dynamics are to be carefully considered in a large group for extended periods, hence I would suggest personal interviews for a trip of this kind in the future.
The third day would challenge anyone’s ability to be kind and considerate. Group one was sent to a location to sort and fold clothing, my group was sent to a soup kitchen that would serve 140 people in one seating. We were met by very friendly volunteer kitchen staff, and two colored men who served as crowd managers or what felt like “body guards” for the volunteers. This dining hall held a feeling of struggle and edginess among those in attendance. Before we served the meal a pastor came down from the upper part of the church, said a prayer and announced that they had showers, laundering facilities as well as counselors and rehab for substance abusers, all of which the attendees could utilize for free. I found that no only here, but in other places we were told of there were a lot of free services for people to utilize to stop substance abuse, acquire connections to help with things such as getting mail in absence of having a real physical address, obtain job skills training and even connections to jobs within the community. A city as large as Washington DC really had its resources together in a way where if there was a place to be homeless, Washington DC might be the best place to be. When the pastor concluded his message of available services, sprinkled with hope of the divine intervention of the supernatural, we began serving the meal. Again I was met with both friendly and unfriendly faces of those who did and did not care to acknowledge my existence, again I tried not to judge but I was caught off guard as to how picky many of them were about what was “in the food” and how they would decline things like cucumbers in sandwiches or completely bypass one of the best salads laced with every type of high quality vegetable I’ve seen served in Washington DC! I left this soup kitchen with a great sadness, not for the people, but for the new discovery that I had within me….whenever I would ask for things and given something close but not exact, I was always told "beggars can't be choosers" and taught to take what you are gifted with when you are in need. This experience did not always reflect that concept.
We had an extensive walk back to our hostel that day, and while many of the students would chat among themselves the feeling was heavy, so I knew I was not the only one struggling with the negative vibe of that service location. We chatted a little as we walked, and one girl said she felt bad for being “white” and I said that it was indeed a reflection of a sort of reverse racism. It did not help matters that while walking a homeless woman bent over to gather a few small stones to intentionally throw at us. I watched the entire action as I was at the forefront of our path, and without fear of a small pebble, I just let the woman do it and proceeded. It was the intent that caused the hurt. What human being does that? Perhaps she was mentally ill but regardless we were there to serve them, yet they throw stones.
On our last day I asked the girls to thoroughly pack before departing early to the Holocaust Museum. A number of girls at this point were giving me a hard time about how much time I allocated for the museum visit. I reminded them of the educational value this visit would offer. We arrived, they scattered,
I was thankful for time alone to ponder one part of world history that I feel so passionate about. After I spent an hour in a small section of the museum which offered comparison to present day genocide, I discovered two men seated at a table marked “real survivors” where I would personally speak to a man by the name of Martin Weiss who was 14 at the time of the Holocaust. As he extended his hand to shake mine, I was overwhelmed with sadness as I knew I was holding the hand and looking into the eyes of a man who TRULY suffered. I cried and told him he was a miracle and as humble and comical as he is, he sort of chuckled and said “well, I suppose I am” and he smiled. Of all things he could say to me at that point he spoke about food. All the while I’d been walking around Washington DC with new images of picky homeless people sifting through sandwiches and scoffing at cucumbers, bypassing salads, and college students bickering over what places had been selected for dinner locations and who had questioned my reasons for making 15 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that morning which I would ask all of us to split the burden of carrying around that day to give out to the homeless people on the streets rather than to throw it away before we boarded a plane home…….I became FURIOUS at humanity as Martin explained what it was like to “eat” in a concentration camp. He described the smells of fermenting mysterious substances that would be poured into a trough for he and others in the camp to feed on. He said you don’t question what might appear to be a food source put in front of you, you gagged and you gulped what was the most putrid sour smelling wet mass of a substance in front of you, and you ate, hoping you would survive the abdominal cramping and vomiting that would follow in the next day or two. Many were not so lucky to survive at all. Martin spoke to me of what it was like to create a family of his own after watching his mother, father, brothers and sisters die in the camps, he said he raised his children without them ever hearing him speak of being in the camps because he did not want them to develop and form of hate or negativity in their lives and that “attitude was everything” needed for survival. I thanked him for his time and proceeded through the special exhibit I was scheduled to walk through. There are no words that give validity to my experience there that day.
We made our way back to Wisconsin as I drove from Minneapolis airport I silently pondered what I had taken away from this trip as the students fell into their individual “I pod” worlds or simply slept. “Attitude is everything” was really a phrase I had lived by as I built my career teaching others that their lives would follow their motivation and attitude, so one should form it carefully. This is what I have seen across America while working with the homeless; attitude is everything. If your brain can not assist you in appropriate life sustaining functions, you are exempt from what I am about to say. Number one, you live in a country full of opportunity, you are not in a concentration camp. You are free to work toward building a life and many resources are there to assist you in doing so. You do not live in a country that is being bombed daily. Many will make excuses, but it is absolutely true that you live in a country where you are free to move to an area that is less expensive to live (this is a common complaint in the world of the homeless), however I have known sound homeless men that would beg for enough money to get a bus ticket to a new location that was more cost effective or had better resources to progress themselves in ways that would facilitate their way out of homelessness. Where there is a will there IS a way, attitude is everything. I do not intend to make it seem like it is easy, and to short change anyone of the difficult feelings and emotions one must go through as they beg for change, but alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and sandwiches without cucumbers are all choices. We are not caged animals at a feeding trough of fermenting slop, we are in the land of the free and although some feel entitled to thinking it is not, that it is a place that is hard pressed to give out resources, I will beg to differ and encourage one to look around the world, look into Syria for example and to walk through a free museum and speak to a true “survivor”. Our lives (unless we are mentally ill) are a complete choice despite the sacrifices and hard work needed to live a “decent” life. Many would completely disagree with me and likely say that my new view is wrong, however my trip to Washington DC and a lifetime of being taught to be sensitive to people not just in America, but around the world has formed my view today.
In order to report to academia, the experiential value of this trip I will say this, hands on experience is a critical value all students should have, that being said I would not expect any particular outcome. I have always had a heart for service, but now it comes with a sense of extending help to those who would first help themselves, especially in an era that seems to carry an entitlement mentality. I am grateful for this experimental learning opportunity and most importantly to have met Martin Weiss.
