When moral standing is made homeless

Knowing when you are there

Like mine, I could imagine that many minds are filled with one type of regret or the other, where an unfortunate lack of insight at an opportunity we find ourselves in is not used to any benefit until we have left that position.

The power of hindsight reveals how we have misused both opportunity and responsibility, when that unique situation we were presented with offered more than we realised we could do.

A friend tried to contextualise this with people who have been in power, position, and providence, who failed to understand what they could do to change, improve, or give enduring value to things and on their exit have resorted to writing memoirs about how they were unable to do things they were so uniquely able to do, when they were in that position.

Perfect vision outside power

However, this extends into other spheres of existence how when not endued with power, much is said, but when those who saw so clearly out of power assume power, the realities dictate everything that borders on hypocrisy and worse.

How one can soon forget the moral standing that comes with position that you are left defending the indefensible and justifying the unjustifiable.

Much as a critique of our current government is difficult, it can be encapsulated in the recent resignation last week of the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State (Minister for Homelessness and Democracy) whose brief and responsibilities need detailing for context and understanding.

• Homelessness and rough sleeping
• Housing delivery and strategy engagement
• Homeownership and homebuying process
• Supported housing and domestic abuse
• Elections policy and delivery
• Planning casework

A total lack of awareness

It just so happens that as she was pushing reforms through the parliamentary process, she ran afoul of the protections she was seeking to put in place. She evicted her tenants on the pretext of needing to sell her property, only to put the property back on the rental market, a couple of weeks later, at a hiked-up rate.

She might protest that she had done nothing wrong and every idea that this was rank hypocrisy might have been an unfortunate coincidence of realising her property could not be sold for the asking price, leaving her no other option but to access the rental market again, but other lives are unravelled and upturned, I dare say, landlord greed entered the fray.

Invariably, she created an untenable situation for herself in government, that the only recourse was to tender her resignation. You cannot superintend a law where appearances suggest that it is one law for others whilst you find yourself outside the ambit of the same law being promulgated.

Then taxes went up again

Moreso, I can remember in March 2024, the current Prime Minister then in opposition lamented that we had reached the highest tax burden in 70 years, only for them to gain power in July 2024 to find a £20 billion black hole.

That has instigated another tax hike that might take the burden to the highest in about a century, but how amnesia has overwhelmed any reckoning or memory. [BBC News: Tory Budget 2024: Is the tax take the highest for 70 years?] [BBC News: Labour Budget 2024: Key points at a glance]

Meanwhile, that was £45 less, per month, on my take home pay when it all took effect, and they are not yet done with the proposed tax rises. It just looks like the black hole is getting bigger. [BBC News: Reeves must raise tax to cover £41bn gap, says think tank] [The Guardian: Reeves and Starmer to prepare ground for tax rises in a difficult autumn budget]

Let’s talk for the voiceless

It is easy to talk in opposition, when in power, reality bites and the choices to be made are more impactful and far-reaching than they let on. Let us not delude ourselves, our politicians are in the same game of trade-offs, beholding to some with great influence and less so to those without a strong voice.

Except if you were a tenant of Rushanara Ali who were fortunate to have their distress amplified enough to force the minister’s hand, you are like many, on your own. [BBC News: Homelessness Minister Rushanara Ali quits over rent hike claims]

The responsibility of having opportunity and being in power is a great one, we often fail to make it easier for those who gave us that opportunity to do something significant.

Homeless, not hopeless

Among us all

There are moments that you observe as you walk around your city that present you with a time to reflect on the many blessings that greet us each passing day.

The grip of adversity can rob you of every kind of agency, the belief in yourself, the appreciation of human kindness, the facility for hope, and even a desire to live.

Hurdled in corners all around my city are the homeless and the destitute whose many stories are seen through just their immediate deprivation. There is more to them than what we see. Yet, there is no magic wand to wave with either determination or the almost limp-wristed suave of a sprite from the other world to change things.

Just a little

The burden of the issue is immense, you want to walk away and pretend certain realities are too great to countenance, but I saw a man in distress, he was crying and that touched me so deeply, that I turned and went to him to ask what the problem was.

He had a catalogue of woe to drown fish in its own habitat and I asked him to give me 15 minutes, he had probably heard that too many times to care about the truth of good intentions until I returned just about 20 minutes later having been distracted by an unfortunate situation.

His surprise at seeing me again, yes, I made a promise to a total stranger, but it was not just about him trusting me but a demonstration of knowing that my own words must count for something to myself. It is hence important not to vow rashly, for in not meeting it, your words begin to lose significance to you first and then to others.

More in him

In our exchanges, I found that he was going to be 50 and about to be a grandfather, you just never know if you do not engage, interact with, and deign to see another regardless of stature. One little thing can restore hope, give a sense that there is a tomorrow and help appreciate that no man is or remains an island.

He said he would lie down and say a prayer for me, I cannot remember the number of times we hugged, but that little moment of turning tears into smiles should be the broader story of our shared humanity.

I believe in angels, and many have been sent my way, in the depths of despair there is strength that tells you a better story is just being written.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXVI

Breaking my stride

The fear of abandonment was palpable during a chance encounter with a lady I met on one of my walks late at night. Our conversation began on the note of her acknowledging that I was working hard at my fitness, if only it showed that well, I’ll be a happier man.

As I responded to the compliment, she intimated that she was a victim of some sort of domestic violence which I then learnt was an orchestrated gang rape in a sheltered setting for which the main protagonist had been sentenced to 11 years in prison.

She obviously needed help and I slowed down so she could walk with me, it felt she needed someone to talk to and I was quite disposed to listen and see what I could do to help. I could not give her money as most transactions are cashless, but I offered that we might be able to find a place that takes contactless payments to get her a few essentials.

And we talked

The back-and-forth conversation included my revealing I am gay, I have a partner and our domestic situation when we are together. She made saucy and cheeky comments about what might make me attractive to my partner and much else, she was funny and quite lucid, very aware of the dangers on the street.

She apologised for slowing me down as she was still recovering from the 87 stitches that she received for her injuries. I learnt she was a grandmother, she had had some nasty relationships and been with some rather notorious and violent partners, some of whom had negatively coloured her view of life and survival.

Along the way, she called out to a couple of men who were huddled in a doorway, she volunteered that they were on spice, a synthetic cannabinoid with debilitating side effects sometimes leading to fatalities, and this is on the streets around us to which many of us are totally oblivious.

Trust is scarce

We were planning on going to a night shop, but as I realised we were only about half a kilometre from my home, I would rush home to pick up a few things for her and get my bank card to withdraw some money for her. I have never tried to second-guess what people might do with the money I give them, nor do I want to police what they do with it. It is for them to decide what their immediate need is and to either wisely or unwisely attend to that.

When I told her, I can run home to get a few things, she began to cry thinking I was about to abandon her. I could understand, yet I would only give her assurances that I would return apart from the fact that I did not really want to reveal where I lived. Besides, some people are so desperately in need of help and support beyond the immediacy of what we can do for them in that moment.

Completely worn down

On one occasion, in attending to someone in desperate need, I made the mistake of giving him my phone number, first, he said, he had lost the money I had given him to get shelter for the night, and when I still engaged and secured the shelter, through the night, I was bombarded with calls and pleas, more than 40 of them and it continued to the next day.

I happened to see him a few days after and by then I had been so worn down that there was not a scimitar of empathy left in me as I shouted at him and told him how he made me regret ever meeting him at all. He was never ever to contact me ever again and if he approached me, I would tackle him as a mugger. It was the kind of thing that could sear your conscience against having the milk of human kindness, then again, every person’s circumstance is different.

In the readiness to help, the helped, despite their situation, circumstances, and history should be careful and that is difficult, to not frustrate their helpers with untrammelled demands, we all have limited capacity to address issues that are essentially endemic and in need of more professionally coordinated approaches for long term benefit to those that require it.

Willing to angel

I ran home and got a coat, a scarf, pairs of socks, and the thermal underwear that I bought for my sister when she was in Iceland, but I never got to post, and a few snacks packed into a bag, not forgetting my bank card, and rushed out again.

She was still waiting for me, as I took to one side and showed her everything I had brought before giving her some money. She asked if I was sure I wanted to give her what I had already given her, I guess this thought comes with the concept that the generosity from strangers could be in short supply for those in desperate need. I do wonder if giving them a lot of money can do a perverse thing of changing the concept of value, in terms of what they need.

That is probably something for social scientists, psychologists, or anthropologists to study, I can only do my bit in within the means that I have. What could I do when she started crying at what I had been given the opportunity to do? I embraced her and told her, to think of it as if her had just met an angel. Even on the streets of Manchester, there is goodness, kindness, and mercy for all, those who have and many more who do not have much at all.

Opinion: By the measure of homelessness in the UK, we are a poor nation

Our streets of people in need

Daily, I find myself wondering what kind of society I am in, what has broken in our society and communities to see such poverty, destitution and hopelessness amongst us?

There is nothing first world on our streets, despite being one of the largest economies in the world, with all sorts of prospects for the United Kingdom, we cannot judge our progress on the prosperity of the rich getting richer, companies declaring vast profits, the stock exchange hitting new records and anyone else with the opportunity and good fortune laughing all the way to the bank.

As a consultant, I work around the UK, literally living in hotels and walking the streets therein. Living in Manchester, then working or temporarily staying in Edinburgh, Norwich, Great Yarmouth and now Reading, I cannot ignore the obvious.

I see hungry people

I see hungry people, I see homeless people, I see people approaching strangers begging for some spare change for a meal or to get a place to lay their heads for the night. Then some billboards tell me not to give money to street beggars because the said charities are there to help them back to a different life.

I am pained by my own helplessness, I cannot think of what I can really do to help anyone who has been caught in this situation apart from offer a handout. If I stopped to listen to their stories, it is very likely their story will be no different from mine.

Why? I was self-employed and independent, then I fell ill with a sickness and disease that could easily have killed me off, but thankfully I am still here. As I took on my treatment, I had no money coming in, I used up all my savings, I could not pay the mortgage and because of my seemingly independent life, I did not know I was entitled to any welfare.

A precipitous decline

I soon found out about my entitlements six months after I fell ill, my creditors were very understanding, in fact, they probably had more faith in my recovery than I did, they had a good idea of what I earned before and my possible earning potential if I did recover. Yet, there were days I went hungry, my eyes almost popping out in the agonising pain of cancer, but for the succour and friendship of neighbours and friends, I could have despaired and expired.

I still had a roof over my head for another 30 months after my cancer diagnosis, but I could not sustain my situation, things were not looking as rosy as I had hope that I decided to sell up. The day before I moved out of my apartment of 126 months, I did not know where I would spend the next night, and then a free offer to occupy a vacated house come up which I occupied for two months.

After that, a young family put me up in their apartment caring for me for another 6 weeks before I decided to return to the UK after 12 and a half years in the Netherlands, with nothing but the hope that things will turn around, my cousin putting me up in a room as I returned.

As things looked up

Within 6 days of arrival, I had a job to travel around Europe for the next six months, however, some internal issues in the company meant the opportunity only lasted 5 weeks, it was another few months before I got a job in Wales where I was living out of hotels for the next 6 months.

Being in and out of work with no permanent residence could have taken its toll, I had many brushes on the brink of homelessness only to have people give me a place to recoup, reassess, rejig and reapply myself to getting back into useful employment and independence.

None of this would have been possible without a helping hand and there were many for which I am full of gratitude and appreciation that the best of humanity is still out there overflowing with the milk of kindness to help and to redeem.

Where is the help for all?

However, not everyone has that resource, not everyone has an angel, the angels to me were people like you and me. Many are homeless because of so many reasons too many to enumerate, from illness to unemployment, broken homes, divorce, a death in the family and even maybe substance abuse.

It is here that we must ask ourselves, what encourages substance abuse and is that not a symptom of some other underlying issue? I cannot sanctimoniously pontificate on these issues as if in my supposed saintliness I am beyond reproach, neither am I ready to accept as default that all beggars are beggars by choice, any money given them goes on drink and drugs or that they know where to get help and never use it.

I knew where to get help, as articulate and well-dressed as I was, I was both humiliated and turned away with the undertone of how dare I visit the homeless charity seeking help. I submit that if the charities were really doing their charitable duties, there would probably be fewer homeless people on our streets. I am doubtful they are doing anything that would encourage me to donate to the charities when I can open my hand to a person begging in front of me.

They are human beings first

It is a cancer within our midst that we have that many homeless people around us and from my experience, the very likelihood why the homeless would not visit homeless charities is because first, they are not treated as human beings, they are not treated with respect, they are looked down on as the dregs of society that there is nothing in place as the kind of helping hands I had to give me the opportunity and space to come out of the quagmire I was in.

Nobody wants to return to a workhouse environment redolent of the Victorian times and these places that portend to tackle homelessness must be more welcoming than they appear to be.

I see instances when someone begging needs £16 to stay in a hostel, it is unlikely if they make the £16, they would immediately spend it on one night’s shelter when there is food to think about.

The pall of homelessness

It is not without consideration that I think of a man I loved, Chris was ejected from his home by his mother at the age of 15 because he was gay and though he made something of his life to the extent that his parents relied on him to bury them well, Chris died 21 years after that ejection and it cannot be unrelated to the homelessness he suffered as a teenager before someone helped him.

I could see signs of that experience in everything that Chris did because these things are markedly significant, yet, he was amazingly loving and wonderful company to be with. Whilst he rests, I still miss him, 36 was too young an age to die and he’s been gone over 8 years.

I walk to the gym in my shorts on typical winter days seeing people in the dead of the night still hungry, homeless, cold and anything uncomfortable, I do not see anything happening to help them, I have not amazing solutions and sadly, we seem to be at the peak of government indolence and societal heartlessness.

This cannot continue, our society is the poorer for the hungry and homeless that roam around us in the vaunted prosperity of this great land. No, we are not prosperous, we are poor.

Homelessness: Make June the end of May - #EndMayInJune

Signs of bad times

As I walked to work this morning and then walked back to my hotel to collect my stowed baggage for the station in preparation for my journey back home, I could not help but notice the number of young people sat on the ground, their backs to the walls of shops or offices building signifying some need.

Need, not wants, here were the youth in the 5^th largest economy in the world without a prospect, opportunity, promise or hope. The only thing occupying their minds was the means to take shelter compounded with one sign that broke my heart, the young man’s sign said he had not eaten for days.

Now, I do not care if that is anything but the truth, I would hope that cynicism and suspicion would not rob me of sympathy, maybe empathy, a sense of compassion and the ability to be touched by the hardship of another.

Great needs with little supply

Besides, I know privation, not to that extent, but I have gone hungry in the midst of lack and when I would have been rendered homeless, I was fortunate to find support from people who covered my nakedness, shame and misfortune. To them, I am grateful probably not to the extent that I can repay them, but that when I see another in a situation that I have once experienced, I will not ignore them and walk on by if I am opportuned to do something, no matter how little.

Then, there was another thing on the signs that struck me, at least were asking for £16 to be able to spend a night in a home shelter. What the home shelter would probably provide is a bed, a shower, hot drinks and some safety from the elements and menace. I would not know if they also provide food.

Homelessness is a thief of the future

However, for someone who has nothing and has not eaten for days, how on earth would the shelter take priority over food, the little that comes from alms might only cover just one meal and so they are still out on the streets day after day in the hope that someone would just pour our God and love upon them that they would not only smile but cry the tears of joy bearing hope.

I have said before, homelessness is debilitating to the extent that it almost impossible to see how steals the future away from the present which becomes an enduring and harrowing existence. Without a home address, you probably can’t take on the most basic jobs, talk less of open a bank account or make any headway in life beyond being caught in the rut.

The charity of no clarity

Then I have my gripe with homeless charities, I am not convinced they are doing enough if anything, I see signs that I should give to charities rather than the homeless. I have this to say, if the charities were really seen to be helping the homeless, there would not be so many homeless and somewhat helpless people on our streets.

The other side of this argument is we probably would be persuaded to give to the charities and readily walk the homeless to the nearest point of help just as the Good Samaritan of old committed time and resources to the wounded stranger.

In this electioneering season in the UK, I have even bigger concerns; Theresa May boasts of offering strong and stable leadership, but I have no time for leadership that has no heart. Our social services are cut to the bone, that people cannot get by. The thought that British nurses are resorting to food banks in full employment is a disgrace I cannot find the words to express. [The Independent]

Make June the end of May

Theresa May said there are many complex reasons why people use food banks, I’m sorry, the reason is not complex, it is simple, they are not being paid enough and the cost of living is rising far beyond their means.

The system is completely messed up and I do not believe Theresa May as a bloody difficult woman has the wherewithal to bring the necessary humanity and compassion to bear to change things for the better for those who suffer homelessness, who use food banks or have to rely on the system to get by. That people in full employment should live from hand to mouth is utterly contemptible, an atrocity of the magnitude that has no mitigation or acceptable excuse.

This is not the United Kingdom that should be happy to have remain like this, things must change, the homeless and the hungry nurses are neither thinking Brexit nor strong leadership, they are hoping against hope for respite, food for their hunger, shelter for their heads and a future that gives them a chance for a different life.

Theresa May is not that person and I’m afraid, no such one is in the Tory Party to do that too.

Opinion: We cannot for our comfort ignore the homeless

No woof without a roof

Having suffered the threat of homelessness a number of times, there are deep experiences that recovering from illness and adversity have brought into my life.

Blog - Homeless! My exciting life takes a new chapter

Blog - England: How Lewisham Single Homeless Intervention Prevention humiliated me

I have hoped that the lessons I learnt and continue to learn will make me a better person, a more considerate person, a caring person, a compassionate person and a more understanding person.

Critically, being a more understanding person hopefully helps you appreciate long before you are tempted to judge or be prejudiced.

More than who you see

I have seen homelessness in many cities and it is clear that most homeless people have stories and narratives that are far from the stereotypes of homelessness that we are sometimes fed by the media.

One such example of a homeless person with a story was that of Anne Naysmith whose obituary appeared in literally all the main English newspapers, locally known as the Car Lady of Chiswick, she was once concert pianist and even taught at Trinity College, London.

She lost her home and lived rough in a car for 26 years before she was moved on by the authorities, quite a tale of a life that was. It goes without saying that many others might well have tales of wonder in their past that the present attempts to place into insignificance. We must never be fooled, our humanity is much richer than what meets the eye.

Longing for a caring society

For myself, where I have had the opportunity, I have been blessed to both give and encourage, if I could do more, I would love to. For what many of the homeless need is first the understanding of others and then the opportunity to begin to have options; once those options are there, they can begin to make choices; choice indicates a sense of independence and from the budding of the very basic encouragement in word and in deed, you can watch people rise.

What I long for is, a more caring society, a more considerate humanity and a more engaging community in helping those who lack shelter, resource or opportunity.

Atrocious spikes

It is in this vein that I was utterly, utterly repulsed by the studs Selfridges in Manchester installed on the ledges of their shop window with the excuse that they were to prevent staff from smoking about and around the entrance of the store. [Mancunian Matters]

Whilst the ledge itself was probably not wide enough for people to sleep on, it represented a growing trend first seen in London when Tesco’s installed anti-homeless studs at their Regent Street store and then a luxury apartment complex in London did the same.

For all the excuses and many might be valid for installing the studs just as anti-pigeon pins are installed around public buildings, the broader society could not countenance the deliberate attempt to cleanse our inner cities of the homeless so that we can comfortably assume their being out of sight means we do not have a homelessness problem amongst us.

Our true society

I believe we need to observe the comforts and the discomforts of our communities in plain sight and if at any time the discomforts of homelessness should disappear, it should be as a result of society working to help rather than society actively ostracising and stigmatising those more unfortunate than ourselves.

It is the reason why I signed Change.Org petition started by Professor Cathy Urquhart asking Selfridges in Manchester to remove the anti-homeless spikes from outside their store and I am glad to report that after a well-publicised campaign against this odious and reprehensible conduct, the spikes have been removed.

Still unforgivable

I, however, doubt this episode will be forgiven just as I have not forgiven Tesco’s for thinking up the stinking idea. I would rather see these corporate behemoths of retail excess positively contributing to helping the homeless and the many disadvantaged, get their lives together and find opportunities to thrive in society.

That to me would be real corporate social responsibility, one where those who have been helped with have heart-warming stories of corporate showing a human face, having a human heart passionately and compassionately working for profit for the community and themselves.

Whilst I will thank Selfridges in Manchester for listening, the real truth is it should never have happened in the first place.

Europe: My Observations of Homelessness in Paris, Berlin and London

My homeless life

The roughest I have ever slept is on a sofa for just over a week when I was graciously offered a roof having become homeless.

I have been a nomad for years but have had the generosity and goodwill of others for periods of time beyond overstaying my welcome, but they have not refused me.

My things are scattered between countries, cities and homes, all of which has taught me to appreciate adversity as it affects people, and yet I consider myself blessed beyond measure for I have choices and in some way, the means to make such choices.

The backstory to this has been written innumerable times on this blog, I own my experiences and my story.

Blog - Homeless! My exciting life takes a new chapter

Blog - England: How Lewisham Single Homeless Intervention Prevention humiliated me

Between Paris and Berlin

Yet, in the capital cities of France, Germany and the United Kingdom, many have not been that fortunate.

In Paris, it was whole families that I observed sleeping rough, it was humbling and quite instructive.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Hard Times

In Berlin, I never once saw a cardboard box, but there was a spirit of humanity that I noticed. Those sleeping rough were not in store doorways but inside buildings sleeping amongst the enclosed automatic teller machines.

This could mean most of the homeless had a support system to fall back on and the few without access just got this alternative.

They obviously were not threatening, which might be why they were allowed in the bank branch buildings.

Maybe, but why?

Maybe again, Berlin businesses have a human heart that beats with compassion and empathy.

However, at a very unholy hour, I saw an old man without lower limbs fast asleep in his wheelchair, his polystyrene begging cup lightly clasped in his hand, my heart melted and I put in some change with the hope that clatter of chinks did not disturb his sleep. There was no need to be thanked.

It should never be on God's good earth that a man end up old and destitute with just his wheelchair for a bed. Not in Germany and not in Europe, but that is the reality and our humanity is the poorer for it, regardless of the life story of the man, the old and the young are the responsibility of the able.

I have no smart answers to the big questions, but what I can affect in my little sphere of influence and impact with the little experience, advice, means and help I have got, I would strive to be a blessing to others.

A bed of nails in London?

London however plumbed the depths of Dickensian malevolence when pictures appeared of anti-homeless spikes and studs being installed at entrances of prime real estate properties, we were scandalised.

You would think fakirs had invaded London and were ready to entertain with one of their interesting bed-of-nails tricks, but that was not the case.

An atrocity of inhumane corporatism

Worst still was when Tesco, the supermarket giant followed suit, installing studs at their recessed storefronts, such corporate irresponsibility that tacks onto the vilest expression of capitalism is utterly, utterly beneath contempt.

Tesco has lost my custom, and though after drawing public ire they have removed the said studs that they deigned to carry out the thought just shows they have no discernible humanity.

I have written before, we have a serious homelessness problem in the UK that the system has not yet fully grasped, it is an issue I would continue to write about until I see changes.

Why? The Big Question With Unacceptable Answers - Homelessness Amongst Young LGBT BME Persons

Why? The Big Question with Unacceptable Answers.

This was my response to a question that Bisi Alimi posed on Facebook after he revealed a statistic about the percentage of homelessness amongst LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transsexual) young persons of Black and Minority Ethnic (BME) groups between the ages of 16 to 25 in London.

As a member of the Stonewall Housing Board (SHB), he noted that 75% of the young persons seeking housing support from the SHB were of African, Asian and Caribbean descent.

He closed his comment with, “My people, why would anyone in 2014, drive out a child in Britain just cos (sic) of their sexuality? Why?”

No acceptable excuse

In my humble opinion, I cannot find any excuse that any parent in any situation or circumstance can give, regardless of what they believe or the positions and status they hold in society or in their community that would justify their unreasonable and unconscionable loss of humanity, humaneness, parental affection and responsibility to their child.

To throw a child on the streets at a vulnerable stage of their lives because of the discovery of their sexuality that does not seem to fit a construct they expect is heartless at best and downright evil.

Not the end of the world

Whilst very little can prepare parents for the realisation that their child is LGBT, it cannot be the end of the world and it should not be made the end of the world of the child.

The station of parent demands great responsibility and many situations challenge the capacity of parents to hold that responsibility with stoicism and courage, but a parent is what a parent should remain - understanding, supportive, protective and hardest of all, accepting.

It is hard enough for the child realising that they are different for all sorts of reasons with the possibility that they feel that the world is against them.

Sexuality is rarely taught

More pertinently, the child having grown up under guardianship in most cases cannot have been nurtured into homosexuality living in an environment where heterosexuality is the situational norm, which can lead to the conclusion that sexuality is innate and natural rather than learnt.

Then again there are children who have been reared in a same-sex parentage who are naturally heterosexual – it really is not the end of the world.

Children are not clones

Sadly, the truth is parents have to get to grips with stark realities about their children, they would be distinct, different, individual, distinguishable and accomplished in so many diverse ways, they would assume our likeness beyond which their character, temperament, imaginations, dreams, abilities, sexuality and whatever else that makes up a human being indicate they are not clones of ourselves.

That BME groups would remove parental protection on account of the sexuality of their child is beneath contempt, but I am thankful that organisations like the SHB exist to help, by providing shelter, protection, opportunity and a brighter future.

Many of these homeless child will in spite of and despite the actions of their parents find their own way, and though they might be bitter and helpless now, it is not like these children do not have a bigger heart of humaneness and compassion that would put their parents to shame.

The Story of Chris

I share a story about such a person who was thrown out of his home at 15 for coming out to his mother in 1988, and this was in Caucasian family whilst contrasting it with the attitudes of the other siblings.

When a child comes out to their guardian, that is the time to offer some comfort, strength, reasonable guidance and support, it is definitely not the time to wash your hands off the child you brought up and ostracise them by throwing them out of the home.

Any parent who does this should be ashamed of themselves, whether that parent were ever worthy of being one, is a question for another time.

Chris, a son, a man, a person of honour

I first met Chris some 11 years ago, just about a year after we began chatting online.

I cannot say how many people he told his story, but it has been one story that has stuck with me long after his sudden and unexpected demise in late 2009.

He grew up with a single mother and a younger brother when at the age of 15 she threw him out of the house because he came out as gay.

In the late 1980s, that is what most parents tended to do, dump their offspring who under their care and protection just by happenstance appeared to exhibit a same-sex attraction.

Someone else became guardian

Providence shined on Chris because an African-American saw him on the streets and arranged to give Chris a better life and future in America.

There he lived for 6 years, gaining an education and skills before returning to Europe and eventually settling down with a partner in Amsterdam who one day due to mental illness sadly drowned himself in one of the Amsterdam canals.

Chris returned to the UK then and engaged in a number of social and creative activities, in which time his health suffered, but he still had a wonderful outlook to life. That is when I met him.

A son without malice

In early 2006, the mother who dumped him for being gay was very ill, and ironically, of all the children she had, it was Chris she looked to for care and help.

He bore no anger or malice towards her and in February 2006 she died in his arms.

Chris did what was expected of a son and much more, he buried his mother with honour, dignity and respect. For all that he had suffered, he had the warmest heart to care even to the point of denying himself essential care.

A son with a heart

Yet 2006 was a horrible year for him because his father from whom he had been estranged for years and who was atrociously unsympathetic on hearing of Chris' mother's death was dying too.

His father who had many other offspring, at least three much older than Chris with their own children, desired earnestly that Chris be at his bedside.

Chris did not think twice about providing succour to his father who at times past was as nasty and horrid as ever can be, to Chris.

Something informed his father that of all the children he had, only Chris would do right by him.

A worthy son

So when his father died in December 2006, it was Chris that stood in the position of son and man to give his father a befitting funeral.

The child rejected and reviled almost two decades before became the child to honour those who spurned him. His father in his testament bequeathed all his worldly goods to Chris at the expense of the brothers and the grandchildren.

The brothers had the shameless temerity to contest the will, but Chris won in every court of opinion and process.

Chris was one of a kind, a gentle soul whose hard life did no becloud the opportunity to be forgiving and accommodating.

That was the manner of man he was and sadly he died of renal failure in London, in October 2009, a great loss to many who knew him and never will forget what a kind soul he was.

Anyone got a couch?

You’ve heard it all before

It has become a refrain, the monotony of a shrill choral piece ringing in the air that the haunting sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the willow tree in the cemetery at the edge of town.

Strange beds and funny pillows, stranger faces with smiles that reshape the face but have no heart in them, a constant wandering like a nomad in the desert with no paths to follow, no known watering holes, stumbling upon oases big and small but the journey must continue due north to the place where hope becomes reality.

He has fought to live and struggled not to die, but each respite is just like the catching of breath in the swirling turbulent seas where the strength to swim and stay afloat is slowly ebbing away – he is desperately hoping for a rescue or waiting for the last time when the eyes close, the life he has lived swiftly flashes by for one last memory of the best times to depart as if fulfilled.

Please, help me

England: How Lewisham Single Homeless Intervention Prevention humiliated me

Dead with connections

It was a shortcut, leading to a park and then a station unto the road I needed to walk up a hill to the place I had stayed until today.

On both sides of the path that seemed to split an old graveyard into two were tombstones of the long dead and buried, remembered by the names and the dates of birth and of death, sometimes with the years numbered, maybe with other family or information of relationships to those who put them there.

A father, a mother, a sister, a brother, a son, a daughter, a husband, a wife, there were connections, with the place, with people and with a time, that is why they were there.

No protection for the living

Even then gravestones followed a trend, some were shaped in stone like Egyptian sarcophagi, maybe in celebration of the eternity of burial exemplified by the Pharaoh’s tombs of old, protected with curses and scripts that have no significance to the grave tampering archaeologists who brought us the remains of Tutankhamun and that cohort.

No, there is no protection for the dead as there seems to be no protection for the living if they do not tick the boxes of eligibility even if the person is in dire need representing an exception to the rule.

My grave circumstances were brought into stark relief when I strode down to the Lewisham Housing Services and there was nothing in my story, voice or plea that could made me a priority in their eyes, I had no connections with Lewisham apart from 5 weeks that I have lived here, but then I have no particular connections with anywhere else in the UK, I am as good as a just returned Englishman.

I’m no prodigal son

Maybe the lady was exasperated with the audacity I had to walk into any council office, talk less of the one she sat in to ask for help, I could have another set of phone numbers to add to the 5 I had called for advice and help – I was fast becoming a homeless switchboard.

Then I was asked why I had not made plans for my resettlement back in the UK before leaving the Netherlands last August, it is like asking the prodigal son in the Bible why he had not made plans for settling back at home when he literally had no claim to anything but the mercy and kindness of the people he left behind, especially his father.

The questions plumbed the depths of absurdity, there was no room for embarrassment but to state the facts and the fact is an Englishman who has generally lived an independent life and has now only resorted to state help in an emergency and desperate situation has no chance on God’s good earth of getting help today – there is no face of humanity or compassion to register in sympathy or empathy, rather you are met with obstinate indifference, apathy and checkboxes.

Scolded in my adversity

My humiliation was completed like the exhumation of the graves of yore when after I asked to make phone calls in a quiet corner of the empty waiting room, with the unfortunate result of not getting through a legal advice service but then called the hospital for help, I was curtly asked to leave, in the eyes of the doorman, I had become a vagrant, a nuisance and an inconvenience.

My voice trembled as I stepped out apologising profusely for taking up their time. I will come through this with my head held up high and for those who staff the Single Homeless Intervention Prevention office in Lewisham – I am single and homeless but you did little to intervene or prevent the predicament I was facing – we will meet again, God willing, I will be in better circumstances to say I saw the next day, in spite of and despite you.

Thank you.

Thought Picnic: More Tests ...

Of expectations

The day came with uncertainties and the answer to yesterday’s question is, I am sad. The first meeting was laden with expectations, at least that is what the nurse and the psychologist suggested, these people are clued in, they know what to do and they have solutions, the urgencies and immediacies will be assuaged with ease.

I soon became aware that they do not talk to each other and the view that things might have moved on from where they were left soon was discarded – I had to tell my story again, a third time to people who seemingly interact, but the object of interact is not the files, data or notes but the subject – I was the subject in this case.

Apparently, having lived on continental Europe for 12 years and now returned for the UK for one long year, left me rather bereft of some of the rights that UK residents would have been able to subscribe to – it was disheartening.

Of options

The picture painted even got gloomier as my countenance changed, I could feel the welling of my tear ducts but, I held it all back, I am the cast of my macabre drama, I cannot inflict any more hurt on myself than what I have suffered apart from a looming prospect of destitution and vagrancy – has it really come to this? The way it seems, it has.

There is no breeding, class, education, life, luck or fortune that is not represented in the homeless class and they all have stories just as good as mine, if not better of events in their lives that led to where they have found themselves.

The meeting ended with a list of numbers, addresses and ideas but without certainty, assurance or confirmation, I was forlorn. As it transpired, he had enough examples of people in my situation they could not help, I should have asked myself aloud – why am I in this meeting?

Of strangers

I gathered my thoughts in a few tweets as time passed, another 40 minutes before I meet my new consultant; at least that is what I expected.

She came to get me from the reception and as she introduced herself, confusion clouded my face, I had to interject – that is not the name of the person I was expecting to see and no one informed me in the almost 7 weeks since the appointment was made that the consultant had changed.

She was to do his rounds and by interference she had only leafed through my medical notes that appeared to contain the amalgamated detail from the Netherlands, Wales and the new interactions I have had since June.

Of preparedness

Again, by the first question, it was not so much my filling in the gaps but a new narration of the same tale that was already becoming a recital and performance at each gathering, I was not too pleased.

With time, I commandeered the notes myself, linking the data from the Netherlands to the information from Wales, whilst charting a historical progression of the tales of the bloods which on a chart would have looked like a jagged-saw graph, the current readings on a depression after what was the best indicator noted in almost 4 years.

Eventually, we warmed to each other, though not to the level I was accustomed to in the Netherlands, we discussed my drug regime, my options and additional tests.

Of innards

To be honest, I was not keen on being probed or prodded any further today, I was barely keeping up with myself on a mentally distressed level but in the process, we settled for 2 vials at the phlebotomist’s, prescriptions to last 4 months, which is unusual because beyond 3 months in the Netherlands, insurance requires you pay for the extra and then be reimbursed. I did not have €2,700 in my pocket in December when I was last in the Netherlands, so I left with 3 months of medication even though my consultant had prescribed 6 months with consideration of the fact that I was then resident in the UK.

I will also be visiting the imaging department, having secured an appointment for a month hence, I am to fast for 6 hours ingesting nothing but fluids prior to the largest organ in my body scanned – Gosh! I have pretty much really mucked my life up too seriously to unravel in one short afternoon.

In between all this, I also saw the pharmacist who ensured my prescription went ahead to the pharmacy that I did not have to wait as long as 30 minutes to pick them up.

Of life

At the end of all these meetings, I was not in the mood to socialise, I got on the train and made my way home, burdened with an existence that clouded the glimmer of hope I had earlier in the day and smarter for the fact that I refused to take on more than what I thought I should handle in one day as advice from other friends came in.

As I stepped out of the station, a man approached me, “Please can you help a homeless man with some change for a cup of tea?” He said. But for his skin tone, I might well have been looking in a mirror, though, it was a mirror of circumstances looming as I emptied the coins into the palm of his hand, I said to him, “I will be homeless from tomorrow.”

I made for the place I had called home for the last 5 weeks, tomorrow being my last day, found a short break from my turmoil with some sleep and woke up to write this before I start to pack my bags and think of what really will tomorrow bring – there is no point asking if I will be happy or sad, any comfort will do to find a place to lay my weary head.