Thursday, November 12, 2009

Veterans Day PDX-Style

My pacifist son, Stephen, warmly greets his older brother, Robert, on Facebook, "This is the last Veterans Day you won't be a veteran." In January, Robert joins the United States Army.

As people across the nation salute those who have served in the Armed Forces, my mind goes to a stat I heard on the radio. One out of three veterans is homeless. I tend to be skeptical of statistics, especially in a country such as ours where statistical abuse is one of the leading forms of rantings. Apparently, the problem of homeless vets was getting better until five years ago, with the situation worsening since. But one out of three?

There are lots of factors in such grim reports. A leading concern of struggling veterans is PTSD or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, the bane of combatants and sexual abuse victims. While we didn't hear much about PTSD until Vietnam, even the "Greatest Generation", as they call those who fought in the Big One, had its full share of veterans who came back with their insides torn up, even if their outward, physical selves looked whole and robust.

We stereotype people, not the least those we identify as homeless. The number of people without their own homes -- rented or owned -- has skyrocketed the past couple of years, as much the fault of catastrophic medical bills as of the preferred suspect -- financial mismanagement. But not all the homeless are on the streets or in shelters. Many hole up with family, friends and strangers or make do otherwise. Here in Portland, there is a division of labor with the city serving the single population and the county working with homeless families. Kids, through no fault of their own, account for a high percentage of those homeless stats. 1,500 alone are street kids, without guardian as well as homeless.

I wonder how many of the non-vet homeless are also victims of PTSD and other trauma-induced disorders -- poverty and abuse often, but not always, go hand in hand. And as much as we want to blame our current social breakdown on more recent culprits, a perhaps surprising fact is that multigeneratonal abuse and poverty go a long ways back. If we didn't heal the wounds in 1900, we probably were dealing with the effects of those unhealed wounds in 2000.

I was early for my appointment with Naomi Lambertson, co-chair of the Oregon Center for Christian Values. Veterans Day closings were creating an extended morning boom at Peets' Coffee Shop in the Lloyd Center district, the holiday encouraging a more leisurely attitude among coffee drinkers.

A woman was peddling a local paper. The rag -- "Street Roots" -- is published by an organization with the same name, an organization by the homeless promoting the concerns of the homeless. "Jan" graciously answered my questions, explaining how out of every dollar, she was able to keep 75 cents. Jan was aggressive in a very charming sort of way and she answered that 9 out of 10 people she approached responded warmly, even if they didn't buy a paper. Occasionally a heavy tipper more than made up for the other 10%.

Prompted by what I hoped were my nonintrusive questions, Jan shared about her son, apparently quite a scholar, studying political science at a college in California. He was obviously the star in her otherwise dark world. I have no idea the causes of her homelessness. She did venture that sometimes she slept outside and sometimes found a welcome in someone else's digs. Jan is not a war veteran, at least not a foreign war. But she's obviously fought some battles of her own and keeps on fighting through some unnamed inner resolve, perhaps because of her son.

We chatted amiably until Naomi showed up. As Naomi and I walked away in search of a shop with vacant seats, I thought of Jan, reminding myself that in this cashless age, it is still good to carry some pocket change. I also thought of all the war-ravaged "veterans of foreign wars" as we called them when I was a kid -- and of all the veterans, young and old, victims of other wars closer to home, the wars on poverty, abuse, indifference and hatred. And I thought of my sons -- and daughters -- and prayed that, whatever might come their lot in life, they would follow Jesus by never growing calloused toward the poor, the so-called "worthy" or otherwise.

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