Setting Prisoners Free

I have a goal. It's an ambitious goal. I don't know if I'll attain it, but I plan to write 50 brief reflections over the next year about my encounters and work as an Outreach Worker to those experiencing homelessness... These reflections could be from Auckland or Chicago. They could be from that particular day or a couple decades ago. They certainly won't all be happy joyful hope-filled stories, and they certainly won't all be depressing traumatic tales, because Outreach takes us on an eclectic ever-evolving journey. I'm going to be as honest and realistic as possible, I hope these reflections illustrate the importance and need for Outreach Workers. I hope these reflections open our eyes to the poverty that surrounds us. I hope these reflections help us to stop seeing those experiencing homelessness as the "other", but as "us". I hope these reflections challenge us to raise our voices against unfair and oppressive systems. I hope these reflec...

The men filed through one by one printing their names, writing their ages and signing their autographs. Different demeanours, temperaments, smells and personalities would grace us as we checked each man in. Every fella was assigned a mattress and two grey woolly blankets. I would always discover a lot about people through this simple procedure. One man waits patiently for his turn, another tries to push in, and another manipulates his way up the line. There would be a drunken sleepy man stooped in posture next to an energetic twitching man grinning and talking to a friend only he can see, followed by four friends who joke, talk and laugh loudly with each other. Each fella in each night’s line represented different journeys, traumas and stories, I always considered it an honour to meet and greet everyone. One gentleman graced us frequently throughout the shelter's duration. He was Italian and Polish, he was 53 years old, and was known as Nick. He would stand quietly in line, keep t...

Recently I found out my coworker and friend Franck unexpectedly passed away. I'd known him for about 22 years. Franck was one of the closest people I knew in Chicago. I loved this bro! We worked together. We ate hundreds of meals together. We argued together. He drove me crazy and I drove him crazy. He loved my family and I loved his. We joked together. We had each other's backs. Our bond was tight because we united in deep trenches and battled for those experiencing homelessness.  Franck cared. Deeply. He cared deeply for his coworkers. He cared deeply for those experiencing homelessness. Franck cared and viewed things from a black-and-white worldview, while I normally operate in the grey, which always created an interesting tension within our friendship. I could write pages about Franck, but I'll keep it brief with 5 little stories that highlight the beauty and growth of my friend and coworker... One of my oldest memories . I had just started working with Franck and he ca...

Most of my outreach stories are feel-good tales, but this one isn't. Most of my outreach stories speak of immense struggle but end with someone getting their keys, signing a lease and moving into their crib. This story is vastly different. Everyone isn't destined for happy endings. Everyone I meet moves on their very own personal journeys. Some trails that people trek along are harsh and agonising, and sadly, they don't make it to their prized destination. This is one of those stories... I will be focusing on a heavy and complicated subject. It may be triggering for some people. My primary focus will be someone's immense struggle with their mental health, but also their struggle with substance abuse, suicidal ideations, homelessness, abuse, incarcerations, hospitalisations, and being "othered". The person I reference here is real, he is a wonderfully kind caring man in his late 40's, but I will not use his real name. I will call him Jerry. Stage 1: Our ini...