A Roof Over All Of Our Heads

This is a follow on of an essay I wrote last year, entitled A Pair of Clean Socks, A Warm Meal, and No Solution, a screenshot of the homeless situation in Sacramento. The situation continues to worsen across the state, and there are still no real solutions in sight.

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There is a gentleman who is always on the corner of 15th and J, sitting on a black garbage bag of belongings. He is constantly talking to himself, sometimes when I go past I hear him muttering that “it’s them again”, so I know that he notices us just like I notice him. He has been there for years, sometimes moving up to 16th and K, just sitting on his belongings and talking quietly to himself. His face is thin, his age difficult to determine, and I have no idea where he is from or who he is. He is just there, and has been there longer than some of the establishments that open and close in this city. He moves from corner to corner, always with his garbage bag of belongings, always talking to himself quietly.

I recently wrote a book review that the author and publisher thought was unfair. The thing is I am not paid to write reviews, and my reviews are always honest and based on how I feel. It was considered “unfair” because I mentioned the author’s privilege several times. It’s interesting how so many white men balk at the word “privilege”, like it is an insult. As the memoir talked about addiction, homelessness (kind of), and life on the streets in Venice Beach (kind of), the element of privilege was very important: the author wouldn’t be where he is now without it (and his own personal hard work of course, but his privilege gave him a higher jumping board). As I walk miles through the city of Sacramento every day I see so much homelessness, and can only just imagine what even a small jumping board could mean to so many people here. So I kept the rating and review as they were, not to be gaslit into changing it to something less “unfair”.

Homelessness, addiction, mental illness, PTSD, are all huge issues in this country right now, and with no real solutions in place to curb and eliminate them, they will continue to grow. City, state, and federal solutions are mere band-aids, not addressing the core issues. 

Can we not create places for people to sleep, seek help, find work? I’m not talking about a homeless shelter with X amount of beds, but communities where people feel safe, with different professionals to guide them through the process of seeking help for mental illness, rehab and/or safe injection sites, guidance for those who have been living on the streets for years, full support for families seeking to find stability? An establishment with safe rooms to sleep in, common areas, gardens to grow fruit and vegetables? I know for a fact that there would be so many people willing to volunteer their time to help, so what is stopping local governments from creating real solutions? Somewhere where people are treated as human beings, where people can seek help, safety, and understanding, and somewhere where people are not locked in, can come and go as they please.

There is so much construction in this city right now: hotels, luxury complexes where a studio of less than 500 square feet starts at $1800 a month, government buildings, and storefronts. But none of these building sites will contain apartments that people like us can afford. If I personally can’t dream of ever affording even a studio here, what about those who make less than we do?! We are currently on a two to three year waiting list for a unit in one of the only affordable housing places in the downtown and midtown area in Sacramento. We are usually lucky enough to be able to scramble a living together and pay our already not very affordable rent until we get a better unit - what about all of the other families who can’t? According to a report by the Sacramento Bee, Sacramento currently has the most homeless families sleeping outside on any given night in the country. How can a society not be bothered by the fact that children are sleeping outside in tents and cars? How can a child feel comfortable at school, be able to concentrate, and also do their homework properly when they are worrying about where they will be sleeping next? The solution is not to take the children away and dump them in an already overwhelmed foster care system, but to help the whole family as a unit (unless of course there is evidence of deliberate neglect or abuse). This means guidance to find work, free and safe childcare options, an address, a real safety net. I don’t personally have the solutions to these issues, but I know that there are many people who have these types of ideas, and who communicate them to officials… But we don’t see any real change. We do see the same type of buildings sprout up all over the city though: apartments and townhouses with rental prices that are close to the type of prices I was used to in NYC. But there are also so many abandoned buildings, void of dwellings or businesses, ample enough room to house the thousands that reside on the streets. There ARE solutions, and there IS money, so why is the situation getting worse instead of better?

The last time I saw the gentleman on 16th and G was when we picked up an extra pain au chocolat and coffee for him after we dropped the girls off at school. He was always on the same corner, rain or shine, and would tip his hat every time he saw us, wishing us a good day with a big smile. His bed was often in the awning of the building across the street, but sometimes I saw him pushing his cart along 16th from somewhere else, always towards 16th and G, facing the traffic with his message against credit card fraud. The last time I saw him was towards the end of last school year, and I often think of him when I walk past his spot, hoping that he just moved to another dwelling, somewhere inside, warm and safe.

A few months ago I was walking around the Capitol Gardens with my two year old when I saw a police officer on a bicycle approach a man who was sleeping on a stretch of grass near the Vietnam War memorial. The police officer lifted his foot and used it to roll the man over, waking him up in the process. The way I just described that sounds like it was done gently, but it wasn’t: he basically kicked a homeless man who was fast asleep on the ground without even bothering to get off his bike. Once the man was shocked awake, he said something to him and rode off. While I’m sure his excuse would be that he needed to check whether the man was alive, common decency would have been to treat him as a human being by getting off of his bike and using his voice to rouse him, not his foot. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach, I could practically smell the officer’s disdain from where I stood, and I wish I had been closer so that I could have heard what he said, and intervened, or at least said something. Being homeless doesn’t make us less human, on the contrary, it should make those of us who are more fortunate use empathy and compassion, and reach out a hand. Not a foot! It goes to show that Sacramento PD still refuses to train their officers correctly when it comes to homeless outreach.

Last year’s count brought the number of homeless people residing on the streets of the city up to 5,570 people (this doesn’t count those who are couch surfing, sleeping in hotels and/or often in cars. For a little bit of perspective, this is about the same number of people who are sleeping rough on any given night in the whole of the UK. (Once you add the number of people who are in temporary housing and/or hotel rooms, couchsurfing or sleeping in their cars in remote areas the number rises to 320,000 in the UK, but the difference, in my opinion, goes to show that the safety nets in the UK are apparently much more effective than they are here). To put another perspective on the issue, California (the state with the highest number of homeless people in the US), currently has about 151,278 people who are homeless, and 108,432 of these people are unsheltered, meaning that they live on the streets in tents or cars, or in abandoned buildings. These numbers, taken from The 2019 Annual Homeless Assessment Report To Congress, state that on any given night 71.7% of the Californian homeless population sleep on the streets (literally). Over 100,000 people sleep on the streets in California every single night!! That’s NOT normal. The thing is, as we keep on hearing these numbers, and even though we realize they keep on growing, they end up becoming abstract, and easy to dismiss. Most especially for those people who spend most of their time in a car, driving from home to work and back again, not actually really seeing the people surviving on the streets on a day to day basis. We need to hear people’s stories, to notice people when we walk by, to listen to people, hear what people are saying, and to treat each and every person like a human being. Everyone deserves to have a safe place to sleep. No one is safe from poverty, homelessness, mental illness, addiction. The only way we can make this world a better place is to make it better for everyone. 

Some people may kid themselves that all homeless people are addicts and/or mentally ill and/or criminals in order to make the issue more palatable (and yes, a certain percentage of the homeless population is on drugs/alcoholic/criminal/mentally ill, but I’m sure no more than the percentage of people on drugs/alcoholic/criminal/mentally ill who are not currently homeless). But really these people are only kidding themselves, blaming every issue they encounter on the homeless/drugs/liberals/immigration/all of the above. (No need to search further than the local Nextdoor app to see this). The main issue that we must collectively fight for is the fact that housing is too expensive for the average person. And because Sacramento did away with the policy obliging developers to consistently incorporate 15% of each development to affordable housing in 2015 (see Sacramento News & Review’s excellent article on the subject), there is no incentive to actually create these units. So while “market rate” apartments are on the rise, affordable rentals have stagnated. And what is “market rate” exactly? Because I sure don’t know anyone who could easily afford a 400 square foot studio at $1800 (located on a busy street right next to two budget hotels and a bunch of abandoned storefronts where people often bed down for the night, may I add). Why are we relying on developers to develop affordable housing? Why is the city not setting aside enough budget to build units that we can all afford, you know, those of us who work 2 or 3 minimum wage jobs downtown to barely make ends meet? I think I know the answer to that question… 

The lady is still there, every morning, her hairstyle immaculate, her clothing perfect, she looks as put together as my Nana used to before heading out on a shopping trip. She grabs her coffee at the cafe on the corner of 13th and N, and heads back to her bench where her suitcase and bags are standing together. The first time I saw her she was doing her hair and make up in the Capitol Gardens restrooms, and I have seen her most weeks, days even, on the same bench. She could be my kids’ grandmother, she could be my mother, and she is most likely someone’s mother or aunt, grandmother or sister. She does not fit your stereotypical image of a homeless person, but she is, and she is in no shape or form alone in her predicament. I walked through Cesar Chavez Plaza the other Saturday with my kids and several women asked me to spare some change… And each one was well over 60 and disabled. Then we walked along K Street, the once vibrant shopping area that is now half glamorous/half in disrepair, and yet another elderly lady asked us for some change. These women belong in warm homes! They don’t belong on the streets, sleeping in tents and/or their wheelchairs! This country should be ashamed of how it allows people to fall through the cracks, people who have paid taxes and into state and federal coffers for years, people who have served this country in some shape or form, and now left to crumble in their own hunger. And then the other day I walked past a woman who was changing her clothes by the Memorial Auditorium, and she cackled and told me I looked like a r word. I reacted, and got mad, not for the insult, more for the use of that word because I literally hate it, and then felt bad for reacting. It’s OK to be angry at the situation in general, and it’s OK to get angry about the woman who tried to insult me. She, and every one else still deserve to be treated as humans, and have a roof over their heads.

As an immigrant I don’t have the right to vote in this country, but I have been following politics and candidates quite closely, especially for the local elections. While the presidentials are obviously important, who we have running our city and state is also very important. These are the people who are going to be using federal and state money to address the issues of homelessness, of poverty, of affordable housing (lack of it). These are the people who are going to make the change - and it is up to us to force them to make real changes. Don’t be the person who just wants the problem to be swept away, hidden. Be the person who wants to treat all humans as humans no matter where they come from, where they are now, how much money they may or may not have. We are all in this world together, and should therefore be working together to make the world a better place for us all. Opening a few beds here and there is not a long term solution, so we need to elect the people who are willing to actually create real programs that will HELP people get off the streets for good. The Sacramento Bee has a really helpful tool where you can enter your address and zip and it provides you with an overview of all candidates in your area as well as all of the ballots that are up in the March 3rd primaries, I think it is super informative. There is no one size fits all solution, but maybe, if we all work together, we can actually collectively all make our lives better together.

I care deeply about people, and I hope to raise my children to also care deeply about people. I can’t turn a blind eye to what happens on the streets I walk through every day, especially when I know that there are real solutions that we can put in place. I will continue to do what I do, write, care, contact officials, and hope that at some point real change will happen. 

Local newspapers such as the Sacramento Bee, and Sacramento News & Review, have some great coverage on the homeless and affordable housing situations, as well as other local, national, and international stories. I personally think it’s important to support these news outlets and reporters, and I really appreciate how in-depth their coverage is.

Merry Christmas Grandma!

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My maternal grandparents on their wedding day, Grandma in 2005, Grandma at one of her first jobs.

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I’m lucky. There aren’t so many people my age who can say they got to spend a substantial amount of their lives with at least one grandparent, let alone two. I may have lost my grandfathers earlier in life (one I never even knew), and my father way too early, but I was blessed by the fact that not only were both of my grandmothers very present, they were also both around until very recently. My Nana passed away at the age of 94 in early 2012, and my Grandma at the age of 85 this time last year. I last spoke to her a few weeks before she passed, a couple of minutes via an online messenger, where we chatted about her health, about her great grandchildren, and about Christmas. I’ve known her voice all of my life, and I will never forget it. She loved Christmas so much.

Grandma, or GG as my kids call her, was many things, to many people, but to me she was simply my Grandma. I don’t remember a time without her, however many thousands of miles, and countries apart we lived from each other. As a child we spent a lot of time together, especially after my parents separated, because we literally lived around the corner from her and her second husband, Grandad Derek. They had their antique store called Cobwebs in the Arcade just down the road. My sister and I watched many an Elvis Presley movie in their living room, snacking on random things and most likely wavering between fighting who loved Elvis more, and pretending to be Priscilla. We were living at Grandma’s house when the restaurant to the right of my mother and stepfather’s apartment burned down, and where my mother witnessed a fire engine be lifted off the ground by the force of the windows exploding in the burning building. I remember watching them demolish that part of the street a few months later, our apartment still intact. I think they rebuilt it later, and kept the original black swan figure that was saved from the ashes of the fire. Actually I can’t remember if it was a white swan or a black swan now…

Little Chef is a chain of motorway food restaurants in the UK, kind of a mix between fast-food and diner, very kid-friendly and usually located side by side with motel type places to say or budget hotels. I feel like if I would go to one now I would be disappointed because it would never taste like the taste I remember: freedom and adventure. Who would have thought fried food would have so much going for it? I’m pretty sure my yearnings towards egg, chips and peas with HP Sauce comes from our Little Chef stops with Grandma and Grandad Derek. One summer they took my sister and me to Hunstanton in Norfolk, where we stayed in a Bed and Breakfast with flowery covers and wallpaper, where the bed was soft and warm, and everything smelled like the seaside. On our way there the skies were grey, typical, and Grandad Derek said that if we saw enough blue to make a pair of sailor’s trousers it was a sign that it would clear up soon. Lo and behold, an hour or so later I excitedly pointed out enough blue to make a pair of sailor’s trousers, and not long after that the sun was shining and the grey skies were relegated to other places. And the sun shone and shone during that week, hot for England. We searched for crabs and shells and made sandcastles and jumped in the sea as the tide came back up, and ate chips and battered sausages in newspaper. I’m sad I don’t remember the woad song Grandad taught us though... We made him sing it over and over again. When I saw Braveheart years later I remember thinking “ha! He’s wearing woad!”

Like I said, Grandma was a constant presence. As the eldest child of her eldest child I also happened to be her first grandchild. And she would drive me bonkers at times (I’m very certain I drove her bonkers as much if not more). I think a lot of what she saw of me as a teen was a wayward, naughty, rude, and heading for a dark, dark future child, and I can’t really blame her because when I did see her at those times I was exactly that. I do think that it colored our relationship for a long time afterwards, but we made up for that over the years. And she never ever forgot a birthday or Christmas, or any other special occasion, which is something I really need to get much better at… She never failed to send her beloved great grandchildren gifts even though we live thousands and thousands of miles away, and would love it when I sent her frequent pictures and movies of the kids through Facebook Messenger. I feel very blessed that modern technology allowed my grandmother to talk to her great grandchildren face to face. While this of course was not the same as actually meeting them in person, it was as close as we could get, and my eldest will hopefully remember her GG over time. My middle child treasures her llama toy and still sleeps with it often, and will always know that her GG picked it out especially for her, even if she won’t remember talking to her.

I’m lucky. I’m 41 years old and my Grandma was a part of my life for 40 of those years (even during the wayward teen years). Sometimes she would judge and sometimes I would judge, but most of the time we would have a good laugh and talk about all kinds of things. She was always warm, welcoming, funny, and would never feel properly dressed without her lipstick. (And she was lucky enough to know all about the coolest music in the 90’s, even if my way of educating her about it was probably not the best. A story involving RATM’s Killing In The Name comes to mind, one that I am too embarrassed to repeat now…)

In 2004 I returned from Israel not knowing where I would be able to live. My green card application was going to take years or even decades (literally), so the US was out of the question, I wasn’t ready to move back to France, so it felt like the UK was the best option. Grandma welcomed me into her home for as long as I needed to be, and even though I only stayed for two weeks before jumping on a train to London, I will always be so grateful. I ended up in London with a suitcase and an address for a youth hostel, and two days later a job in a hotel, and a week later a much better job and a real home. I have always loved a good adventure, and I like to think that Grandma loved to follow me on these adventures, from her own home.

After months of shunning social media, I finally permanently deleted my FB account in late December last year, and without realizing deleted my messenger account too. After shrugging my shoulders and logging in to a new one with my phone number I suddenly stopped short. I had deleted all of my messages with my Grandma. We would message back and forth on messenger on quite a regular basis, a few words here and there, and lots of pictures and videos of my kids. She used to love Facebook, keeping up with us all, so much family close by but so many of us thousands of miles away too. A year later I still find myself taking photos of my children, and thinking how I should send one or the other to her because she would most likely love to see it. So I just send them to her in my head now, hoping that she’s somewhere happy, relieved of all worries and all pain. I do wish I had thought to keep those messages, but maybe it’s better this way? I still have so many handwritten cards from over the years to look back at and share with my kids.

I am lucky. While I never knew my father’s father as he died when my father was young. I only have vague memories of my father’s stepfather, as he died when I was very young. I have wonderful memories of my mother’s father, but he died when I was 13. My Grandma’s second husband was always a presence in my life, but by his personality he was mainly in the background. My own father died when I was 10, and for the most art my life lacked in positive male figures. I am however still lucky. Lucky because I have always had strong female figures in my mother, grandmothers, and aunts. I am lucky because all of these people were always there for me, even though I lived so far away from many of them after the age of 10. Funnily enough my children also live thousands of miles from their grandmothers, as my mother lives in England, and their paternal grandmother lives in Mexico. But communication is easier nowadays, we can send a message in a second at any time, and see each other’s faces as often as we want.  Distance never stopped me being close to my grandmothers, and I know that it will be the same for my kids too.

It’s funny, I started writing this last year, not long after Grandma left us. I couldn’t go to her funeral, but I did send time thinking about all of the great, ridiculous, not so great, and just regular day-to-day moments we spent together. I treasure them all, even though some of them still make me mad, or sad, or cringe with embarrassment. I treasure them all because life is a path of collective moments that are all related in some way or another, and the happy, fun, and meaningful ones are the ones that I will remember well enough to pass along to my own children. Christmas was Grandma’s special time, and I hope that she is having a very happy one wherever she is right now, hanging out with all her beloved sisters and brothers, and watching over us all. Merry Christmas Grandma!