I work in social services in the midwest. I live in one of the many post-industrial wastelands still reeling from its disappearing manufacturing base. I work with people in poverty in an area overrun by hardship and violence. It's the kind of neighborhood that your parents tell you never to go to. Yet kids grow up there and are lucky if they get out.
Needless to say, my services are in high demand. I work with people from all segments of society; families living in generational poverty, workers displaced from outsourced manufacturing and even once affluent families who've been hit hard by unexpected layoffs.
The city's poverty rate is over 25 percent. It's one of the ten most-impoverished cities in the nation. Its foreclosure rate is sky-high, with empty homes littering most neighborhoods. Vacant storefronts occupy once-prime real estate. Downtown is bereft of activity outside of a couple sporting venues and bars. The city's population has declined nearly ten percent over the last decade. Its suburbs, however, continue to grow, feeding off of the carcass of a once-great city.
When you work amidst so much suffering, you have to stay somewhat detached. Otherwise, the seemingly endless stream of poverty-stricken families will make you miserable. Yet even if you have superior coping skills, certain moments get to you.
I will never forget when young, skinny girl came into my office with makeup running down her face, holding her daughter's hand. She said, "I don't have any food." I tried to refer her to a couple pantries, but she left, possibly because she was embarrassed, and said she would find something. I closed the door to my office, feeling devastated that I had failed her.
A young couple came in with three children on one of the coldest days of winter. They were all sick. Their heat and electricity had been shut off. They had no money and didn't know who to contact. I helped them get their utilities turned back on, but it was obvious that they needed much more than that. I never heard from them again.
These are the stories that make up the numbers. The people who choose between food or medication, medication or utilities, lights or heat; all a staple of modern American society. Our communities are filled with stories of untold suffering. Yet, at the same time, those caught in the struggle display a resilience that I didn't know was possible. I guess if you can make it in today's America, you can make it anywhere.
These are the stories that our elected officials need to hear; the stories that should inform their policy decisions. They must see communities as they are before they can decide what they should be. If our leaders can show even a fraction of the strength and determination of the people that I work with, then I see hope for this city. If not, I fear the worst is yet to come.
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