Hard Rain

Years ago, when I was first starting out in the working life I did a job that really stuck with me. It was a contract we had related to the national Christmas display in Washington, D.C. There is a group that meets every year, long before the season actually begins, to decide on all the particulars of decorations and festivities associated with the official celebration of the holiday.

Basically, at the time, it was a gaggle of snooty little old fine Christian ladies and a single, apparently mute man who was in charge of the mess. My job was to report the minutes of this all-important meeting, so that it cold be preserved for posterity. You can probably still find the work product from it on Lexus Nexus filed under, "Who Really Cares."

That same year there was a man in the news named Mitch Snyder, also a fine gentleman, if a bit radical and perhaps slightly mad. Mitch Snyder, and the Community for Creative Non-Violence, took it upon themselves to advocate for the homeless. They wanted more shelter, an abandoned building, some space that was going unused, whatever they could get to keep people from dying on the street.

The homeless, a large and growing segment of the population at the time, were people that no one else seemed to care for, unless they made the streets dirty, or otherwise offended decent people.

A main concern among the moneyed was that people might wander through their neighborhoods on their way to the shelter, and that was highly unacceptable. Mitch was on a hunger strike, in the hospital, 85 pounds, and we were quite concerned that he would actually die before the powers that be took notice.

So these fine Christian ladies sorted out their color schemes, caterers, decorators, and the like, tweeting like a little flock of birds over their seed. Then the conversation randomly turned to Mitch. Poor Mitch, starving himself, in the hospital, on a deathwatch, trying to force us to do what's right.

When I heard them bring up his name I was certain they'd have great empathy for his cause, after all they were well-bred, exceedingly Christian ladies. If their religion didn't soften their hearts to the misery of others, certainly some kind of noblesse oblige would kick in and make them act properly. I was naive then.

'What about that Mitch Snyder? Do you think he'll come out and ruin everything again?"

"They won't put up with it this year. They'll arrest all of them before they get to the park."

"The park" in this case was Lafayette Park, or Needle Park to the locals, where the addicts would hang out and fix right across the street from the White House.

The ladies began to chuckle and cackle at the thought of a mass arrest of the handful of individuals who care enough about the least among us to stand out in the cold and should, futily, at the White House.

"I hope he just dies," another chimed in. "It would serve him right. He's only doing it to get attention."

At this point I had tears forming in my eyes. Overly sensitive, they have a name for this condition in the DSM.

There was sound agreement around the room, except for their man-boss He looked at me as if to say, 'they don't mean it. They just don't want anything to mess up their little party.'

"He probably will. Have you seen him? They're trying to get to the president, and I'm sure he won't give in on this one. I mean, if he does he knows they'll just do it again next year."

The ladies laughed together at the starving man, and continued their conversation as they left the room. The meeting was over. Their boss gave me a sideways, shamed, wordless look as I packed up my equipment.

Mutated duality, the pretense of a loving faith that covers heart of steel. We've taken spirituality as a fashionable bit of clothing, or a tasteful accessory for our mental wardrobe.

I couldn't help but think of the Bob Dylan song Hard Rain - 'Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughing.' I still wonder when that rain is going to come and wash away this malaise.

Mitch Snyder committed suicide in 1990. Frustration got the better of him. He expected more from the world than he could squeeze out of it.

There's a surge in homelessness going on now. People are losing their jobs, because people can't afford to buy things, which will cause more people to lose their jobs - it's a downward spiral.

I wonder if this collective pain will force people's hearts to soften a bit, or if it's just a another swing in the cycle that we'll learn absolutely nothing from.