Poverty Is Not an Accident

Poverty Is Not an Accident
Nelson Mandela

Monday, July 26, 2004

homeless in Kentucky, 2

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Sent e-mail message

From: Rogi Riverstone)
Date: Sun, Jul 25, 2004,
4:43am
Subject: Re: My room

Dear ...,
I've lived in rooms like these. You do it quite well. I'd put something
on the ceiling, but that's just me.

The first homeless shelter I was in hated me; I was Queer, intelligent,
progressive, agnostic, actively nonracist, hard working, educated and
progressive. They were fundamentalists.

I was on the 3rd floor, with the "single" women. Women with kids were on
the 2nd floor, with large bedrooms and high ceilings, so families could
bunk together. Often, it was two to three families per room. The 2nd
floor had ONE bathroom for all. The 1st floor was offices, storage,
roach-and-sewage-infested "kitchen," great room and a disabled
"accessible" sleeping room.

The 3rd floor was the attic: hot as blazes in muggy, Kentucky summers;
bitter damp, moldy and dripping in winters. I think it had about eight
sets of bunk beds, a very small shower/sink/commode and a door to the
fire escape & roof.

I moved into the first, lower bunk I could find. I had a foot locker and
half the space under the bed.

I hung a dark, dusty-blue, hand-printed, silk Indian sari around my
bunk; it was a gift from a childhood friend. I tucked photos, momentos,
drawings, tarot cards, etc. into the springs of the bunk above me, so I
could lay there and look at what I loved. I had my boom box at my side,
with headphones, so I could put myself to sleep, listening to a
recording of the ocean.

Women move up in status, based on a variety of factors, including
seniority. I was quickly dubbed, "shelter nigger," by the other 3rd
floor residents. This greatly increased my status, immediately. They
understand persecution by staff. Most had done serious prison time, so
were offended by the irony that the lightest-skinned, best-educated of
us was CONSTANTLY harrassed, set up and denied priviledges by the upper
middle class all-white staff. The women on the 3rd floor loved me.

I eventually won the priviledged personal space in the 3rd floor: a
SINGLE bed, in the alcove by the fire escape door. It's almost like
having a private room, if one hangs a sheet over the opening.

I had a dresser, on which I
\[keyoard batteries dying

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