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December 2016

A Bitter End

It was a harsh and dehumanizing end to the encampment, inevitable under the circumstances. 

A garbled, hurried text message from Gracie, before she was put in handcuffs clutching only her phone and an avocado, informed me that the police were on site at the 405 & Nordhoff. Linda had already been taken away and others were also being detained while officers and Caltrans workers moved in to clear the area once and for all. That the bottom fell out of their tenuous little community settlement was not surprising. A miniature skid row had formed in the vacuum created by lack of cohesive and comprehensive policy. Proper intervention requires compassion for those members of the public often derided as bottom-feeders, and are in fact survivalists hindered by their own impoverishment, vices and bleak prospects. The sidewalks had become unbearably overcrowded and filthy, with trash piling up in bags and pooling up in loose piles against the walls. There were as many as 8-10 separate makeshift living quarters in use, and complaints from residents had increased. Students from nearby Monroe High School and other pedestrians were finding it increasingly difficult to pass. The tipping point, according to accounts from both the campers and the police I spoke to, occurred when a man in an electric wheelchair could not navigate past some of the temporary structures on the sidewalk under the freeway bridge, and toppled off the curb. (see update for clarification)

The good-natured twenty-something leader of the orange-clad Caltrans team (ten or so workers) told me that he had tried to warn everyone that “something big was coming,” and it was clear that he was taking no joy in this operation. It was true, the oddly contradictory  Municipal Code 41.18 signs that had been planted on the sidewalks a few weeks earlier declaring “no loitering or solicitations,” and the tickets citing violations such as “illegal encampments” that had been written just days earlier were all a portent of doom for the squatters. Now Caltrans and city workers ripped apart the tents and other makeshift shelters, exposing a hoarder’s bounty of all manner of personal possessions, some essential, many not. 

Terry and Amy were handcuffed, standing fifteen feet apart against the wall under the bridge. Stressed out, they snapped at each other like the old married couple they have become. Amy, who had been on yet another drug-fueled downward spiral in recent weeks pleaded for matches or a lighter so she could have one last smoke before being loaded into the squad car. Sitting against the wall with her hands behind her, she asked me to take her Chihuahua so that it wouldn’t be confiscated. The police agreed I could save the dog, which I ended up leaving with Rachel and Rebecca, who had a pup of their own. The mother-daughter team had been living in the most expansive tent/compound, on state property (the northbound onramp). They were being allowed to hang onto most of their supplies, including their tent, having convinced the police that they were going to receive enough money later that day to afford a motel room. They didn’t get off completely unscathed though, as the usually good-mannered and thoughtful Rachel lost her cool when told she couldn’t salvage her dog’s bowl, and injured her foot kicking a post. 

Across the street, Gracie, Craig and others were being sequestered along the freeway onramp. Those with previous warrants like Gracie (”misdemeanors”), along with Craig and another man named Mike were in handcuffs. Sixty-six-year-old Gracie’s hands were bound uncomfortably behind her back.  Craig, apparently in the early stages of narcotic withdrawal, was completely despondent, wondering aloud what was going to happen now. After sitting slumped in a plastic chair for more than an hour, he told the officers he preferred to lay prostrate on the warm cement while waiting to be taken away. His posture led one officer to approach me and ask how my photographs would be used, well aware that images of a man laying on the ground, hands bound behind his back while officers hovered around, didn’t look very good from a public relations standpoint. I assured him that I would provide the proper context. Rebecca and the others sort of rolled their eyes, telling us that Craig, the former child actor, tended to be “dramatic” at times. 

Still, it always pricks the conscience to see humans shackled… 

I watched as Gracie, and later Craig, were escorted in cuffs to where their things were, as an officer asked them what was essential, sifting through the piles of clothing, foodstuffs and personal effects for the items, stuffing them into black plastic garbage bags. Everything that was not salvaged would be trashed. I managed to find one last piece of Linda’s fingernail polish-painted artwork and tucked in my back pocket … 

The police were professional and patient, for the most part displaying at least a requisite amount of empathy, bound as they were by the statutes they are entrusted to uphold, and their own daily involvement with these situations. “We’re basically social workers with guns,” one young officer with a military background half-joked. He spent several minutes explaining all of the various programs available through the city’s new H.O.P.E (Homeless Outreach Pro-Active Engagement) program, revisiting the litany of reasons why many homeless don’t feel comfortable or even able to stay in shelters or seek other forms of assistance. Watching a young woman light another cigarette, he expressed quiet frustration at Emmy Lu’s refusal to accept an offer to move into a woman’s shelter, preferring instead, even in her seventh month of pregnancy, to live in the street and indulge in bad habits. She was hurriedly and tearfully trying to gather whatever belongings she could pull together before their domicile was destroyed. Mike, her child’s father, sat on the sidewalk across the street with his hands cuffed behind his back, taking everything in stride with disconcerting calm.

If anything this incident points to the serious need for consideration and thought on how to avoid these kinds of environments from being necessary at all… 

I rode back to the site on my bike several hours later, in the late afternoon, and found Rebecca and Rachel still waiting on a corner with the possessions they were allowed to keep. By nightfall they would be in a motel room … Terry, Amy, Craig, Gracie, Linda and Mike were presumably in the Van Nuys jail. Another couple, who had been living under the bridge for the last month or so, (part of the influx of new campers that Gracie had warned was making the place too overcrowded and dirty), was sifting through the meager remains, debris that had been left behind, deemed to small to be swept into the trucks. The man told me that they had “ducked out” when the law enforcement first arrived that morning, and had waited until now to return, to see what if anything was left behind for them. 

As his partner Debra poked through the detritus, someone yelled at her from across the street, warning her to “keep your hands off that, it doesn’t belong to you!” It was a pathetic scene, heavy with portent. I asked Debra where they would go now. She glanced around furtively, and told me that she didn’t feel safe going anywhere after this. They had been warned not to even panhandle on the ramps any more. (Note: in a later post it will come to light that this couple Jeff and Debra, are among the lesser-liked for reasons legal and otherwise). It seems that there has been a shift in policy, though what it is exactly is unclear.  One hopeful thought to hold onto– one of the officers confided openly that he thought this should lead to a more cohesive squatting policy between city and state bodies. 

Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago Gracie had stood in front of the North Hills East Neighborhood Council and tried to plead for understanding on just this issue. She specifically expressed the desire of the more responsible members of the Nordhoff group to keep the area clean and not be a nuisance to the community, which she said in her characteristically straightforward manner, “gives to us so generously.” Yet while she may have been listened to politely, nary a finger was raised on her behalf or on behalf of the others, and the alternative to her laying in the soot of traffic (lest we forget her respiratory health issues) turned out to be a jail cell. That we can’t do better than this for our most unfortunate citizens is just a low-down dirty shame …

Dec 30, 2016
#OneOfUs #homeless #poverty #social justice
the end is nigh . . .

Unusual for Southern California, winter came with cold, wet and windy weather. While several of the occupants of the 405/Nordhoff group were given holiday gifts of “Notice to Appear” tickets this past week, citing “illegal encampment,” the bad weather has actually earned them a reprieve from the impending evacuation of the area by law enforcement. It was supposed to have happened as early as yesterday.

Rachel, still holding out in a tent with her mother Rebecca on the corner of the Northbound freeway entrance, explained that LAMC 56.11 allows them to stay as long as there is rain and temperatures below 50 degrees. That might give them a few more days.

Meanwhile, Terry works the ramp, Craig compulsively sweeps the sidewalk, Amy and Shay discuss their dilemma while Linda sleeps off a very rough night under the bridge.  Alcohol, pot, meth and heroin serve to keep these folks down while also anesthetizing them from the harshness and uncertainty of life….

Craig shares tips on how to create signs for working the ramp that will garner the most empathy from the public …

Dec 23, 2016
#OneOfUs #homeless #poverty #social justice

“It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.”

― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol


The first day of winter, and for once Los Angeles feels like it … here is wishing that Isaac, Kim and their two hearty boys are no longer camping in a supermarket parking lot, and have found better shelter …

Dec 21, 2016
#oneofus #homeless #poverty #family
Dec 14, 2016 1 note
#OneOfUs #homeless
Solutions to Homelessness: North Valley Caring Services (Pt. 1)

speakingforourselves450:

A breakfast program, started by Verna Porter in 1975, evolved to what we know as “North Valley Caring Services” today. Throughout the years, different programs have been created to provide services to homeless community and people in need. Programs such as breakfast, portable shower, haircut, bicycle and clothing have made big impacts on homeless people’s lives. In this series of photos, I focused on the services, provided in this center and people, who are involved with these services. People like Manny Flores, the community liaison, and Danny, coordinator of the breakfast program, who’re going beyond their responsibilities to make a change in the community. The services provided in this center are not limited to these. Thanksgiving lunch, annual memorial service or Christmas giveaway are some other events that attract a big number of people in need to this center.  

Beside the regular services provided in the center, Manny reaches out to some homeless people or camps in the area to build the relationship with them and get them the help that they need. I accompanied Manny in his visits to 405 freeway off-ramp camp, Trails and abandoned Green Arrow, which has become a homeless camp. Our visit to these camps was full of sad, happy, hopeless and hopeful moments, from the stories of people under 405 freeway dealing with city and LAPD to China’s bike. These photos probably won’t change anything for these people, but this journey definitely changed my point of view on this issue.


Manny Flores and Craig, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. Manny talks to Craig next to his encampment under the 405 freeway.


Craig, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. Craig holds the cereal bag, while chatting with Manny.


Manny Flores and Gracie, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway offramp. Manny talks to Gracie near her encampment under the 405 freeway.


Craig’s belongings, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. A sign, which reads  “Homeless Please Help”, sitting on a box next to Craig’s tent.


Manny Flores and Stella, October 26, 2016, North Valley Caring Services. Stella listens to Manny, talking about different types of homelessness.


Manny Flores, Trails camp, November 9, 2016. Manny walks with the bike through the Trails camp, on the freeway underpass, near the 405 Roscoe exit.


China, Trails Camp, November 9, 2016.


China, Trails Camp, November 9, 2016. China, ready to ride her new bike.


China and her homeboy, Trails camp, November 9, 2016. China poses with her homeboy on her new bike.


Trails camp, November 9, 2016. An old door is been used as a bridge.

Dec 13, 2016 2 notes
Dec 10, 2016 2 notes
#OneOfUs #homeless
Dec 8, 2016 1 note
#oneofus #homeless #documentary #humanity #dignity #poverty
I feel free

Poem written by Ashley Grant, for an assignment in a documentary photojournalism class at California State University, Northridge, 2014.

 

Here I sit beside you

With dirty palms and withered clothes.

This bench that we both share is small,

For that I am sorry.

I have no where else to reside, but here.

Or beneath the freeway across town.

I am homeless, yes that’s true

But you should respect me, as I will respect you.

I was wealthy once before.

College educated and happily married

I thought I had the world all figured out.

But life hits you hard

And you can be thrown off your path.

Before I knew it, 30 years at a large company

Had disappeared and I was pushed to the side.

No warning, no back up plan.

There were no drugs or alcohol to blame

I just was a simple man trying to survive.

Bills soon consumed me and

My wife and I began to fight almost every second of the day.

Life was almost unbearable.

I was in a constant uphill battle with myself.

Although I had all the qualifications, jobs were scarce.

With no money coming in I knew my life would further change.

My home was taken by the IRS and my wife soon left me after.

She needed more she said.

I wanted that for her.

With nothing to hold onto

I allowed myself to be taken by the streets.

Six years have come and gone,

And I sit beside you now.

Money is a hell of a thing.

It can allow you to have it all

or in the end leave you high and dry.

I am homeless, yes that’s true.

But I am alive and although I now have nothing,

Only that cart across the way.

Somehow I feel like I’m better off that way.

Dec 4, 2016
#poetry #documentary #homeless
Skin

On Broadway Street, the heart of old Los Angeles. We recognized each other, and Ivy was pleased to find that I remembered the rabbit she kept tucked in her shirt when we had crossed paths back in March. Her speech today was not quite as impaired by substance as it had been that day, and she related that Raymond Yellowhawk had died, and pointed out that in fact, his prosthetic leg was now on display on a shelf in the store across the street, the very store where they had been sitting on the sidewalk that day in March. There was a little more conversation about sleeping conditions, prison tattoos, and we waved goodbye… 

“What I’m trying to describe is that it’s impossible to get out of your skin into somebody else’s…. That somebody else’s tragedy is not the same as your own.”
                                                                                ― Diane Arbus

Relating these encounters anecdotally risks contextualizing the lives of Ivy and others as just “stories” leaving one with the sinking feeling that they carry semiotic and emotive pinpricks to the conscience not unlike those in fairy tales, anthropology and possibly religion (sure to be a debatable point, that last one). 

There are enough pictures already, enough tales of suffering and despair, so that long ago if they were to be effective enough to make a bigger difference, society would have had to have been thoroughly shamed into whatever means necessary. But no, so more photographs are on the way regardless; even while I struggle with my own concerns about exploiting the drama of their circumstances, I hope the public sees it not as decorative art or entertainment. 

Dec 3, 2016
#homeless #OneOfUs #poverty #UrbanPoverty #documentary
Criminalizing poverty

Text messages from Linda this morning: “We are in dire straits at the moment…. the city has posted permanent signs saying no loitering no soliciting no stopping … it basically gives the LAPD the authority to come in an wipe us out and arrest or ticket us.. and it could be anytime…. I’m trying to find a place for my blankets, clothes and my art, and me… they did this right before the holidays just to make sure we can’t get help … this gives them so much power over us and we have no rights … now I feel that talking to any of these so-called concerned citizens is a waste of time… we don’t count, they have all counted us out. Send THAT to the mayor!!!!!”

So it happened that Amy and Terry heard the jackhammers roar right outside their makeshift hovel on the sidewalk early this morning, as city workers erected  a series of metal posts with signs, essentially laying the groundwork for what appears to be a move to sweep the underpass clean of everyone: Gracie, Linda, Craig, Rebecca and her daughter Rachel, and the others. With no alternatives offered, as the weather gets colder and windier and as the holidays approach, the frustration and anger of these people is understandable …


The L.A. Municipal Code 41.18 (d) remains an easy way for police to criminalize homeless individuals and make their lives more difficult than they already are, resulting in the U.S. 9th Circuit Court to rule in the “Jones vs. City of L.A.” case that this code violates the U.S. Constitution’s 8th Amendment (No cruel and unusual punishment). In spite of this ruling, certain officers issue citations to people arbitrarily without providing any time for individuals to comply.

Dec 2, 2016
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