By Timothy Harris
Executive Director of Real Change
It's been more than 15 years since Real Change first published "Did You Hear That," Catherine Condeff's remarkable poem of hope and despair.
The narrator is alone, weeping "bitter tears from an empty heart." She issues a solitary "pent-up, built-up monstrous scream" that echoes off the lonely concrete walls that "serve as silent sentinels ... in the war that I had lost."
The angels notice for a moment but, hearing nothing new, quickly go back to their business.
But there was one who, without shoes, came running. And that angel made all the difference.
As we kick off our 2011 Winter Fund Drive, I've been thinking about Catherine, who is one of our 2011 Vendors of the Year. Catherine is an amazing woman, artist and friend. And I've been thinking about all the angels who, over the many years since this paper began, have put aside their own cares to come running for our vendors.
I've been thinking about the years when my friend Catherine, self-medicating a mental illness with alcohol, slept night after night in her car. I've been thinking about the abusive street boyfriends and the morning that a cop beat her up for no real reason, because she had nowhere to be, and nowhere to go.
I've been thinking of the many Real Change supporters who, through acts of kindness both large and small, have helped Catherine and others find the happiness, security, and stability she now enjoys. And I've been thinking of the thousands of Real Change vendors who, since we began in 1994, have become special to somebody.
These days Catherine sells the paper primarily outside of the Fremont PCC. Maybe you have seen her there. But if you don't know Catherine, I am sure you know someone like her. A favorite vendor who stands out for you and who you proudly support by buying your paper each week. Maybe you have many favorites, and are one of those kind souls who can't pass a vendor by. Standing alongside our vendors, you are the beating heart and soul of Real Change.
One of our supporters, who comes to our annual breakfast each year in support of his vendor friend, once told me why he loves Real Change.
In his small Western European hometown, which he left many decades ago, strangers often talked to each other on the street. Here, he said, those connections are very rare.
He used to chat with people at bus stops, but then everyone started showing up wearing iPods and ear buds. He used to talk to people in cafes, but now everyone sips their coffee alone, staring into their laptops.
Real Change, he said, gives him opportunities for human connection.
I thought of him the other day as I rode the bus to work, when the half-dozen people sitting to either side of me sat raptly absorbed by their smart phones.
This simple act of putting aside our distractions to make a human connection has almost become a revolutionary act. When we create the space for shared stories, we clear the ground for angels to come running.
In recent months, the Occupy movement has put growing inequality and corporation's lack of accountability at the center of our national politics. These issues have been with us for a long time. What's new is that people have gathered in public spaces to share their stories and make their various private pains public. The possibilities this creates are endless.
This legislative session, a full one-third of the nearly
$2 billion that will be cut from the State budget is likely to come from Health and Human Services. This comes on top of years of recessionary cuts that have already decimated the safety net. We have turned our backs as a state on the most vulnerable among us -- the elderly, the disabled, those with profound mental health challenges.
Meanwhile, companies like Boeing, who have moved production to non-union worksites, are rewarded with our tax dollars while paying none themselves.
Your support for Real Change helps us create the connections that, one conversation at a time, build the dense social fabric from which change comes.
Real Change relies on grassroots reader support for nearly two-thirds of our budget. The weekly newspaper, the gutsy committed advocacy that stands up for the most poor, the nearly 700 vendors we serve each year, all depend upon the many angels who hear the cry, cock their heads, and come running.
This year, Real Change must raise $170,000 by the end of the year to keep our work on track and enter 2012 strong. It's a lot of money, but over the year, more than 1,300 of you do your part to help us reach the goal. Your support keeps us strong and comprises two-thirds of our lean annual budget. Without you, Real Change would not be possible.
These are extraordinary times and much is at stake. Please take a moment to consider what you can do to help build community, support quality journalism and committed advocacy, and offer a solid hand up to someone in need. There is a form and envelope in the paper this week to help you do just that. Please mail your donation to 219 1st Ave S #220, Seattle 98104 or make your donation through our secure online donation page at realchangenews.org. Thank you for being our angels.
Did you hear that? by Catherine Condeff
I'll never forget it.
I was surrounded by cement.
And I burst out
With a pent-up
built-up
monstrous scream
So loud
It echoed off the walls
So full of anguish ...
The echoes lingered in my ears
And then I wept
bitter tears
from an empty heart
with a voice
that was now, barely there
No one came by
the walls served as silent sentinels
in the war that I had lost ...
... Or so it seemed
I screamed
again
This time, my jaw yawned wide
like a python about to devour
the minutes that had to have been hours
Yet this scream was a silent scream.
It erupted from the basement
floor of my soul
Angels in heaven
were awakened by the agony
They heard
Even a few of those in hell
cocked their heads
for a moment and paused to ... listen.
Then, it was Back to Business
(This was nothing new to them)
Once, I said to another, I said,
"I have two guardian angels -- because one has to rest
while the other angel is on duty"
And then I laughed.
Yet, now I know.
There must be two.
And the one who was sleeping
Was paid for overtime later
For when that silent scream
Was heard by him (or her)
He (or she)
Had no shoes to grab, Yet
He (she) came running.