You brought them into this world. You need to help take care of
them.
-Housing agency employee
Let me tell you the full story. Settle in.
My mom was considering her housing
options. We were unsure whether or not she would qualify for assistance through
Section 8. We called the housing agency in the county my mom wanted to live in
to ask their requirements.
It was difficult for me to communicate
with the lady who answered the phone. We had a hard time understanding each
other. I was looking for specific income and asset thresholds. She was more
focused on defining income. At the time I made this call my mother was
unemployed and I made the mistake of saying she had no income. The lady on the
phone explained to me that any money or goods my mom received was considered
income. She actually said, "If you buy toilet paper for her, that's
income."
She also refused to believe my mom was
currently living in a house without running water.
After asking repeatedly, the lady would
not give me specific "income" and asset qualifications. I was
frustrated. I considered calling the state housing agency to complain about the
level of customer service I received. Instead, my mom and I decided to give
this lady the benefit of the doubt. I had called at lunch time. She may have
been having a bad day. I may not have communicated well with her.
My husband works in the IT department of
the state housing agency, so I asked him for help. Within minutes one of his
co-workers provided me with the information I was looking for. My mom would
qualify for Section 8 assistance. The next step would be to go to the local
office during the two hours each month when they allow people to sign up and
put her name on the waiting list. (The wait is generally six to twelve months I
was told. When your name comes up, you officially apply and then receive
assistance if you qualify.)
A couple weeks later we pulled into the
parking lot of the local office. It wasn't as crowded as we had anticipated. My
mom confided to me on our way in, "I hope they have a private area for us
to give our information. It's embarrassing to say all of that in front of other
people."
A paper sign on the door told us what
would be required when we stepped through. (Basically, if you can't provide
this information, come back when you can... during our two hour window next
month.)
Once inside, a lady standing behind a tall
desk in a lobby area asked us to take a number and pointed to a room where
everyone was waiting. With that one sentence I matched her voice to the lady
who had answered my phone call.
We took our number and found seats in the
room. People were making small talk and "the line" was moving
quickly. Every few minutes a worker would emerge from the hallway and call a
number. I assume those people were interviewed in offices. We weren't able to
see or hear them after they walked down the hallway.
The lady in the lobby was also
interviewing people. She would not come to the room, but simply called the next
number from her desk in the lobby. We didn't have any problem hearing her, or
the people whose applications she was taking.
I hoped we would get another worker.
People in the waiting room were mumbling
about her rudeness.
I could hear her interviewing a man whose
face I never saw. He worked in the automotive field, but things had been slow
for the business that employed him.
"Right now we're living on $330 a
month," he said.
He continued to answer the questions but
there was a sense of urgency in his voice. "How long will it be?" he
asked. "I really need something soon," he said. "Is there any
way I can get help quicker?" And finally, "I just really need a place
for my kids."
"Well, you brought them into this
world. You need to help take care of them," the lady said.
I couldn't believe my ears. My mom and I
looked at each other, wide-eyed. There was a visible and audible reaction
around the room.
"I don't think that's her
place," one said.
"This is worse than the food stamp
office," another said.
I was seething. I pulled out my cell phone
and began typing a text to my husband. I would find out how to report this
lady. That was just inexcusable!
Before I could finish the text my mom's
number was called. By the lady. I wanted to stall, but my mom was already out
of her seat. She told me later she had decided immediately to be as
overwhelmingly nice to this lady as she possibly could be.
The interaction went well. I felt ready to
pounce on her if she said one thing out of line to my mom. She didn't.
I searched for a name tag, a badge, a
business card that would identify her. I thought I remembered her name from the
phone call, but I didn't feel like that was certain enough. What if two workers
sounded similar? What if I remembered the name wrong?
I wondered if anything I might do could
affect my mom's application. I decided that would be inappropriate and my
husband could again connect me to the right people at the state level if that
were to happen.
With her application complete we were
ready to walk away. I felt like I needed this lady's name to report her, and I
didn't know any other way to get it than to ask. So I did. And she told me.
There we stood with the desk between us.
To thank her and walk away felt disingenuous. She was the person I was
ultimately trying to reach. She was smiling and I was smiling. She seemed
almost... open.
Before I could stop them, the words
spilled out of my mouth: "I'm sure you have a tough job, but I feel like
you've been really insensitive to people this morning."
She didn't seem open anymore. "How
have I been insensitive?!"
I could have made a list. Truly. But I
couldn't get that man out of my head, and probably if not for that one
interaction I wouldn't have said or done anything. So I planned to start with
him.
"The gentleman who was here earlier.
You told him that he brought his kids into the world and he needed to help take
care of them. That wasn't very nice and I don't feel like that is an
appropriate thing for you to say."
The seconds felt like hours. What was going to happen next? Did
the people in the room hear me? Did they feel empowered? Should I ask for a
supervisor?
"Maybe you should take some
additional sensitivity training or something."
Did I just say that out loud?
"We only have two hours to process
everyone's application," she said.
That's not an excuse to be rude. Maybe you
should allot more than two hours a month for this.
She had already called the next number. I
wasn't sure what to say or do next, so I walked out the door.
Sitting in the car, shaking and crying the
second-guessing began. Should
I have stood up immediately and introduced myself to that man and addressed the
misbehavior as soon as it happened? Should I have not said anything and
just filed a formal report? Should I have not left until I spoke with a
supervisor or saw some tangible change or result? Did I just make things worse
for the people left waiting?
And the question I've been mulling for
weeks: What should I do now?
I thought about filing a formal report. I
thought about contacting the local newspaper and doing some investigating,
possibly even undercover. I thought about going to the housing agency during
their two hour window every month and interviewing people to see how the
interactions made them feel. I thought about also doing that at the local food
stamp office. Sounds like they may have some customer service issues there,
too. Or just going and talking to the people and brainstorming ways to help
them in less than six months, in more than a two hour time frame. Or offering
to sit or stand with them as they answered the questions.
I thought about surveying my friends about
how to handle it. I thought about writing an open letter to social service
workers, asking them to strive for kindness in their interactions with their
clients.
So far, I haven't done any of those
things.
The other night a blog post popped up on
my newsfeed retelling the story of a woman standing up for the mistreatment of
a minority couple in front of her in the grocery checkout line. I thought back
to this incident and felt like I could relate to her.
As I have reflected on that encounter that
day, I have felt a range of emotions. The lady's words underscore many popular
misconceptions about impoverished people and those who seek assistance from the
government. There are many examples of how programs meant to help don't quite
reach what they're aiming for. And the people's reactions and interactions only
highlight the destructiveness it can bring.
I'm not sure I did the right thing that
day. On a scale, I don't think I landed at the bottom. But my reaction was not
perfect by any means. And I don't even know what kind of impact it had. I hope
the lady became more aware of how she was treating people. I hope the people in
the waiting room were encouraged and reminded that even though they are asking
for a hand up doesn't mean they should be talked down to. But I could have just
made things worse. I may never know.
Still, I can't help but thinking that
doing something is better than doing nothing.
What if we all stood up in our little,
imperfect ways? What if instead of grumbling or acting out passively or just
wallowing in apathy or despair or hopelessness or powerlessness we chose to
stand next to our brothers and sisters -- like we would for our brothers and
sisters -- when they are so blatantly wronged? (And with the understanding that
those on the other side are also our brothers and sisters.)
I think we could make a difference.
And I think people are already making a
difference by standing against injustices in their own quiet and peaceful ways.
I hope that by sharing experiences like these we can spur one another on. I
hope this is just the beginning of something beautiful.
Note: This post was forwarded (without my knowledge) to the state housing agency and I have been contacted personally by staff in the Frankfort and Louisville offices. While the housing agency that we had this experience at only falls under the jurisdiction of one, both have expressed deep apologies that any housing employee would act in this way. Both have extended offers to help my mom in any way possible. In short, I have been overwhelmed by the immediate and heartfelt response. And am reminded that while some government employees are not stellar, many are devoted, hardworking and often don't get the recognition or respect they deserve.
Note: This post was forwarded (without my knowledge) to the state housing agency and I have been contacted personally by staff in the Frankfort and Louisville offices. While the housing agency that we had this experience at only falls under the jurisdiction of one, both have expressed deep apologies that any housing employee would act in this way. Both have extended offers to help my mom in any way possible. In short, I have been overwhelmed by the immediate and heartfelt response. And am reminded that while some government employees are not stellar, many are devoted, hardworking and often don't get the recognition or respect they deserve.
