Three questions

In preparation for an exhibition on homelessness currently in the planning stages at the Museum of Social Justice in Los Angeles, I was asked three very simple and direct questions, which challenged me to define the motivations and expectations of the One of Us project:

1.     Is there one thing, or one experience that tangibly crystalized the dedication that drives you to pursue this project with such ferocity? Or is there a significant experience you can point to that initiated your motivation to provoke change in how homelessness is treated in Los Angeles?

Homelessness in Los Angeles is a humanitarian crisis that can’t be ignored. Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas recently characterized it as the defining issue of the time, and better late than never, it is good to find so much activity and mobilization going on now. I’m personally motivated by a sense of outrage over the passive-aggressive way much of society deals with the homeless population, and alarm at the way the problem has been allowed to fester and grow. The relationships, trust and even friendships I’ve established with an odd fraternity of homeless individuals (and activists) in my own community has only reinforced and illuminated these beliefs.

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Photographs and words can only interpret and represent, and in actuality there are already more than enough dramatic photographs of deprivation and suffering, and enough anecdotal information and demographics to convince the powers-that-be to do the needful. The media, myself included, have been complicit in this. With the notable exception of the few instances where photographs, reportage and even Art have had a direct, measurable effect on its subjects, the ubiquity of coverage has only added to an overwhelming sense of intractability and despair, perpetrating harmful stereotypes and further serving to objectify the homeless as some homogeneous societal woe.

What harm can there be in listening to and learning from those who are actually living this nightmare on a daily basis? The concept of soliciting the personal stories and portraits that became One of Us arose out of a longstanding collaboration with Wade Trimmer, director of the San Fernando Valley Rescue Mission. Wade encouraged me to pursue our common interest in “humanizing” the homeless, a phrase that on its face seems redundant and offensive because it infers that each person encountered in this work is not unquestionably and obviously quite human already. So we want to remind the public of this simple fact of humanity; the motivation for this approach lies in the desire to change the conversation surrounding homelessness, to bring it back to a human level, to perhaps nudge anyone who encounters the material to feel more inclined to enact real, sustainable solutions.


2.     If you were to ask the participants of “One of Us” what the most important message we need to convey would be, what do you think they would say?

The conversations we recorded with more than 40 individuals provide a wide variety of answers to that question. Taken collectively, they present a pretty comprehensive catalog of the causes of homelessness and the many obstacles that make it such a difficult situation to rise above. At the risk of overusing another cliché, in the context of “giving voice to the voiceless” as a path toward human autonomy and dignity, the most important messages I heard were connected with the longing for understanding and empathy from the general public and law enforcement. 

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Each person’s story touches on this in some way, whether it is boyish, twenty-something Jesse who dreams of becoming a doctor or nurse while currently living in his car in the parking lot of the Walmart store he works in, or Nancy, an elderly Southern debutante whose safe world was turned upside down after being victimized by real estate fraud. Ultimately it doesn’t matter how many stories are told, how many “likes” their images collect on social media, or any of that. They just need affordable housing.

3.     What is your favorite image and why?

There’s a big distinction between the studio-lit portraits made in locations where the people were for the most part comfortable and knew they were in a safe place among friends and allies (possibly having just eaten a warm breakfast and used the portable shower unit), and those taken out in the streets and encampments. While I’m gratified that so many of the close-up portraits reveal a sense of common humanity that transcends their economic or living conditions, my favorite picture is often one I have just recently taken, portraying both personal and symbolic meanings. 

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Right now an image I feel conveys some measure of universal hope, if not redemption, is that of Gracie holding up the tiny portrait of a baby girl recently born to her street-mate Emmy. The baby was the only survivor of twins, and Gracie was noticeably proud to have been anointed her “honorary grandmother.” As tragic as the circumstances surrounding the child’s birth may be, and as uncertain as the future is now for Gracie, Emmy and the rest of the people in this one camp—a microcosm of homelessness in Los Angeles—there is still the desire to sustain a sense of familial belonging.

H.O.P.E. (less)

Chaos reigns at the 405 and Nordhoff. Officer Diaz of the LAPD’s purportedly “compassionate” HOPE program has got a “hard on” for certain members of the homeless community there. This is exactly how it was characterized to me this morning, in remarkably similar language in separate conversations with Lynda, Amy and Terry. The small refugee camp that had once again grown into something that was appearing semi-permanent along the northbound onramp was forcibly dismantled a couple of days ago, and in what appears to be a coordinated effort  between state and city officials, sanitation moved in quickly with the LAPD.  Most everyone (except Craig and Gracie it seems) was once again ticketed, this time for illegal use of shopping carts. Terry and Amy moved to a nearby residential sidewalk, Lynda and Gracie to another, and once their carts were taken away, all of their belongings remained strewn on the sidewalks. Thursday (tomorrow), they have been warned by Diaz, is “arrest day.” How they are to move their things without the carts, is a Catch-22 level head scratcher…

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Stress and anxiety rule the day. Lynda, while still managing to show me her latest artwork, is now desperate to get out of this area, and Terry has plans to move their stuff to another location (which I will not disclose here for the time being). Being out of the jurisdiction of Officer Diaz they believe will lower the threat level to their freedom. Nobody is in a hurry to go back to jail.

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Terry showed the most frustration, sifting through their belongings which were organized to look like a yard sale where there was really nothing worth buying. Meanwhile today is Amy’s birthday; considering she was coming off a night where she spent most of Terry’s earnings ($70 on a bag of heroin), she seemed in a reasonably light mood a few blocks away at the North Valley Caring Services Methodist Church site, picking out a free bicycle with help from Manny, Jose Ruiz, Jr. and the others. Terry desperately wishes she would do what she has done before, go into a rehab environment and kick her habit; it’s a decision she has to make for herself and is apparently just not ready…

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This week’s events bring to mind what Gracie said during her interview late last year, which bears repeating here:

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“We don’t believe you, ‘cause we’re the people …”