by Irene Daniel
There has been much talk lately about income inequality, greed, welfare and the role of government in our capitalist system. I hear a lot of statistics being thrown around. I hear people of varying perspectives quote scripture of one kind or another. This being America, the Bible is looked upon by many as God's word, and is to be revered without question, lest one's sense of morality be suspect. However, these words, whatever their source, mean nothing if they cannot be applied to what people in the here and now are experiencing. How do we apply scripture to real life?
So I thought I'd tell you my story; about poverty, despair and hope, and see what spiritual applications we can find. My parents were divorced in 1962, and in the early 1960s in a predominantly Mexican-Catholic community, this was somewhat taboo. What made it more difficult for my family was the fact that our standard of living took a huge nose-dive after my parents' separation. My father had a good union copper mining job and we enjoyed a nice standard of living when they were still together. Although we were not wealthy, we were just about as well-off as most of our friends and neighbors. Post-divorce, however, was another story.
My father, for whatever reasons -- depression, disability, neglect? -- failed to adequately provide for us by paying his child support on time, or at all. We used to call the child-support checks the "maybe checks." because maybe they'd come, and maybe they wouldn't. Mostly, they didn't.
So, my mother went to work. However, being physically and, I now realize mentally, disabled and crippled with an arthritic right hand, it was impossible for her to keep up with full-time work and caring for her children. She tried baby-sitting and cooking for people, but it was still not enough. We had to go on welfare.
Before there were food stamps, there were USDA surplus commodities that were distributed to families on government assistance. There were big tubs of peanut-butter, canned meat (which we gave or bargained away because even our feral house cat wouldn't eat it), rice, beans, flour and other -- mostly canned, staples. I was always so embarrassed when my mother would send me to pick them up on my bike, which was a Christmas gift from one of the local service organizations, as our family was identified as one of the needy ones in our community. I really felt like a hand-me-down Rose. I remember hoping that my friends wouldn't see me, as they rode by in cars driven by their parents. In this respect, I was very much like my mother.
My mother really hated being dependent upon anyone for anything ever, but she had to feed and care for 3 children by herself and the task was simply beyond her human capacity. My mother didn't really fit into any pattern of life not of her own making, and I finally understand why. But she was always up at dawn and worked hard every day, all day, taking care of us: getting us up in the morning, preparing our meals, washing our clothes, shopping, cleaning and taking care of the yard.
Of course, we helped her all we could, and she was a demanding task master around the house. And we all had jobs. My brothers both started working at the age of 10, in order to bring money into the house for essentials, like groceries and utilities. I began my career at age 13, working as a clerical assistant in our local hospital and high school. We were all self-supporting at a very young age.
Some of theses jobs were working for local small business, but many of them were the result of government programs such as HeadStart and Neighborhood Youth Corps. Yes, government created these jobs to serve the needs of our community by paying young people to do work that needed doing in our community, but was unaffordable to local providers of public services; like hospitals and schools. These jobs also brought in needed income to families like ours, constantly on the brink of financial disaster.
When I hear people talk about poor people as if they are scamming the government, I wonder if those lamenting the laziness of the low income family actually know what it is like to live hand to mouth like we did. I doubt it. And when I hear Newt Gingrich say that school boys should be paid to clean the school to lower costs and "teach them a work ethic," I think of my brother, who had just such a job -- thanks to the Job Corps. Those funds made it possible for my brother to make money to bring home so that my mother could pay the light bill. Moreover, our town didn't need to take the job of school janitor away from a working father in our community. Our high school janitor also drove the school bus and was the father of our classmates. Why put him out of a job?
Another great benefit of the Great Society enjoyed by the Town of Florence was that, with more people having more money in their pockets, the local economy thrived. Our little cow town supported 3 small grocery stories, several gas stations, local restaurants, 2 drug stories, a car dealership, a department store, a five-and-dime and a big lumber yard that was always busy, among others. And, being the County Seat, it was a bustling community. Those were the days when money flowed from government programs to the pockets of the neediest among us. The only problem with Job Corps was that there weren't enough jobs to go around to all the other kids whose families also needed the income, as well as the valuable work experience and "work ethic." I wonder how old Newt Gingrich was when he assumed full responsibility for his own, as well as a family's, expenses. I'll bet he was older than 10, or even 13.
Saving the best for last, the greatest benefit of the Great Society, and the most sustaining still, is the honor of being given the benefit of the doubt when it comes to evaluating one's character. I still remember watching the speech in which LBJ declared a 'war on poverty.' Here was somebody, and not just anybody, but the President of the United States of America, declaring as evil the conditions that kept me and my family in a state of shame and constant angst. It was as though he reached into our living room and said, "I care about what happens to you. I believe that you are better than your current state and I'm going to give you a chance to prove it to me." Wow! I can still remember how we literally danced around the TV because we no longer felt cast off and forgotten. We were valuable. To people who didn't even know us. We mattered enough for the President of the United States to make fighting poverty by creating greater opportunity for those living below the poverty line a legislative and executive priority.
A few years later, I remember Martin Luther King, Jr. announcing the Poor People's Campaign, which planned another march on Washington for the summer of 1968. I remember how hopeful and empowered I felt given all the attention and priority given to people like me, little girls growing up in the middle of nowhere, feeling abandoned and afraid every day. I followed the story and the movement, all the way to what became it's bitter end.
After the assassination of Martin Luther King in April, 1968, the positive energy of the movement really took a hit, but it was still alive. Then, after the assassination of Robert Kennedy in June, it was as though all of whatever air was left in that balloon vanished, along with many of our dreams for peace and prosperity for all. It was as though the heart and soul of the movement had been stabbed and was bleeding to death before our very sad eyes.
When the march finally happened, it was more of a lament than a movement. It rained on a deflated tent city, and the power and energy that had propelled the message forward seemed now forever lost. And then the country elected Richard Nixon and I knew, in my adolescent heart, that a light had gone out in America.
Words of encouragement to disadvantaged youth were replaced by demands for law and order, and evolved to the demonization of the welfare queen by Ronald Reagan. I have always been so grateful that I had a real President who really cared about me when I was a child living in poverty through no fault of my own. I shudder to think about those children growing up in poverty post-Great Society; who are not told that they are valuable, are not told that their country will create opportunities for them where only darkness existed before, and are not valued and cheered-on, as I was in my youth. Instead, they are stopped-and-frisked, shot, assumed to be filled with darkness, and left to their own devices.
It made a huge difference in my life to be valued by my elected government when I was a very sad and angry little girl. The energy of my anger was channeled into work and study, all the way to UCLA Law School. As a result of the opportunities availed to me by The Great Society, my fear and anger were transformed into compassion and eternal gratitude. That is the real victory.
What can we expect of adults, who have been told their entire lives by people who look down on them in presumptuous ignorance, that they are worthless? LBJ and Sargent Shriver were cheerleaders for the poor, for me, for my mother, for my brothers. And for their enduring confidence and love for me, and people like me, they will live forever through the work we do to further their commitment to bringing light to lives darkened by disaster and poverty.
(Next week: Part Two -- My Education)
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