The First Blog: The story that changed my life / A.J. Hendry

A few years ago I was wandering down Queen Street when I bumped into a man who had been living on the street for almost a year. I can’t remember his name, in fact I can barely remember his face, but what I do remember is his story. He was a young man, perhaps in his early 20’s, sandy red hair, and an easy smile. And though I can’t remember how it happened, he began to tell me his story.

He had moved to Auckland to live with his girlfriend, yet after a messy split he’d been dumped out onto the street. Disowned by his family, and now abandoned by his girlfriend, the only option he had left was to attempt to survive on the street.

At first I couldn’t believe it, surely in this beautiful country we live in homelessness was a choice. If he really wanted to get off the street, why didn’t he just go to WINZ and get the benefit?

With a weary smile the young man explained to me that when his girlfriend had kicked him out she had also destroyed all the papers he owned which were able to prove his identity. And so without identification and without an address he was unable to apply for the benefit. He was left with nothing.

His story clashed against everything I believed about homelessness in Aotearoa. I had grown up believing that homelessness was either a product of one’s individual choice, or a direct result of mental illness. The idea that someone could be homeless who didn’t want to be had always seemed absurd.

Yet right here before me was a man who told me that this was his reality. I listened in horror as he told me of how he was fighting to find a job. Of how he would beg all day in order to get the money to buy a phone, and then spend hours at the public library applying for jobs only to be robbed at knife point as he slept. His thin hopes of freedom disappearing into the night.

He told me of gangs invading Queen street and beating on the streeties in an attempt to drive them away and steal their business. Of the struggles of finding a safe place to sleep, and of the frustration of being kicked awake by security guards just when he thought he had.

But, out of everything he told me what I will remember most is the anguish I felt within my own heart when he told me of his battle with addiction.

You see before meeting this man my attitude towards the homeless community was one of judgement. I would never have admitted that, in fact I doubt I would have even realized. I considered myself quite a loving and generous sort of person. But, I believed strongly in one’s personal responsibility for the choices they made. I believed that if you chose the lifestyle of addiction, then I guess put bluntly you deserved what you got. And though I would have told you I would be willing to help if I could, I would have followed that up with a statement about personal choice and personal responsibility.

But, what this young man said broke my heart.

He told me of how cold nights on the street could get. And explained that his choice to take drugs was a choice between freezing all night, or numbing his body so he could sleep.

And just like that I was faced with the depth of my own ignorance, and the abhorrent nature of my arrogance. I thought I knew him. I thought I knew his story. When really… I knew nothing.

This young man is not alone in his story. He is just one of many who have been marginalized and pushed to the side. You see what I have begun to discover is that personal choice is not as clear cut as we like to think. When a person’s choices are drug addiction or cold and sleepless nights, then what right do we who are comfortable have to judge those who suffer? Can we really judge a person for their “poor” choices, when the options that remain to them are of equal severity?

Yet that is what we do. Last year a storm erupted surrounding this issue of homelessness in both Aotearoa and Australia. There were calls by some to make it illegal to beg, and to punish those who did. In some corners of the media and the internet, this turned into an attack on homeless people themselves. Why should we allow these people to blight our streets, and our communities? Those who choose the lifestyle of homelessness should not be encouraged by the foolishness of compassionate do gooders.

But, there is more going on for these people than we can see at face value.

We need to stop defining these people as homeless people. For homeless is not who they are, first and foremost we are talking about human beings. People who bear the divine image of the Creator, and are worthy of both honour and respect.

It is stories, not statistics which enable us to encounter one another. For when we listen to each other’s stories we discover who they are.

That person who society brands as homeless and lumps into the masses of the unwashed and unclean… has a story. They have a name. They have a family. They are not lazy, retarded, mentally ill, drug addict. They are someone. A son or daughter, father or mother, sister or brother... person. And they are not below our compassion.

How we treat the weakest and most vulnerable in our society says much more about us, than it does about them.

I know the problem can sometimes feel bigger than me or you. It’s a complex issue, with no quick fixes. I get that at times it can feel like it’s way too big and too scary to even think about. But, any change that has ever happened in our society has started with one small step. For me that first step was just stopping and taking the time to have a chat.

What could it be for you? Perhaps, next time you’re hurrying along and see a person who is living on the street you’ll take a moment to stop, acknowledge their humanity, say hello. Perhaps if you have time you’ll buy them a coffee and hear their story.

And if you do, taking the time to truly listen, I bet you won’t regret it. It might just change your life. It sure changed mine.

A.J. Hendry