For just 10 days, homeless folks really belonged

Welcome to Act III of “The Homeless Monologues,” a play about the homeless created exclusively in this column space. Setting: Camp Serene Freedom, a grassy median strip in downtown Spokane where 50 homeless people lived for 10 days in protest of the city’s anti-camping ordinance. Time: 8 a.m. Thursday morning. Background action: The camp is being closed down, and the campers are loading up their gear while police and many onlookers watch. Please welcome the stars of Act III, Brian Hensley, 40, and his fiancée, Jean Stoetzel, 30. They have been living on the streets together for about five weeks. They slept and hung around the camp its entire 10 days of existence. They felt a sense of belonging there. Before their monologue begins, please allow me a short riff on belonging. One clue to understanding this homeless issue is to understand how crucial it is for humans to belong. The mainstream society folks at the scene Thursday morning – the police officers, the journalists, the onlookers – they belong to many people and many things. They belong to their jobs. They belong to mortgages. They belong to churches or community groups. A woman in a sleek white convertible drove by in the middle of the fuss. She belonged in that car. The campers, meanwhile, belong to no jobs, no homes, no mainstream society. They keep their belongings with them at all times. At Camp Serene Freedom, they belonged somewhere concrete. They told the media their stories and those stories showed up in the newspaper and on television. The long-term solution to homelessness is not median-strip camping. But any solution must capture the sense of belonging that evolved at Camp Serene Freedom. And capture the respect present during the final hour between those who belong to mainstream society and those who don’t. There was respect on the part of the campers, the police, the journalists and, especially, on the part of the Catholic Charities folks. It could have easily turned ugly or violent. It didn’t, because the homeless and the nonhomeless learned one another’s names during the 10 days. End of riff. Now, I hand the microphone to Brian and Jean for Act III. Brian: If someone was hungry at camp, they got fed. If they needed blankets, they got blankets. To me it was kind of like a family. People cared. We had night watchmen keeping the peace. Jean: We had snorers. Brian: Some people waved. A lot of people flipped us off. A guy jumped out of his van and cut our flag down. I got the guy’s description and license plate number and gave it to the police. Brian: We belong to one another. We met at the bus plaza last winter. She had three little kids with her, and the officers who were patrolling were giving her a hard time, and I intervened. I wanted to be around her. I had to leave for Salem, Ore., and I sent her a letter from Salem, but she didn’t get it. I got no car. I got no driver’s license. So I built a trailer and put it on the back of a bike and loaded it up with my gear. I rode that bike 541 miles. Jean: Five weeks ago, he was reading the message board at the House of Charity, looking for messages from me. I walked in. We hugged. It was awesome. Brian: It was one of the big achievements of my life to make that bike trip. Jean: I have relatives in the state of Washington. I can’t really say I don’t belong to them. But I’m out on my own. Brian: I was a foster child. I have no family of my own to belong to — except what I can create. Brian: Our belongings include a tent, two sleeping bags, one pillow – of course, we share the pillow — first-aid kit with splint, band-aids, antibiotic ointment and bag balm — I figure if it’s good enough for a cow’s udders, it’s good enough for me. Jean: Four bags of clothes, water bottles, rope, duct tape, frying pan and some canned goods. Brian: We just got our tent yesterday. Someone donated it to us. Jean: My children were taken away. I hope to get them back. Brian: A friend of mine in Priest River has 20 acres to clearcut. He offered me a job. I’m going to help him and then build us a home.