Maintaining my humanity.

We do a lot of work with the Chicago Community Development Corporation. CCDC.

CCDC essentially runs large swaths of public housing in the city. When they renovate buildings, we move their residents to the new buildings as they then renovate the old.

CCDC jobs are impossible to prepare for. My boss tried to prep me before I went. He told me sometimes there's roaches. And it's dirty. And the people don't really like you. And I figured, eh, I'll deal with it. Can't be that bad.

Usually it's not that bad. Yes, it's dingy. The units are run down. It's in unsafe neighborhoods. The residents often speak little English, and are generally unprepared for the move, and more than a little hostile. But really, you do it, quickly, get out, and go home. Forget about it.

Forget about the poverty. Forget about how people who have it worse off than me live. And it's easy to pillory them for their poverty. FOr the squalor in which they live. To think of myself as better than them for not having crumbling furniture and apartments largely full of trash.

Today was the same. Well, worse.

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We followed Tony up the stairs, and he stopped at the door.

"I should probably warn you guys..."

I stopped him. "I...don't think I wanna hear this Tony. Don't do this to me."

He looked me me, then at Checkmate Tony, then at the new guy and apologised profusely. Right before he opened the door, he kind of sucked in his breath. I didn't know why, until he opened the door. Like witnessing a scene of violence, our eyes all opened wide, and we moved our heads back.

At first, I thought it was the wrong apartment. There was not much furniture to speak of. Some bookcases, a TV stand or two, a couple TVs. But, mostly, it looked like the house had been ransacked. Piles of papers were spread across the floor, bunches of keys, christmas ornaments, DVDs, food wrappers. A coffee table missing a leg, 2 computer monitors, 2 violin cases, a piano, an air conditioner the size of nightstand. Every surface sticky with caked on grime and grease. A cat scampered down the hallway, meowing desperately. The bed, not white, but yellow, completely stained with urine. The closet doors unable to close, because they were jammed to the point of overflowing.


When we got to the new apartment, I was a bit shocked. The woman we moved was wheelchair bound. I guess this did not surprise me. What surprised me was the man living with her. He appeared to be about 30. He had a mullet, and a nasty little mustache that looked like the only facial hair he could grow. He was a Jewel employee, by the emblem on his shirt.

The first thing I thought upon seeing him was: you motherfucker. You're using this poor woman (she was older, about 55, overweight and black.) You're living rent free on our tax dollars, and taking from this woman. You son of a bitch. Scum. Fucking scum.

But then it occurred to me. If this woman had anyone else, he wouldn't be here. She couldn't care for herself the way she needed to. Her old apartment was on the third floor, and she was incapable of walking. For her to leave, he had to take her down the stairs. He kept track of her medicines, and her daily life, and in return, he had a place to live. She needed him as much as he needed her. And if she had no family, or they didn't care enough to do it, it's in fact completely necessary that he be there.


Every so often, these things remind me of my humanity. Remind me that judging people without knowing them doesn't make me better than them, it makes me worse. And it reminds me that I have a lot of way to go when it comes to understanding life.