I have moved around a lot in my life, though I always end up in an urban city. From New York City, New York, to Jersey City, New Jersey, to São Paulo, Brazil, to Charlotte, North Carolina, and now here to Atlanta, Georgia. In all of these cities I have witnessed varying degrees of homelessness, witnessed complaints about homeless people, while  simultaneously watching nothing being done. I have spent many hours volunteering in homeless shelters and women’s shelters and getting to know the people who come in. I learned about their stories, about their families, and how they ended up in a shelter. The shelters were overcrowded and lacked funding. Instead of serving as a vessel back into society they were just a temporary place to get off of the street, many still homeless once they left.

Two homeless people sleeping on the concrete outside of Hurt Park.

Coffee beans permeate the air from the Starbucks at the corner and despite the warm glow of the sun, there is a crisp fall breeze blowing through Hurt Park causing everyone bundled up to pull their blankets tightly around them. The makeshift beds on the hard concrete and the shopping carts piled high with peoples belongings are impossible to ignore.

Although the grounds of the park are littered with birds eating the leftover food from the trash on the ground, and overflowing with people, it is somewhat peaceful. The atmosphere is quiet and pure with the scurrying of squirrels and the gentle whistle of the wind. The tall trees bordering the park act as a barrier, shielding the people sleeping on the field and benches from the busy and noisy city surrounding them. 

There is a man weaving his way through the people lying on the ground and

A group of homeless people sitting at the entrance of Hurt Park.

walking his french bulldog dressed in sweatpants and a crisp white t-shirt. Students walking briskly to class  and men and women in suits pass the park. They are in complete contrast with the three men blocking the sign at the entrance wearing baggy navy blue factory uniforms with their shoulders slumped and their eyes low, leaning against the marble.

A man passes by wearing a once vibrant green but now faded and dull army jacket, a tattered tank top, and it is nearly impossible to miss the silver dog tags around his neck. His jeans were shredded, his eyes glossed over and hung low as he smiles at the people he walks by. A little old woman with matted, whispy, smokey gray hair is carrying a conversation with herself; her voice is weak and feeble. 

A woman walks past her, with a little girl clutching her hand. The little girl stumbles over her feet as she stares off into the distance, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. She leads her presumed mother towards the entrance of the park, but they are stopped by a tall, slim man, also in a tattered and worn down factory uniform. The little girl runs into his arms and he picks her up and swings her in a circle. The man puts her down and they look down at their little girl, smiling at her. He kisses the woman on the cheek and wraps his arm around her shoulders, they both grab the little girls hands and she drags them back toward the entrance of the park. Her parents drag their feet behind them while the little girl yanks them, constantly looking up at her father. He immediately puts on a smile as they make eye contact, though it disappears as soon as she looks away. They sit on the ground by a couple of pink patterned suitcases and a ball of blankets. The father takes a seat on the concrete next to the three men blocking the sign, while the mom begins braiding the restless little girls hair. She rocks back and forth and her mom puts her hands on her shoulders to get a hold of her. She giggles as her mom tickles her. 

A homeless shelter in downtown Atlanta.

In closing, homlessness fills the streets of downtown Atlanta, and all around the world. This space provides new perspectives on the homeless community. All the different people and their varying situations, yet all grouped under one category. As with any social issue this question still stands, are these people that are in need of assistance doing their part? If so, then we as a society have an obligation to do our part and meet them halfway. Policies can be put into place to make housing a right not a privilege, or policies that require homeless people to work if they want to be able to stay in shelters. This will encourage the homeless to get jobs and will eventually work them through the shelters to living on their own. Government institutions can donate money directly to programs and homeless service providers rather than to individual homeless people so it is spent wisely, helping prevent the enabling of addictions and bad habits. It is our responsibility to raise awareness of these problems to people above us, so they can enact change.

I went to a park, sat on a bench with my notebook and began observing. I wanted to go somewhere with many people, and a large variety of people. Students walking to and from class, employees rushing to work cutting through the park as a shortcut, cars zipping past, families walking to dinner, and the group of homeless people collected at the front of the park.

For the first couple of minutes in the park I just watched people go about their lives. I observed how some people walk with their heads down, looking at their feet or their phone. Some people walk with headphones in, and others walk without them. Some people walk alone, some people walk in huge groups. Some people take their time getting to their destination and enjoy the walk while others are speed walking, either late or irritated with the slow walkers in front of them. 

A man with gray matted hair, baggy clothes and what looks like the weight of the world on his shoulders walks past me while I sit on the bench. He stops in his path by a trash can, turns to it, and starts rummaging through the garbage hoping to find something to eat, a luxury he has not had for what seems like days. He looks around him in embarrassment, trying to see if anyone is looking at him. A group of guys walks toward the trashcan the man is standing at, and as they walk past him they look at him with judgemental eyes and suppress their laughter. At what I have no idea. What could possibly be funny? As the group of guys walk past me on the bench I decide to be nosy and listen to their conversation. “Drug addict.” “No sympathy. He was asking for it.” “Just get a job. He’s so lazy.” After a few minutes with no luck he gives up and continues walking down the sidewalk, shoulders slumped, head down walking back to the front of the park. 

This space was perfect for observing people naturally and see how they act when they believe no one is watching. It is easy for people who aren’t in a situation like that to make assumptions about the people who are, and the people above are perfect examples of that. I have never understood how anyone can whole-heartedly believe that people who are homeless have had that situation brought on by themselves. Observing this space not only allowed me to see the teenage boys for who they were, how they thought about the homeless man, and there wild assumptions about a situation that is so much more complex than what they believe. But it also allowed me to see the homeless man. Where was his family, did he have one? Kids? A Spouse? How long has he been homeless and how did he get here? All these unanswered questions that can only be confirmed by him. This is why we can’t blindly judge someone, because they are truly the only ones who know every step that led to this life instead of yours.