On Saturday morning I drove out to Los Angeles to visit a place that most people try to forget, Skid Row, which is a hotspot community of homeless people. I got in my car and drove along the 10 freeway not really knowing what to expect. I went out there with really no intentions other than to just walk around and observe another culture other than the one's I see and interact with every day. I have seen homeless people before. I see them every day, but I have never seen anything like this before. This culture, the Homeless Culture, is one that most people shy away from and what I saw opened my eyes to a whole new world that I never could have imagined.
They are the forgotten.
They are the neglected.
They are the stigmatized.
They are the dehumanized.
They are the hopeless.
I got to downtown L.A. at about 10:00am, parked my car about two blocks away, grabbed my camera, and then headed towards Skid Row. As I walked down the street the sun was already beating down on me from overhead and I knew that this was going to be a hot day.
As I walked along the street I saw a homeless man pushing a shopping cart up the street. It was filled with all sorts of different objects and it looked like it was about to tip over at any moment. I continued walking and then turned down another street.
As I walked past old abandoned buildings I saw all sorts of graffiti on the walls. Some just random tagging, but some were elaborate pictures and names done by some talented artists. One in particular that I saw said "Undiscovered," maybe a dream of some sort of future success or perhaps a dream that would never come true. There were so many abandoned buildings that were slowly deteriorating and decaying.
As I made my way towards Skid Row I saw a homeless man with no shirt or shoes on carrying a folded up cardboard box, his dirty pants hanging off his waist. He walked across the street and then hoped a fence that led to an alley way along side a bridge that was littered with trash. He laid his cardboard box along side of the wall and then laid down in the shade of the building, trying to get out of the heat. He didn't seem to be bothered by the garbage that he laid down in, but in fact, quite the contrary. He began to pick through the trash like a grocery shopper in a store looking for something to eat.
I continued along my way until I finally entered Skid Row. There were people every where, mostly black, some Latino and white. Every way I turned I saw homeless people walking or standing along the streets. There were bulging trash bags and old dirty blankets just sitting in piles along the sidewalks.
I saw people just lying on the floor, some sleeping, some just staring at the street.
In the center of the community, squeezed between two buildings, there was a park like area, but not with grass and trees. It had a few benches, some tables, and a basketball court. Along the gate of the park about 15 homeless people were lying on the floor atop of old dirty blankets. Some were sleeping, some were talking to one another. There was one homeless man who was just standing in the middle of the park with his arms stretched out in front of him in a circle. He stood there for what seemed like forever, not moving, as if he was a permanent fixture in the park.
I walked down the streets, an outcast with a camera. Some people stared at me as I walked along, wondering why this intruder with a camera was in their city. One homeless man came up to me and asked what I was doing. I told him I was down here to take pictures for a class so that I and others could get a better understanding of this culture. He gave me a real strange look and told me that people down here didn't like cameras. He stood there for a moment longer then he asked me for some money. I gave him a dollar.
Across the street from the park something caught my eye. On the corner of the street there was an area with bushes and some trees, almost hidden from the outside world. As I walked up there was a homeless man sitting in front of the entrance, the guardian to this little tucked away oasis. He told me that cameras weren't aloud inside. Another homeless man standing nearby took interest in me and asked what I was doing. I gave him the same answer I had given the other man. He told me that this was a soup kitchen where people could come and get food. There was an elaborate art piece on the wall which was what had caught my eye. It was a colorful picture of parrots and trees.
The man told me that a guy named Miguel had made it out of old glass and stones. He told me that Miguel didn't live there any more though because he had gone back to Mexico to try to find work. The art piece covered the whole wall adding what little beauty it could to this dark and decaying place.
The man walked with me for awhile, showing me another art piece a few streets down of a man holding a rainbow. Around the man in the picture were famous people in history like Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King Jr. and below them were positive sayings. I looked at the picture for awhile and then my guide asked if I had any money. I gave him a dollar too.
There was so much commotion, people going here and there, and no where in particular.
A homeless lady was walking in the streets. She was wearing really provocative clothing and I couldn't help but to think that she may have been a prostitute trying to survive down there on those hopeless streets. She started to yell "F*** America!" over and over again. I walked past two homeless shelters and both were overflowing with people. There were food lines that never ended. I saw volunteers handing out bottles of water and a man handed me one. I took it, grateful for something to drink.
One homeless man had what looked like a self made bandage tapped around his cheek that was covered with blood. The overwhelming smell of urine and sweat was every where I went. I saw puddles of pee on the sidewalks and feces on the sides of buildings. There was trash every where I looked.
I spent a short three hours down on Skid Row, but it felt like so much longer than that. After I had seen enough I got in my car and headed home, back to my life. What I saw, my words can not describe. What I just saw is merely a fraction of what Skid Row is. That sad thing is, I was able to leave, but these people live this, or should I say, survive this every day. I will never forget what I saw on Skid Row. There was so much hopelessness and despair. These people are truly the forgotten. All I know is that these people need help. Some people already are. Society has segregated this these people into their own little forgotten community, away from the rest of civilization where they can be ignored and forgotten. Here is a poem for thought...
The Forgotten
By Benjamin Bishop
I walked through the slums of L.A. today
To a place that’s been deemed Skid Row
Where the forgotten and the hopeless live
To where the rest of society won’t dare go
People making beds upon the streets
Lying side by side by side
Sleeping on old mats and dirty blankets
I swear I nearly cried
I look left and right and up and down
There are people every where
Standing all along the sidewalks
Or lying in the gutters of despair
The putrid smell of sweat and urine
Seems to linger all around
Shopping carts filled with garbage
Stacked up in a towering mound
Drug addicts and alcoholics
Cripples and the mentally ill
People down on their luck
Who couldn't afford to pay that final bill
The shelters are overflowing
And the food lines stretch a mile
Hands keep reaching left and right
And not one face wears a smile
Some people turn to trash cans
Eating bits and pieces of moldy bread
They say people come down here to die
But most are already dead
Society turns a blind eye
Hoping that it will all just go away
These are the forgotten streets
Of an urban city that’s in decay
