Nothing to Miss

It was a cold day in October when there was a frost alert that I was riding a bus along Rockville Pike in Maryland from Bethesda to Rockville, much as I had done in April 2003 after having lost my apartment in Silver Spring. The sight that I saw on the highway was a grim reminder to me of the Victorianism that still governs that region: all along the way on the highway divider stood homeless men, most of them Vietnam veterans, holding signs indicating their plight and asking for help. I did not need to ask why they were standing there; I remembered all too clearly how the woman at the Crisis Center had said to me without batting an eyelash, “We don’t give shelters to men. Hypothermia season has ended. We only help women and children.” These men had little choice but to stand out in the cold because November 1, the magic date that would grant them recognition as human beings, had not yet arrived.

I found such an attitude hard enough to tolerate when I was the one being turned away; I found it no more acceptable to see others being rejected in a similar manner, especially in one of the wealthiest areas in the nation that prides itself in its social welfare programs. The memories of all the homeless men sleeping in front of the computers at Kinko’s in downtown Silver Spring that I saw that April night in 2003 still haunt me as my initiation into the grim realities of homelessness. I still remember the feeling of panic that gripped me and the fear that made me wonder what organization could I contact that would not turn me away for being a man. The blanket rejection of all homeless males in Montgomery County, Maryland drove me into the District of Columbia, where at least I would not be rubber-stamped as the enemy because of my gender.

Nothing has changed since that night in April 2003. I was angry then; I’m still angry now. I did not accept the attitude then and still do not. Quite obviously I have reason to feel the way I do now, but even before I became homeless, when I was living a comfortable life of a middle-class man in the suburbs, I still reviled against the neo-Victorian attitudes around me and could only express my disapproval and disdain for the insensitivity shown toward the less fortunate, almost as if I sensed that the day would come that I would be counted among them. I only know that it is wrong to do what happens there. Such a wealthy community that claims to be an all-American community should certainly do better. There is certainly no excuse for leaving so many men out in the street, certainly no excuse for turning them away because of their gender and because of an arbitrary calendar date.

When I left the area, I left with the distinct feeling that I had nothing to miss. The relative comfort of the area with its upscale luxuries could not offset the ill feeling that the past events had created in me. With all the money the region might have, it clearly is a very heartless region that cares very little about persons who are down on their luck if it can cast anyone, regardless of gender, into the street in such a cavalier manner.