Poverty in the Tenderloin

Many of my experiences in San Francisco have created opportunities for me to reflect on what I do, who I am and in some ways my purpose. The first time I stumbled upon the Tenderloin, only when I saw the "Tenderloin Police Substation" did I realize where I was. The second time was a more purposeful walk through that neighborhood. It is a neighborhood characterized by crime, drug use, and incredible poverty. I walked by several different street front service agencies that were designed to provide crisis relief, including some of the programs from Glide Memorial. The destitution I saw was overwhelming. Visible mental illness, visible substance abuse, visible prostitution, and constant panhandling. One thing that struck me were hands. Not only were they outstreatched for help, but the hands of the people along the street were red, swollen, and the cuticles were mostly black from ground in dirt (all of this visible from three to five feet away). These hands reflected weariness.

The number of street and homeless people I saw throughout the city was simply too much. We have nothing like this in Wake, Durham or Orange Counties of North Carolina. We think we have a problem with homelessness and poverty, but the sheer numbers of individuals who are on the streets in San Francisco is saddening. I remember tears welling up in my eyes as I watched the United Way video at the meeting I was attending that focused on the success of a local San Francisco family and wondered how many folks were on the street who weren't so lucky.

I wonder if I'm doing the work I'm supposed to do?

Comments

[Lizard]

I remember a particularly powerful ritual exercise, in Gretchen's basement, during a workshop. I can still hear your voice, Stan, as you urged us to cradle the foot, the leg, the arm, the HANDS of our partner. You invited us to bring wonder and reverence to our minds and hearts as we marvelled at the intricate creation before us. "Allow the work of these hands to sink into your heart, your mind. Honor the love they have shared, the beauty they have created, the toil they have undertaken, the service, the pain, the joy, the laughter, the reverence....honor and witness the life of these hands."

I wish I had a camera and could have made a photo essay to go with your observations of those hands in the Tenderloin. It would be another iteration of "In Our Own Voices," but with a visual message, a narrative story to fill the reader's well of compassion.

My well was a bit dry today, Stan. Thank you for the gift of this image. You have drawn the deep Mystery back into life for me. Blessings on you.