'Hidden In Plain Sight, But I See'
From Chicago to more than a thousand miles away in her hometown in Florida, journalist Grace Beyer sees the same need for empathy, humanity, hope.
By Grace Beyer
I STAND ON THE corner of Ida B. Wells Drive, a 21-year-old journalism student tasked with covering homelessness in Chicago for my multimedia reporting class. I feel the breeze and shutter as I wait for the crossing signal.
And I see.
I look around and see AirPods, headphones, and screens, some of them noise-cancelling. I hear horns. Sirens. The friction of the L train as it rolls along the tracks above. There is noise everywhere. So much of it. And yet, among the loudness and chaos that is downtown Chicago, silence spoke.
My first encounter with homelessness was nine years ago and more than a thousand miles away. In search of a good mitzvah project, I stumbled upon an organization called Downtown Ecumenical Services Council, or DESC, in downtown Jacksonville, Florida. The organization serves those experiencing homelessness and poverty by providing food, clothes, and resources in times of need.
My dad and I were quickly introduced to Beth Wilson, who served and still serves as a clothing manager and director of programs. With her guidance, my dad and I explored DESC, which was located in the basement of a Presbyterian Church. There were rooms with rows of bins filled with clothing organized by item, gender, and size. There were shoes. Underwear. Socks. Backpacks and accessories. Books and games, courtesy of generous donors. Volunteers scrambled to sort out the day’s donations.
The donation drive mimicked those I’d completed in middle school and high school. Neighbors, friends, and family members gave away men’s, women’s, and children’s clothing, which included fancy suits, shoes, and accessories.
At my home in Jacksonville, I was shielded from a lot, especially as a young girl. We didn’t venture downtown on our own volition. Our homes were spaced out. There were trees and grass and space between neighborhoods.
As a young, middle school girl preparing for her next chapter into Jewish adulthood, my heart, my soul, was confronted with the moral dilemma, curiosity, and questions.
But for any young child out on a street corner, the harsh reality is just that—reality. It’s not a conversation or a service project for an organization across town. It’s the cold breeze that whips his hair and soft skin. It’s the recurring hunger pains. The struggle of a language barrier, with no control over educational opportunities. It’s a constant state of survival. It’s real life.
That is what my eyes have been opened to this semester as a student-journalist assigned to see, explore and better understand homelessness.
Here in Chicago, the landscape is different than back home. The culture is different and diverse. Everything seems condensed. People seem busy and rushed all the time.
And yet, amongst the many differences, there is a struggle in Chicago that parallels that in Jacksonville: the glaring issue of homelessness. I’ve learned that, just like in Florida, in any place that seems to have everything, many find themselves with nothing.
I mentioned Mrs. Wilson, a woman who is now in year 15 at DESC—a tenure that stretches across nearly 75% of my lifetime. She works not for the applause, attention, or recognition, but by the kindness of her heart. And due to her choice to see.
As a girl, I occasionally saw the problem. But in my first chapter of womanhood and my new role as a student journalist in one of the biggest cities in the country, I can’t not see it.
I see the women and children on the curbside. I see the cardboard mattresses and tent cities.
Seeing feels uncomfortable. Jarring even. With seeing comes difficult choices and decisions. But I’ve realized that once you see—once your heart and mind have thawed from the cold breeze of ignorance—you can’t unsee.
Sure, conversations, social media posts, and even news updates succeed in heightening awareness about the homelessness crisis. But being in the scene, at the food lines, peering into the battered tents and temporary, constructed homes?
Until being in that situation, in those shoes, with the task of painting an accurate picture for the public eye, we can perhaps maintain the luxury of choosing whether to turn a blind eye.
As a journalist, I realize that revealing the truth is not convenient, popular, or sexy. It is a path less taken. Blissful ignorance is easier and more convenient.
But for an issue that has affected cities across the nation and brings to the forefront our humanity, ethics, and moral values, I’ve had to put aside my personal comfort.
Maybe that means that the wind that whips my face leads me to consider the conditions of those without a safe, permanent shelter to rest their heads over my own, temporary discomfort.
Perhaps, as I cross Wabash Avenue, I am forced to think not of the chills that run down my spine, but of the ones that probably frequent the human figure that lies beneath a thin, battered sheet outside this downtown hostel just a few yards from my university.
It’s the same breeze, the same cold. But in order to melt the ice of ignorance that has frozen over the hearts of so many across the country, I believe we first must shine the rays of awareness. We must bask in the light of unity. And we first must see before we form a hope and a vision for a better future.
Email: gracebeyer12@gmail.com
OTHER RELATED STORIES BY GRACE BEYER:
An Increasing Face Among the Homeless: Children
Eyeing A Brighter Future, Chicago HOPES For Kids
When The City Turns Cold, Homeless Families Seek A Refuge
Click here for When The City Turns Cold Multimedia Project
