Kill the Poor

“The oppressed are allowed once every few years to decide which particular representatives of the oppressing class are to represent and repress them.”

Today I had to go to the grocery store. It’s now a task I no longer look forward too. Where once I could look forward to the occasional light banter with a stranger over how much things have changed in the ever changing and gentrifying Bay Area, or whatever be the pop political moment of the day, now we all keep or distance and try not get or spread the virus to one another. The social distance causes a social disconnect in many of us. If the disconnect was already there, then creates an even greater chasm.

As I applied some of the complementary hand sanitizer at the checkout counter, a homeless man walked in. He was obviously homeless, he was wearing the uniform we all identify with one that has no shelter in the winter. Layers of filthy coats, filthy stained pants, shoes that held together with duct tape. He wandered around aimlessly muttering to himself. He caught the eye and ire of customers and workers alike. I wanted to direct him to one of the hotel shelters I worked at, but I knew that there was no space as many are at capacity, and the process (and it is one helluva process) wasn’t a simple one when it came to getting in and ultimately he’s one of the many that just doesn’t count. Underfunded and overworked social workers can’t be everywhere for everyone, and in the end there is just no more room. Maybe he’s not a “good fit” for permanent supportive housing? Maybe he has fits of rage and doesn’t take…