![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsI was a bit peeved early this morning when I stopped by the library to drop off a couple of overdue books, only to discover that access to the all-hours book drop was blocked by a camp of five or six homeless neighbors sleeping under the library’s eaves. It was raining lightly and the temperature hovered around 40°F, and after looking at the camp in my headlights, I realized that my peevishness was a privilege.
That morning, I had woken from a nice warm bed, made two cups of coffee and an egg scramble with truffle salt, driven in a warm, dry car to a conveniently located Park & Ride where I would catch a comfortable bus and do a little light reading, spend the day at a warm, dry office, and head home to a loving family. Not one of those experiences was available to the human beings sleeping rough in wet, near-freezing weather, under sodden blankets and ragged blue tarps.
I took a deep breath and decided to leave them alone. I would come back later. My desire to drop off a library book, to avoid a fine of twenty cents, did not nearly outbalance their need to get as much rest as they could, and I’d be passing the library on the way home. I had already used enough privilege already.
Postscript: I did go back that afternoon and drop off the two books. My compassion, such as it is, was strained when I looked down and saw a syringe, with a short intramuscular needle, sitting on the ground right beside my car.
I understand fully the need of the homeless to sleep somewhere. The courts have recognized that, if a city isn’t going to do anything for their unhoused neighbors, then the city hasn’t got the right to kick them off public property after-hours.
Children come to the library all the time. The Burien Library actually has more “grown up” books than most, but its childrens’ section is large and quite popular. This sort of thing infuriates me. I can grasp, barely, how a life can get to the point where heroin or meth seem like solutions, but I really want safe injection sites, no-questions housing, and other quality-of-life solutions to make life better for, well, everyone.
That morning, I had woken from a nice warm bed, made two cups of coffee and an egg scramble with truffle salt, driven in a warm, dry car to a conveniently located Park & Ride where I would catch a comfortable bus and do a little light reading, spend the day at a warm, dry office, and head home to a loving family. Not one of those experiences was available to the human beings sleeping rough in wet, near-freezing weather, under sodden blankets and ragged blue tarps.
I took a deep breath and decided to leave them alone. I would come back later. My desire to drop off a library book, to avoid a fine of twenty cents, did not nearly outbalance their need to get as much rest as they could, and I’d be passing the library on the way home. I had already used enough privilege already.
Postscript: I did go back that afternoon and drop off the two books. My compassion, such as it is, was strained when I looked down and saw a syringe, with a short intramuscular needle, sitting on the ground right beside my car.
I understand fully the need of the homeless to sleep somewhere. The courts have recognized that, if a city isn’t going to do anything for their unhoused neighbors, then the city hasn’t got the right to kick them off public property after-hours.
Children come to the library all the time. The Burien Library actually has more “grown up” books than most, but its childrens’ section is large and quite popular. This sort of thing infuriates me. I can grasp, barely, how a life can get to the point where heroin or meth seem like solutions, but I really want safe injection sites, no-questions housing, and other quality-of-life solutions to make life better for, well, everyone.
