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Ken Williams: Bench Woman Hides Behind Her Shroud
Being jostled by the tourist crowd decked out in loud clothes and boisterous voices that is Fiesta took me back months to another type of encounter.
The Saturday evening foot traffic on State Street was bustling as it was now. Then as now, tourists and locals were hustling for a good time, trying to leave the troubles of the world behind. The problem was that in the middle of all that hustle and bustle, trouble slept on a bench huddled under her blanket. Days worth of food crumbs lay scattered about her, empty water bottles stood like lonely sentinels beside her. Buried somewhere under all that rat bait were my business cards, the ones she refused when I had tried to offer her help a few days earlier, and the ones from the time before that and the time before that.
With increasing despair, I had tried a variety of incentives to engage the wounded woman. Offers of a bed at a shelter, food, shower and even cash were turned down. During my brief conversations with her, she hid inside the blanket, which was pulled tight about her like an American shroud — reminding me of the type that imprisons Afghanistan women. The difference is that over there, it’s a politico-religious medieval system that enslaves women. Here, the diseases of the mind do so. In both incidences, terror is used as enforcement. There, a terror-laden insurgency reinforces institutional hatred of women. Here, frightening delusions of mind terrorized her daily existence, making her an internal refugee in her own city.
I tried to understand, to see from her perspective how the world — how Santa Barbara — must look. Her view was physically constricted to a narrow field of vision by the shroud, draped over her head and around her face. For her, life was lived within a tunnel. She kept her head down, never to look another human being in the eye. Everyone who passed her was a tool of her internal repressive system rather than a fellow human being to engage with, to share the joys and the sorrows of life.
I watched the Santa Barbara residents as they walked by. Many ignored her. I’m reasonably sure they didn’t see her at all, so accustomed were they to bypassing in silence homeless people who suffered from her disease. Others cut a quick glance to her and then quickly looked away, trying desperately not to let others see them looking at her. Perhaps they feared that if they were caught staring at her then she would become their problem. Or perhaps it was to trick their conscious: that if others don’t hold them accountable, neither could their internal sense of right and wrong.
But it was the third group of people who drew my interest that afternoon. The clutched jaw, the hard set to their mouth and the narrowing of the eyes identified them. They looked about with expectation, trying to catch the sights of others. Their anguished look cried out for witness to this tragedy before them. They wanted others to share in the suffering of this poor girl. They were the good citizens who still opened their hearts to those who live on our streets in so much pain. They were the ones who questioned: Where does all the tax money go if not to help someone like this? They were the ones who refused to accept that paradise is only for the select few.
I looked closer to the bench woman, wondering if she felt the compassion and even love of these people. And once again, I questioned and then cursed why it was that the delusions and hallucinations of the mentally ill must always be so cruel. Since it’s all make-believe anyhow, why can’t it be of the gentle kind? I once had a client who saw colors with sounds. Gentle voices had soft, muted colors. The songs of birds came in vibrant colors.
But then reality came crashing back. A young man out with his girlfriend saw bench girl and threw her a hateful stare. Unheard banter brought stinging laughter from him. There I was, questioning the harshness of hallucinations when the world we live in has so much heartless cruelty. At least reality we can try to effect, I told myself. The symptoms of the mind are sometimes beyond us.
I remember making a renewed commitment to look up bench girl with a new incentive — as soon as I could think of one. I sucked up my courage and told myself to once again go to the powers that be and see if they could reach out to the troubled girl. I’ll always remember the young man with the cruel laugh, but I also will remember all the good people who were troubled by the sight of the young woman.
But there is another player, one we ignore at our peril. Death hides in the shadows with his dark cloak pulled tightly about him. He ignored the homeless during July, raising false hope that his speed run through them had come to an end. Then his cruel mockery went on full display as his lethal embrace touched three more homeless people. The one common thing they all shared was that they dared to be old — ancient, in fact, by his standards.
All were in their 50s, two men and one woman. One died in a shelter, another on the streets and one in a medical facility. All fell victim to his siren beckoning within a span of four days.
Our indifference, such as to the young mentally woman above, evolves a gusty game of chance, one with a terrible price to pay.
— Ken Williams has been a social worker for the homeless for the last 30 years. He is the author of China White and Shattered Dreams, A Story of the Streets.
Comments
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» on 08.21.09 @ 07:28 AM
How do you know his “cruel laughter” had anything to do with this woman? That seems like an unfair judgment. I appreciate what you’re doing, but most of us are just trying to get through our day as well. We can’t be blamed for not stopping to help someone who doesn’t want our help.
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» on 08.21.09 @ 09:53 AM
Thank you Ken for caring. Kudos to you for doing what 99% of us don’t.
Anon, perhaps you are protesting because you feel a little guilty.
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» on 08.21.09 @ 02:12 PM
the problem with Ken’s writings is the “holier than thou” attitude it conveys, sure the guy does good and important work. However he seems to attack the city for being uncaring yet in this article admits the victim wont accept help. Thats the crux of the situation there are resources but you can’t force people to accept that help. You also cant run around committing everyone who may have issues whether it would be good for them or not.
Perhaps a little less judgement on others thoughts from him and some real solutions that can actually happen would be a better column. I mean seriously his comment of unheard banter and stinging laughter where he passes judgement on the couple walking by while at the same time admitting he has no idea of what they were talking about is ridiculous.
The generalities and guilt trips are not working how about actual concrete suggestions to address the situation?
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» on 08.21.09 @ 04:02 PM
“Kudos to you for doing what 99% of us don’t.”
What did he do other than his job??
99% of us don’t get paid to be social workers. It looks here like he didn’t do anything for his pay other than sit around all afternoon watching people, pointing fingers of judgement and blaming them for being cruel and not caring enough, looking for other people’s money to help, then boasting publicly about how he is good and others are bad. Not much different or helpful than the homeless themselves, sitting on the street observing people. Except, they have to beg for their money.
I’m not sure I see what exactly he did, other than observe and point the finger at those who walked by.
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» on 08.21.09 @ 05:32 PM
I for one would love to see the homeless better taken care of. Education and the Homeless would be on the top of my areas to send our city and county tax revenue.
To do that I would cut way back on items like
bulb-outs, city and county staff, pension plans, and blue lines.
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» on 08.23.09 @ 11:56 AM
Ken Williams writes with a sensitive pen, what is more important, he sees through a sensitive heart. Only last night did I see The Soloist on Netflix, and the story of the schizophrenic violinist for whom ultimately little could be done, touched me deeply. Ken brought those feelings into consciousness again. I will in the future not avoid looking a homeless person in the eyes on State St., but will try to say a smiling hello. My friend in LA packs several cheese and turkey sandwiches each time she goes to town, and rather than give a homeless money, she gives him/her something to eat. This seems like a good idea, only most of the time I forget to follow her suit.
Some of the responses to Ken’s article amazed me. To attack a kind hearted social worker with venom? These minds too live here in our generous city of Santa Barbara? In my naive view of the world I believed that those healthy of mind who shared the beauty of our surroundings would be influenced to have a kinder view of their fellow men. I am sadly disappointed.
Before the Tea Fire, a homeless woman, Suzanne, circa 70, lived in Parma Park and stored a large suitcase beneath a tarp hidden in bushes on our property. She had befriended our German Shepherd Aldo, a look-alike to Ken’s dog, who allowed this. We never saw her again after the fire burned down the park. She was a pleasant woman, educated, who preferred to live in nature by herself and refused to go to a shelter. If Ken has heard of her, would Noozhawk please allow him to contact me?
Take heart Ken, there are more people than you hear from who honor what you are doing. It is not as thankless a task as it may seem at times.
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» on 08.23.09 @ 04:06 PM
Those who responded to this missive did not “attack” Mr. Williams nor his flowery prose. Rather they pointed out his vague allegations and groundless insinuations that the rest of us are responsible for the plight of this woman and perhaps more unfairly, he also accuses us of “not caring” and of implicit cruelty.
The fact is that the vast majority of all of us are caring folks concerned for those who suffer from mental illness and poverty or homelessness brought on by outside factors not of one’s own making. Most often we had nothing at all to do with their circumstances and would help in whatever constructive ways we can, like the vast amounts of tax money paid by all of us for “social services”; A field in which Mr. Willaims is gainfully employed.
In many cases, these mentally ill folks refuse “help” or sometimes the kind of “help” they seek is money to by liquor and drugs to feed their addictions. Others who are chronic listless street people, eschew the use of shelters that impose rules and regulations on their otherwiswe carefree lifestyle.
Mr. Williams’ problem is he cannot see the difference between the truly helpless and needy and the many street people who are no more than transient flakes, bums, panhandlers (occasionly thieves) and who are willing to insult and even threaten those passers-by who do not contribute to their lifestyle and chronic addictions with cash alms.
To him they are ALL worthy of his kind thoughts and his judgmental accusations, flung freely at those of us who ARE ABLE to distinguish between the different types of “homeless” and are very carefull about whom we choose to extend a further helping hand!
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» on 09.07.09 @ 08:41 PM
Kfinell There is an older woman sleeping in town I don’t want to say where but I will tell Ken if he will ever speaks to me again. I may not always agree with Ken but I think his writing is beautiful. I don’t feel guilty when I read it. When I read of
“bench girl” I see myself because I went through that for many years and it’s horrible but it’s reality and anyone of us can have that happen at anytime. No matter how much one has they can lose it in a blink of an eye. But for the grace of God go I. I don’t know if I’d stop because my size scares people but I’d give her a few bucks out of my pocket. It’s the ones that refuse help that really need it. Thank You Ken.
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