All it took was a few words. “I’ll buy one of your newspapers.” The man turned towards me, surprised. But the surprise quickly faded. “Oh,” he said, “You must be a student at Rhodes.”
The man was standing near Main Street in Memphis, Tenn., working as a newspaper vendor for The Bridge. The Bridge, a newspaper started by students at Rhodes College, is dedicated to exploring the issue of homelessness in Memphis. All of its vendors are people who are currently—or were recently—homeless. Once trained, vendors receive a badge and 20 newspapers to sell for $1 each. For any additional newspaper, the vendors purchase them for 25 cents, meaning that they yield a 75-cent profit for each paper sold.
I explained to the vendor that I was not a student at Rhodes. I knew about The Bridge because I had volunteered as a copy editor for the paper over the summer. The man, who told me his name was Edward, quickly opened up to me. After handing me the paper, he urged me to look at page four. “I wrote this,” he said, beaming and pointing to an article.
What a powerful moment.
The Bridge is more than just a chance for these vendors to earn money. For those who choose to write, it’s a chance to share their story with the community. That opportunity is important because the narratives of people experiencing homelessness are oftentimes not heard, silenced by those with greater resources. Without a voice, how can one advocate for oneself? How can a person make his or her struggles known when no one is listening?
According to the Community Alliance for the Homeless, at any given time there are approximately 1,900 homeless people in Memphis. In the U.S., there are more than 600,000 people living without a home, according to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, though this number varies due to the difficulty of collecting an accurate count.
Yet, rather than confronting this national problem, legislators seem more worried about ensuring that the homeless remain out of sight. Not only are the homeless silenced, but they are forced to become invisible as well. For example, this summer, the Tampa City Council passed an ordinance that permits police officers to arrest anyone sleeping or “storing personal property in public.”
These laws assume that homelessness is a choice, and unfortunately, that mindset is prevailing in many cities across America. Some argue that homeless people can go to shelters at night to avoid staying on the street. But did you know that a night’s stay in a homeless shelter in Memphis costs $6?
It’s more than the disparity of wealth that secludes the homeless from the rest of society. We have an “us vs. them” mentality: the idea that the people on the streets must somehow be “different.” The gap between the sheltered and homeless isolates an entire portion of the population, making it extremely difficult for them to re-integrate into society. For many of us, the extent of our interactions with homeless people is an encounter with a person soliciting money on the street. It’s easy to think that there is no way we could ever be in that situation. However, that might not be the case.
I met another vendor on Saturday. The woman overheard me tell Edward that I was a student at The University of Mississippi. “I was an Engineering student there!” she exclaimed. I soon found out, however, that during her final year in school she was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that left her unable to complete her degree.
“I still dream about going back. Maybe soon.”
I’ve only told two stories of two individuals in Memphis, Tenn., but these stories can be found in every corner of the U.S. It is a heartbreaking reality that we seem to want to ignore.
Thankfully, we have organizations like The Bridge.
The Bridge recently tweeted that almost 1,700 papers had been sold in the first two weeks of September. The paper is giving people a fighting chance to make a living and get back on their feet. At the same time, The Bridge gives a voice to the homeless, so they can share their stories. If those of us who are fortunate enough to have shelter can hear these stories, then hopefully, it won’t be as easy to turn our backs when we see someone living on the street.
Christine Dickason is a junior public policy leadership major from Collierville, Tenn.
