They Are My People

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I saw children today.

Homeless.

Black garbage bags filled with everything they own.

Reusable grocery bags holding whatever they could carry. Pieces of a life that used to be somewhere else.

My heart dropped.

They looked young. 

12, maybe 15. I don’t know. But young enough that it hits you immediately.

Whose daughters are they

Why are they out here

Where are their parents

Then I stopped myself.
Because I already know.

I was once that kid.

I got kicked out young. And the truth people don’t want to hear is this.

I felt safer on the street than I did at home.

People struggle with that. They don’t understand it.

Yes, the street is dangerous. Drugs. Violence. Cold. Hunger. All of it is real.

But at least out there, you have some control.

At home, sometimes you don’t.
You don’t know when things are going to explode.

You don’t know what version of someone you’re going to get.

You don’t know if you’re safe.

On the street, we had each other.

As hard as it is out there, there is a kind of understanding. A kind of shared reality.

That never leaves you.

I was addicted.
I was on methadone.
I was homeless.

I am clean now. I am working. I am rebuilding my life.

But those people out there
They are still my people.

Today, someone came up to me while I was taking photos and said she didn’t want to be in the picture.

I told her I would make sure no faces were shown.

Then I told her why I was there.
She looked at me and said, me too.

I said, these are my people.
She said, yeah, we are still your people.

Then she said, don’t forget us.

That stayed with me.
That is something you do not shake off.

That is why I continue.

Because people are still out there, carrying everything they own, trying to survive one day at a time.

And this is happening right in front of massive corporations.
Multinational, multi billion dollar companies.

Operating on Indigenous land.

Factory feeding humans.

Moving billions of dollars every day.

And right outside

The homeless.
The hungry.
The lost.

Standing there.

This is what we call a civilized society.

The haves judging the have nots.
Acting like people chose this.

Acting like it is simple.
It is not simple.

Every single person out there has a story.

If you take the time to listen, you will hear it.

Those kids I saw today are not statistics.

They are someone’s daughters.

They are someone I used to be.

And I will not forget them.
Because they are my people.

To my partners and supporters, thank you.

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