A reflection on the struggles of those forgotten in society and Church.
I remember Chris when he first came to Emmanuel. It was dusk and, as I looked out into the parking area, I saw this very big man striding across the parking area. Up and down. Up and down with head bent. My first reaction was, “I’m here alone”. My mind went through various scenarios: the window will be smashed, the door will be bashed down, the building set alight, I will be raped. I had better lock all the doors and windows. After an hour, Chris left. I felt safe again and so the doors were opened. It wasn’t till the fourth time in the following week that Chris made a similar appearance that I began to reflect on my paranoia. I had created a fantasy in my mind rather than operating from fact.
I ventured out into the parking area and introduced myself. It took a short while for my approach to be acknowledged and during this time the pacing continued. I noticed that the steps that were being taken seemed to be avoiding something on the ground, something I didn’t at first notice. Then the pacing stopped. “I’m Chris, you have to watch the ants, you know” he replied. “Ants?” I said. “Yeah, see the ants, don’t want to kill the ants.” Amazing! I peered down and, sure enough, there they were, rows and rows of ants scurrying back and forth across the parking area with their loads.
Chris shared his story with me. He told me he had schizophrenia. Chris lived in a hostel near the city centre. He was going through a bad patch. The medicine he was on was giving him the shakes and he could not stop himself from pacing. “I pace in the city and I’m picked up by the police and taken off to Graylands and locked up. I know I’m different and people are frightened of difference”. Chris added, “This is a nice place. It’s peaceful. Will you call the police? Is it ok for me to come here?” My paranoia, my fear, disappeared. I felt a new person. I had certainly allowed my fear of difference to cripple me for a while.
Many years ago, it was only 1983 yet seems like the dark ages, when Emmanuel Centre was setting up its second house of accommodation for people with disabilities, there was a strong push that we be required to erect signs saying that that is what we intended to do and anyone with objections would be invited to lodge an objection with the Perth City Council. Needless to say, we did not conform. When was the last time you needed permission from your prospective neighbours before you were allowed to move house?
I think that many of us feel it is a good idea that we show more openness to those in need. Goodness only knows how much we appreciate a helping hand when we are down.
It just seems to be that while I might favour giving a helping hand, sometimes there is the added on statement, NOT IN MY STREET. “I’m as compassionate as the next person but NOT IN MY STREET or NOT IN MY BACKYARD!” The enthusiasm for good quickly wanes, and opposition sets in.
In discussing these issues recently with a couple, I sensed a real fear about people with disabilities and people with mental illness in particular. In the discussion, we jumped from the drop in property value to increased traffic and change in the character of the neighbourhood. Quickly, we moved to property rights, to fear of intimidation and violence and onto fear for the sake of their children, to ex-drug addicts, ex-sex offenders and paedophilia.
My mind went back to my experience with Chris. I don’t think confronting the couple’s fears with the numerous studies disputing a drop in property values will remove the deep fear. It would be of little benefit to discuss the concept and value of people living in a “group home”- these words in themselves are discriminatory. If four of five people decide to share a house, should that be termed a “group home?”
There are plenty of studies that show that there are no more arrests of residents from houses where people with disabilities are living together in comparison with any other resident figures.
Similarly, labelling the couple as prejudiced or unjust or quoting Scripture will not alleviate the “not like us” concept or “psychological discomfort” they feel.
Fear is a natural emotion for all of us when we enter the unknown but how do we address those fears, that paranoia? How do we stop ourselves from thinking that every person with a mental illness will rob us, stab us, hurt us and destroy us?
Yes, there have been instances of disturbances when people with mental illness do not take their medication, when they are dislocated from their natural environment for whatever reason. It is especially true that people who are hurting are not inclined to think about others too much.
What is needed is a ‘healing balm” of love, not the acid bath of recrimination and rejection. Hurt people don’t often trust others and it requires time in a supportive atmosphere for that trust to return.
What better place for this to happen than my street, my backyard? The words I will want to hear are, “I was a stranger and you made me welcome” (Matthew 25:35).