Nearly Orwellian
How and why our society neglects those less fortunate
By Jack Shelley
By Jack Shelley
If we were to view modern society as a science fiction novel, it would seem nearly Orwellian--it’s the year 2014 (a distinctly futuristic year). The economy is in shambles, we are at war in several countries, and in an attempt to survive, mankind has been sending robots and satellites to distant planets in an attempt to colonize and expand beyond Earth. Revolutions and revolts are becoming commonplace, massacres and mass murders have been ravaging our nation, and an epidemic of massive proportions has spread throughout America. Scientists, philosophers, writers, and great minds alike have been hard at work finding a solution, but to no avail. The public shames, pities, and even abuses those who have fallen victim. What is this great epidemic? It is colloquially known as homelessness, and America is very, very afraid of it.
My science fiction-esque journey began on the corner of 12th Avenue and K Street in Downtown San Diego. A great gray parking lot lay before me like an urban savannah. I watched as a can of Budweiser clattered across the rough ground a few feet ahead of me. Plastic bags littered the branches of the nearby trees. Bottles and cans sat idle in the gutters and against the cracked concrete parking barriers, along with lots of shattered glass and old rags. The street lights appeared to have worked at some point, but apparently whomever was in charge of them had decided that this specific parking lot could do without the city’s electricity. The people here were not worth it. They were huddled around shopping carts, squatting on tarps or blankets, and leaning against the chain link fences. These people lived here. I was extremely interested in one man specifically. Despite this fact, I almost didn’t notice him at first. A shopping cart filled with items that appeared to me as trash, a small bag filled with various rags, and a fold up chair seemed to be his only possessions. I only happen to see him because of the shallow breathing coming from underneath the dirty red plaid blanket on the hard concrete. As I walked by the heap of rag stirred and a bit of scraggly grey hair emerged, followed by the man who owned it. He made eye contact with me, his dark wiry beard and tired brown eyes gave him a well-weathered appearance. He had obviously spent many years on these streets. He had slept here many times. I asked him to lunch. He said yes. His name was Walter and he was 57 years old. He wore a maroon jacket, a raggedy white shirt, ripped jeans, and a NAPA baseball cap. When he talked he never made eye contact, he always seemed to be looking at someone else, something else, or somewhere else. His voice was deep and hollow, and he’d occasionally make whistling noises when he said his s’s. At first glance, people would assume was on the streets perhaps because he was lazy, an addict, an alcoholic, or because he made huge mistakes in his life. But the more I talked with him, the more I knew this couldn’t be farther from the truth. He revealed to me that he had been on the streets for approximately 5 years because domestic violence issues had forced him out of his home. He did not go into details. This was the reality, and it’s unfortunately true for countless other people as well. The loud minority is seen, instead of the quiet majority. What I mean by this is homeless people are often seen as addicts and alcoholics because of a loud minority, when in reality most homeless people are on the streets for reasons out of their control. “I do not drink, I do not smoke, and I do not do drugs.” Walt explained. “I try my hardest to make an honest living, but that’s extremely difficult when people see you as a junkie and an alcoholic.” I began to understand the problem him, and many others, are encountering. Imagine, it’s a Wednesday afternoon, you’re headed home from a day at work. You coast up to a stoplight and notice an older homeless man on the side of the road. His sign reads, “Hungry - anything helps - god bless” You fix your gaze to the man holding the sign. He’s old, worn out , and skinny. Dirt cakes his face and his beard is matted from weeks of not washing . You make eye contact. An unmistakable feeling of immense guilt fills the bottom of your stomach, and you suddenly feel the weight of loving parents, a good education, and a fairly decent upbringing all upon you at once. These were things this man likely never had. The guilt worsens. You have to look away, maybe he’ll forgive you, maybe he didn't notice you. We’ve all been in this situation, and trust me, Walter knew. “People pull up in their expensive cars and see me on the side of the rode with my chair and sign. They make eye contact for a second and then try to find anywhere else to look that’s not me.” I could definitely relate. “I can see the guilt in their eyes.” Walter knew. Our negligence to take care of those less fortunate does not go unnoticed, as much as we'd like it to. He had another profound observation, this time about when people actually did give him money. “They don’t give it to me to make me feel better,” he said. “They give it to me to make themselves feel better.” Walter had experienced first hand one of the most prolific philosophical theories in history: objectivism. Objectivism states that humans are inherently and fundamentally selfish creatures. In Ayn Rand’s The Virtue of Selfishness, she explains that “to love is to value.” Only people “of self esteem” can love, because of their inherent sense of “value”. According to her, “the man who does not value himself, cannot value anything or anyone”. Ayn Rand, a college-educated world renowned writer and philosopher, spent her life discovering and studying objectivism. Walter figured it out in 5 years with nothing more than a shopping cart full of trash, a bag of rags, and a fold up chair. Amongst piles of dirty rags, squeaky shopping carts, and broken glass I found some wisdom I had never expected from a man I nearly never found. |