Today I’ve been reading about Atlanta and its eradication of its public housing projects. As an Atlanta resident, I wanted to know more about this initiative and learn about how it was going over (perhaps insert link to Yahoo’s video essay on the subject). After viewing an Associated Press Video Essay and reading this New York Times article online, I have to take a moment to ponder the implications, consequences and general feelings brought about by what’s going on.
As I perused the web for articles on the subject, my initial reaction to the plight of the displaced residents was blase at best, snide at worst. No one gets a free lunch in this life, I thought. It made me wonder why. Why do poor people allow their lives to unfold in this way? What could they be doing that perhaps they aren’t doing to allow their children and grandchildren to perpetuate the poverty cycle? Why fuck around and have babies when you’re busted-ass poor! Every virulent strain of the myth of meritocracy swirled around in my head until I managed to get the better of myself.
There are several valid criticisms of the Atlanta Housing Authority’s initiative to raze the projects and replace them with mixed-income housing that, in theory, could integrate former project residents into more upwardly-mobile and life-affirming environs. Many believe that this plan does not do enough to improve the standard of living for former residents. Others complain that the initiative is rooted more so in financial interests of developers and those who stand to profit from the gentrification of the surrounding areas. Others still maintain that the AHA’s plan is blatantly racist, as public housing residents tend to be overwhelmingly African-American, thus making the bulldozing and forced relocation of project residents a violation of the Fair Housing Act.
However, those in favor of (and those implementing) the CATALYST Program, as it’s called in Atlanta, cite evidence of an increased standard of living of those former residents living in mixed-income communities on government-subsidized rent. Better neighborhoods, increased health and productivity have been in the offing for some participants of this program. Both sides of the argument are compelling and are addressed in greater detail in this article in Creative Loafing, Atlanta’s alternative magazine. As such I want to write less about the finer points of the issue and think about this whole thing philosophically.
Anytime the question of poverty arises, it can be counted upon that people will bring their own personal baggage to the discussion panel. How does society treat those less fortunate? Is it fair? Should it be fair?
My knee-jerk reaction to any debate about poverty is that each person is responsible for his/her station in life. If a person is mired in poverty, who’s problem–nay, who’s fault–is that? This is a response that I’m a bit ashamed of but it’s deeply ingrained in me. I grew up poor, without really acknowledging it. I can’t say that, as a child, I was unaware of it–kids see more than adults give them credit for. I knew there were things that I wanted that I couldn’t have because the money wasn’t there. Things could have definitely been worse for us but still, they’d have maybe been better for me if I could have had that Casio keyboard I’d wanted as a kid or if I maybe had trendier clothes. But there was a difference for us. Our mother never used the p-word around us. She never made us feel that we were less-than because we had less stuff. In fact, she’d often say that we could have whatever we were willing to work for. She made sure we were bussed to higher-performing, better quality schools, nurtured a love for learning, reading and creativity in us that made us believe that there was more out there. She’d object to me referring to us as having been poor back in those days.
The point is that, though I was poor, I felt removed from it. Though I’m poor now I still feel removed from Poverty. I make less than $30,000 a year, I own no car, my credit has plummeted in the past several months and I’m in debt. I’m poor. Yet and still, my first response in reading articles about the poor in Atlanta draws disdain from me. Why? The answer is that I don’t know. Maybe I feel like it’s not my problem. I’m poor but not because I’m not working or because I’m uneducated so somehow I’m different.
I’m coming to believe, of course, that it is my problem–that it’s everyone’s problem. Some people question the point in eradicating poverty on the behalf of those who can’t eradicate it for themselves. There are still people who are not in favor of investing in the rebuilding and revitalization of New Orleans. There are many among us who don’t care what happens to countries in Africa; so many of their governments are under the thumb of corrupt Big Man dictators and their cronies–why should we take care of them if they can’t take care of ourselves?
I believe the answer to that question is because it’s right.
I’m thinking about this past series of the BBC sci-fi hit Torchwood. The premise of this season was an intriguing one for me. Aliens, known as the 456, have touched down in London wreaking havoc and mind control on its children and children around the globe. It is revealed that the aliens want a tribute of 10% of the Earth’s children. Without it, the 456 will release a lethal virus, wiping out mankind. It’s a classic dilemma of the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. What’s the loss of several millions of children and grief of mothers worldwide if it saves the collective skins of the planet? That’s a hard question to ask and, to many, a hard demand to deny. The aspect of these episodes that I found most fascinating–and most chilling–was the closed-door cabal of government officials deciding upon which children were expendable (none of theirs, naturally) and how to spin it to a petrified citizenry. Naturally, a consensus is reached that children from the lowest performing districts, with the least socially-viable communities would be sacrificed for the lives of others. A no-brainer. Who’ll miss the poor kids who won’t be doctors or lawyers but will most likely be inmates, pubcrawlers and general drains on a society (humanity) that can’t bear the cost of bearing that lot? Plausible. Pragmatic. But cold.
As I was watching this, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t want to be a part of a society, a race, that wouldn’t fight for the lives of every child–even those on the low end of the totem pole. Especially those on that end. We care because we have to. It’s what makes us human not robot or machine.
I’d imagine that many people believe that it is our duty as a society to bear up those who can’t–or perhaps, simply won’t, bear up themselves. The thing many of us can’t agree on is how to do it. Some would favor the CATALYST program as it prods those in the projects to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and to make their own way, with a little nudge from the government. Others favor not demolishing public housing, something that people need in order to stave off homelessness and the break down of community, a collective of other disaffected folks who rely upon this housing to survive. Personally, I fall into the former camp but realize that it is not without its adverse and challenging side effects. It’s up to each of us–it’s our moral duty, I believe–to go forth and make our own way. Taking in hand the talents each of us have, we are obligated to be a fruitful as we can, even if we fail. I’ve only come to believe that very recently and I am ready to move forward. But I’m also becoming more ready to give to those who maybe have tried and failed already or who simply have yet to or cannot try. I don’t know how yet but I simply want to give. That’s the only thing I can think of to do about poverty.
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I have just been reading the most fascinating article. Here is a
