Lynda Zazanis shares her frustration at having had her art supplies and finished artworks confiscated several times during homeless encampment cleanups conducted by Los Angeles city and county agencies.
Everything (is not) going to be all right…
“When does enough turn out to be enough– when do we leave reasonably satisfied, and if so, with what messages given to the people with whom we have worked? What is our responsibility to such people … When does honorable inquiry turn into an exercise in manipulative self-interest, even ‘exploitation’?”
* Robert Coles, Doing Documentary Work

What survived for several months as a collective, familial effort to hold things together among the concrete bridges, ramps, sidewalks and cul de sacs has morphed into something even less optimistic, if that’s a term that could ever be used. Terry and Amy are occupying the narrowest strip of asphalt imaginable on an off-ramp, certain by be rousted out again soon, only to build camp somewhere else in the vicinity or do a spell behind bars; Gracie is now rooming with a couple Craig once denounced as grifters and opportunists; Lynda clings tenuously to a modicum of sane, reasoned hope, with her artworks finally about to go on public display at an Art Walk, on invitation from a local politician’s office.
Discovering Lynda’s new kitty brings a feeling of hope and tenderness that is minutes later dampened by Craig’s terse recounting of his recent confrontation with law enforcement nemesis Officer Diaz, which he retells with tired and pitiless eyes as an impasse during which both men reportedly told the other that they never want to see each other again. With their dead-end encampment now overrun with the hoardings of others and no longer the place of relative solitude it proved to be for several weeks, Craig may be getting harassed (two new tickets and counting) out of what he calls Diaz’s “perimeter,” and threatens now to seek less hostile pastures.

56.11 tent violation, for an abode blocking a remote dead end sidewalk where nobody walks.
General Jeff

General Jeff, the “Mayor of Skid Row,” before his very informative, frank, generous presentation to our documentary photojournalism class; his message is one that anyone interested in matters of urban poverty, homelessness, the situation in Los Angeles and especially the ins-and-outs of the ongoing full-blown humanitarian crisis on Skid Row had better learn. Not unlike any settlement where the inhabitants are essentially displaced peoples, Jeff is part of the heart that asserts its autonomy and demands self-respect. And not unlike, for example, a refugee camp, where the inhabitants have no real power in the face of violence and levels of degradation most only have to wonder about, his leadership is heroic and essential and relentless.
FLASHBACK: Street kids of Nairobi… A young boy was recently being interviewed by Undugu social workers. His only possession seemed to be an old burlap sack. When asked why he wouldn’t put the sack down as they talked, the boy replied warily, “This is not a sack. It is my father and my mother, my house, my car, my farm and my daily bread. I can’t steal without it.”
Combined excerpts from two separate articles, originally
published in Kenya in Executive Magazine,
January 1993, and Survival, Spring
1994.



Being at the forefront of street children-related work in Kenya, it is sometimes necessary for the Undugu Society to assume the role of advocate. This is especially true when cases arise where it is obvious that the rights of the children, as espoused in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, have been violated. One such case occurred when government authorities decided to close down a rescue center at Kariokor Market, one of the busiest sections of Nairobi. An extremely harsh crackdown left several boys incarcerated among adults- - a direct contradiction of the statutes related to child protection in Kenya. The boys were hounded and even physically assaulted during their ordeal. While it is true that many of these boys were not model citizens in any sense of the word, they are citizens, and human beings, nonetheless. And though we wish in all good conscience to be able to report that this incident was an isolated case of overzealousness by a few officials, we are sorry that our pursuit of the truth in such matters does not allow such a softening statement to be made. To the contrary, such occurrences are so commonplace that to report them regularly would entail the hiring of a full-time investigative reporter, to be assigned solely to the juvenile courthouse, the approved and remand school systems, and the police stations citywide. Reprinted here is the editorial column from the March 1994 edition of Flash, the in-house quarterly newsletter of Undugu.
In the April –June, 1993 issue of Flash, our editorial outlined the work being done by the Child Law Project, whose proposed Children’s Act seeks to refine and consolidate the often conflicting and unclear legislation pertaining to child protection. We noted then that Attorney General Amos Wako has said that this act should become law sometime during this session of Parliament.



To date, this has not yet been done, thus the Children and Young Persons Acts, Chapter 141 (last revised in 1972) remains the definitive legislation on cases specifically dealing with juveniles and others, including street children. In light of the recent developments involving the boys from Kariokor, it is instructive to note the following sections of this act, and we would ask the proper authorities to pause and consider whether the rights of these children are in any way being violated:
CAP 141, Section 23: (1) If any person who has the custody, charge or care of any child or juvenile-
(a) Willfully assaults, ill-treats, neglects, abandons or exposes him, or causes or permits him to be assaulted, ill-treated, neglected, abandoned or exposed, in any manner likely to cause him unnecessary suffering or injury to healthy shall be guilty of an offence and liable to a fine not exceeding five thousand shillings or to imprisonment for a term not exceeding six months or to both such fine and such imprisonment…

CAP 141, Section 5: Arrangements shall be made for preventing persons under sixteen years of age while detained in a police station, or while being conveyed to or from any court from associating with adults charged with or convicted of any offence other than an offence with which a person under sixteen years of age is jointly charged or convicted…
CAP 141, Section 14: Every court in dealing with a person under eighteen years of age who is brought before it shall have regard to his welfare and shall, in a proper case, take steps for removing him from undesirable surroundings and for securing that proper provision be made for his maintenance, education and training.

In the first two instances (Section 23 &6), readers of our special report in this issue (the closing of the Kariokor Rescue Centre) will not have to stretch their imaginations too far to acknowledge the possibility of violations against our children by the very agencies entrusted to protect them. With regard to Section 14, a recent visit to the Juvenile Remand Home in Kabete, (one of 10 such home throughout the republic) revealed a situation so shocking and depressing in its scope, that it is hard to imagine how the courts assigned to deal with these children would be able to abide by that law.

Built to hold 80-100 children, Kabete’s population fluctuates from 200-300 and has in recent months reached as high as 500. With manager Bakala Wambani lamenting a near total lack of funding from the government, the children held at Kabete have no salt or milk in their diets. Many appear to be malnourished, a worse condition than we find them when living on the streets. Scabies is rampant, as there are precious few medicines to treat this or any other illnesses. There are only two qualified social workers, with ten other staff members handing various responsibilities. Even with probation officers sent periodically from the Children’s Department to help follow-up the vagrancy cases (which constitute the majority), processing is slow. It is not uncommon for a child picked up on a street corner to end up spending more than a month waiting for some decision to be made on his future. In the meantime, those categorized as needing protection and care (P &C) are mixed together with those officially determined to require protection and discipline (P&D). The result—hardcore cases end up influencing and often spoiling the more innocent children. In December last year, the government released 17m shillings from the Treasury, to go towards the “repatriation” of children to their home regions. Already dozens of children have been shipped to police station in places such as Kakamega and Mombasa.

This may stem the flow of children to the streets temporarily, but realistically it is like trying to empty a sinking canoe with a spoon. Long-term solutions are needed. Just as Undugu Society needs funding to maintain our programs, so the relevant government ministries need to allocate sufficient funds to improve the quality of services at the remand home and approved schools. It was pointed out to us that there was once a “ State Maintenance Fund,” which was used to finance the education of needy children. There were even cases of children being sponsored clear up to university level. Reviving this would be a major step in the right direction.

Without such efforts of good faith, and until policeman and others in positions of authority learn to treat street children as human beings, not whipping boys, the chances are the system will continue to further harden, rather than help, society’s most unfortunate souls.



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.

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.


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.

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.
Mercy

Manny Flores and his outreach team from the North Valley Caring Services bring warm meals, hygiene kits, human kindness and even prayer to people living outdoors. Encampments, alleys, sidewalks, the wash, even groups camped inside the bushes of public parks are visited each Wednesday night. It requires just the right blend of missionary zeal, street cred and unconditional love to gain and keep trust. Some of the spots, such as the “Trails” encampments that line the 405 freeway, are home to the hardest cases of chronic homelessness, notorious for tough, sometimes fatal living conditions. Deaths among the homeless and other street dwellers in this repressed section of North Hills are surprisingly common, and Manny talked about some recent incidents while driving his loaded-down pick-up through the night traffic between spots.


Randy, an elderly gentleman surviving the elements and lung cancer, talks to volunteer Lauren Rathbone and her service dog, and unburdens himself to a sidewalk ministry.


MOTEL LIFE

Outreach includes regular visits to families who have secured temporary shelter in motels along Sepulveda Boulevard, through a voucher program provided by Los Angeles Family Housing. Kids and adults congregate on the balconies as doors open to greet the visitors. One of the motel rooms we visited housed a family of ten…









Terry’s fears were justified. He is back in jail, while Amy worries that an old warrant from 1994 has been discovered and may soon be used to pick her up too…
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…

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.



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…


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








