Comparing versions of The Real World - on stage
Showing changes between October 14, 2010 at 1:22:23 am (crossed out) and August 1, 2012 at 10:53:53 am (underlined)
Apathy
on the street
at the voting booth
in the news
from our leaders
over the airwaves
stepping over a person sleeping on a sidewalk.
Tonight I went to a theater workshop at the Studio @ 620. They showed a preview of "The Cardboard Stories" - an original play about four homeless people set in Williams Park, here in St. Petersburg. Original music, original voices, original stories. The preview concluded with a song with the message, "can you see us?" Meaning, can you see the human being, the person you walk by, the guy sleeping on the park bench, the woman digging for dinner in a trash can?
After the preview and intermission, the audience was invited to write a question on a card. The cards were collected and the author, producers, and cast were brought back on stage to talk about the questions. How did the play originate? How can we help? Explanations were given, back story was told.
On my card, I wrote, "If you could give a $5000 grant to a non-profit, who would you give it to and what would you have them do with the money?" I wasn't sure if they'd get to my question in time, but they did. It was my impromptu social experiment. Ask complete strangers to spend fictional money to fix a need in the community. I have to say I was a bit disappointed at first. The initial response was essentially the same thing we've been told in class. Do some research, look at the non-profits in the areas that meet the need you want to address, check them out, and go from there. It's practical, but I was hoping for something a little more inspired. A former homeless fella said he'd start a program giving homeless folks small jobs. Nothing substantial. Nothing that would earn them a paycheck that got them off the street. But he'd give them odd jobs like cleaning up a city block, picking up a city park, fixing bicycles, recycle trash... I think his intention was to give people a sense of being needed for a purpose. Give them something to do to keep their minds engaged. Then a man stood up. He said he was homeless. He said hygiene was hard living on the street. Something as simple as having a pair of clean underwear made a big difference. A woman stood up and agreed. She, too, was homeless. I didn't hear any Earth shattering answers tonight. No "ah ha" moments. Just small gestures. Small gestures.
After the Q&A was over, I approached the man who ran the non-profit that produced the play. I explained I had asked the $5000 question and that I was student involved with a grant at USF. He smiled and said he was a recipient of one of the grants last semester. After he learned I was in a technical writing class, he asked for my name and email. I expect I'll be getting a message down the road asking if I could help in that arena.
I made some new connections tonight. I'm going to ask a fella who was homeless for six years and now works for a non-profit helping non-profits to be a guest speaker in our class. He runs a small newspaper called, "The Homeless Image." It's a paper homeless folks sell for $1. It's a way for homeless folks to ask for money and give something in return. I bought a paper tonight at the theater and will bring it in for my SPB group to consider.
As I reflect on the night, something strikes me. I've seen the homeless in town. I live downtown so it's impossible to go here and there without seeing them. Over time, I became apathetic to their plight. Tonight, I met a homeless man. I spoke to a homeless woman. When you humanize someone with face-to-face contact, it becomes virtually impossible to keep the homeless as an abstract idea - something beyond you. I'm no saint by any measure. I've said my fair share about the down and out in America and that the they have it in spades compared to other parts of the world. But tonight, I connected with someone that will sleep outside tonight. When I left the theater, I walked to a downtown high rise. I walked into my condo and turned on my lights. I fixed a sandwich and watched some television. The person I was speaking with only hours ago is outside right now as I write this. They're probably hungry and cold. They're at risk from disease, violence, and police arrest. They literally don't know where their next meal is coming from. Where is my compassion?
I just became a lot less apathetic about a $5000 grant.
