Thoughtful essay on the homeless in New Orleans

Don't let the homeless be invisible: A guest column by Michael J. Groetsch

Published: Friday, October 28, 2011, 6:01 PM     Updated: Friday, October 28, 2011, 6:19 PM

By Contributing Op-Ed columnist The Times-Picayune

While leaving Immaculate Conception Church on Baronne Street recently, I became dismayed at how desensitized we have become to the plight of homeless people who wander aimlessly on the streets of New Orleans. As I walked in stride with a blind beggar dressed in tattered clothing and holding a cardboard sign and metal cup, I noticed how many well-dressed pedestrians avoided eye contact with a man who can no longer see. I stuffed a $5 bill into the blind man's cup and declared its value. He immediately took it from his can, placed it into his right shirt pocket and expressed his appreciation.

The belongings of homeless people are stacked under the Calliope Street overpass Thursday before the city moved 100 people who had been living in the area.

 

 

As I turned onto Canal Street and walked toward the Mississippi River, the feel of a cool breeze suddenly caressed my face and reminded me that it was early fall. The change of seasons always seems to nurture our spirits. That is, of course, if you do not live among the street people who must endure the frigid elements of winter.
As I proceeded towards the river, I noticed the silhouette of a ragged man in the near distance stretched sideways on the concrete sidewalk. Attached to his back was a tiny checkered knapsack. A pint bottle of whiskey protruded from the waistband of his khaki pants.
My first impression was that he was in a drunken stupor. But as I passed him, I noticed that his dark eyes remained wide open and glazed. On second thought, I wondered if he was dead. But like the others who stepped over him, I continued to walk. I guess that looking away protected me from feeling another's pain.
But it immediately occurred to me that if the fallen man was a stray or sick dog, most of us would have stopped to provide assistance. Why is it, then, that we are so quick to walk past a person lying motionless on our city sidewalks?
Is it fear? Is it class consciousness? Is it because we feel so helpless in assisting someone we feel can no longer be helped? In a spate of guilt, I returned to see if the homeless man was OK. As I approached a second time, he slowly rolled onto his back. His subtle movements confirmed my initial impression that he was alive but heavily intoxicated. Feeling somewhat relieved, I continued my stroll past the small shops and tall elegant palm trees that line historic Canal Street.
Having worked with the homeless, I recognize that the subculture of people who live within our urban landscape are an eclectic group in which rehabilitation is often not a viable option. The street subculture is heavily populated with mentally ill people who have been callously deinstitutionalized, chronic alcoholics and substance abusers who are rarely motivated to change and severely under-socialized individuals who simply do not fit into the mainstream of society.
They are human, however, and like the helpless stray animals that wander our city streets, we have the responsibility to assist when it becomes apparent that they are in physical or medical distress.
Mahatma Gandhi once noted that "the greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." So can be said relative to how our community treats fellow humans who are down and out in life.
Treating homeless people to a free meal or perhaps paying the costs for their shelter for a week would be a good start. Volunteering or donating money to Ozanam Inn, the New Orleans Mission or a health care facility that assists the homeless would be a good finish. As is the case with Gandhi's statement, the greatness of New Orleans and its moral progress can be judged by the way we treat our homeless.