Castro Eats Its Young?
Sitting in front of Harvey’s on Castro Street, resting my aching feet after a long day of lugging around my heavy backpack, I experienced a disturbing epiphany. I realized that the so-called gay “community,” which I had considered myself a part of since the age of sixteen, did not recognize me as one of them, did not want me among them, because I am homeless.
This realization occurred when I was witness to a conversation between a gay man and Officer Jane, a dyke police officer notorious among homeless youth in the Castro for constantly telling us to “move along.”
The exact progression of the conversation escapes me, but the content remains fresh in my mind. The man asked Officer Jane how work was going, she replied that it was going well, and the man replied with, “Yeah, it’s nice — hardly any homeless at all.” Officer Jane agreed, “Yeah, hardly any.” And then the man turned around and looked at me and said, “Except for that one right there.”
What really got me was that they made no attempt to hide their conversation from me — they discussed their pleasure with the lack of homeless people as casually as they would chat about the weather. Right in front of me, as though I were an inanimate object and not the unfortunate subject of their conversation.
So I yelled out, “Just talk about me like I’m not even here, that’s nice.”
The man turned around, the smug, congenial smile wiped off his face, and stared at me silently for about ten seconds. I took the opportunity to fill in the silence and added, “I’m not even a person… it’s true.” He continued to stare, wordlessly, in complete disbelief that I, an inanimate object, a faceless piece of street trash, had spoken to him. I’m sure he wondered to himself whether I was a figment of his imagination, perhaps a manifestation of his guilt, before turning back to Officer Jane to continue their friendly banter.
I sat there, trembling inside, blood boiling, not out of anger, but the sudden rush of understanding. These people in the Castro want me and my kind exterminated like roaches. Because that’s what we are to them — ugly, soulless creatures that make a mess of their little gay utopia. We’re not individuals possessed of intelligence and emotion and personality, but dirty specks on the sidewalk, portions of a collective garbage heap that needs to be carted out to the dump.
It’s a beautiful day in the Castro when the homeless are away. Decent, apartment- renting citizens can finally enjoy their consumer-driven, whitewashed gay-borhood.
The affluent, predominately white denizens of the gay ghetto known as the Castro want homeless people gone, by whatever means necessary.
They could poison us all, or ship us off to concentration camps, or relocate us to other cities so someone else can figure out how to deal with us. I honestly believe that many of them wouldn’t give a second thought to any Immigrant Housing Campaign Victory!!! of these solutions. Sure, go ahead and kill ‘em all, so the neighborhood can be pretty again.
Several merchants on Castro Street have put up signs in their windows telling people not to give money to panhandlers. This is supposed to discourage homeless people into going elsewhere to make their money.
The Castro Merchant’s Association spent over $1000 of the city’s money on this anti-panhandler campaign. A thousand dollars that could have gone towards services for homeless people was wasted on trying to make them disappear.
A large number of supporters of Gavin Newsom’s ridiculous “Care Not Cash” initiative hail from the Castro. They believe that taking cash aid away from homeless people will make them flee San Francisco in droves, thus relieving Castro residents of their burden. These people apparently have so much brain space taken over by workout regimens, club music, diet fads, and overpriced fashion items, they don’t even realize that taking money away from people who are already poor will only create more homeless people.
Castro residents opposed the opening of Ark House, a transitional housing center for homeless queer youth. Their reasoning was that these presumably drug-addled, loud, destructive teenagers and young adults would disrupt the domestic tranquility of the Castro neighborhood.
Ark House was eventually opened, and no such thing occurred.
Ark House residents, for the most part, are trying to get their lives on track, and are required to stick to a curfew, as well as a daily schedule of activities.
Why is the Castro turning its back on future generations of the queer community? Why are they devising strategies to get rid of us, instead of reaching out to us and providing services to help us get back on our feet?
Part of it, I believe, is that the gay community, particularly in the Castro, is so consumed with self-image that they must disassociate themselves from anything that may tarnish their reputation for beauty, success, and perfection. The gay community in this day and age is less concerned with activism and community and liberation, and more concerned with wealth, beauty, and fun. Homeless people, queer or not, just don’t fit into that equation.
I don’t seek pity from anyone for being homeless. I don’t feel that I’m worthy of pity, in fact. I have everything that I need to survive and then some. I don’t have all the comforts of home, but I’m realizing more and more that I don’t need material things like television, a microwave, or even a bed. What I need, and what I have now, is a community of good friends, and lots of free time to express myself creatively and to participate in activism and community organizing. I’m homeless and poor, but I’m far from miserable. In fact, I’m having the time of my life and making a difference for others in the process. The only thing that really bothers me about being homeless is being stripped of my humanity. When I had a home and I was hanging out in the Castro, people didn’t see me, because I was not a classically beautiful, wealthy young gay man. Now they see me, and they think, “Ugh, look at that homeless piece of trash. I wish it would go away.” They don’t even stop to think that I could be one of them. It doesn’t register a blip on their gaydar. I couldn’t possibly be a queer, I’m a non-sexual, non-sentient being, like an amoebae. Too crazy or too stupid to hear or understand when they’re talking about throwing me away.
They’re shocked to hear that we have a voice that isn’t spewing nonsense or profanity or pleas for spare change. What they don’t realize is that we have a voice that can empower and educate people into rejecting their self-absorbed consumerist lifestyle and embracing real community instead. We have a voice that can challenge anti-homeless initiatives like Care Not Cash and keep the likes of Gavin Newsom out of the mayor’s office. We are not stupid, we are not silent, and we are not expendable.
I have not been back to Castro Street since that day.
Cowen