c. 2000 Religion News Service
(Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J., and a fellow of the George H. Gallup International Institute in Princeton, N.J.)
(UNDATED) “Get the (expletive) out my face `fore I cut you!” “Aw man, you ain’t gon’ do (expletive)!” “Yo baby, I got what you lookin’ for! You wanna take care of me?”
On and on they go, right outside my bedroom window. Threatening and cajoling, using and abusing, they are the night people, and the wee hours belong to them.
For many in my neighborhood, the night people _ a ragtag group of drug addicts, prostitutes and petty thieves _ are a scourge to be endured.
To old-timers, for example, who remember when the tree-lined community was known as “Doctor’s Row” because of the assemblage of physicians and dentists in the area, the night people _ together with crumbling sidewalks, abandoned buildings and absentee landlords _ are a sign of the times. Concerned primarily with their safety and security, they rarely wander too far from home.
Others, mostly young, working-class blacks and Hispanics, see their sojourn in the neighborhood as temporary. Their small, cramped apartments, located in once-fashionable brownstone houses, serve merely as a means-to-an-end. Such persons generally move before homeowners, like me, even get to know their names.
Thus, as is usually the case, it is left to those who have a vested interest in the community _ homeowners, entrepreneurs, local politicians, and religious and civic leaders _ to wrestle with the issues of drug addiction and urban poverty the night people represent.
Indeed, to talk with the night people (though few of us ever do) is to gain a perspective on these issues that is worthy of consideration. For example, in recent weeks, two of the night people from my neighborhood approached me separately, requesting assistance in getting them jobs.
As we talked, each man expressed more than a little frustration at his prospects for employment. They had a point.
While our community, unlike some, has a number of businesses offering the possibility of employment, many are high-turnover service sector enterprises paying low wages and providing few benefits. Just across the bridge, in Pennsylvania, there are higher paying jobs in factories providing materials for the construction trades, but their work is largely seasonal. Neither job scenario is conducive to stable, independent living.
To make matters worse, both of my friends have significant drug histories and one was just released from prison. Such backgrounds make long-term, stable employment even less likely.
Hence, even in a period of seeming prosperity, the night people have a hard row to hoe. Sadly, the row is made even harder because churches in the community neither support, nor are supported by, the people in the community.
In neighborhoods like mine, where most of the homeowners are hardworking professionals who work long hours, the lack of a true pastoral presence to provide ties binding the community together is a palpable loss. No one else can speak to and for the community and all its residents, even the unsavory ones. No one else can marshal the community’s resources or provide a forum where the community’s problems can be addressed and its wounds healed.
Thus, in neighborhoods like mine, the old people stay indoors, the homeowners hardly know one another, and the night people rule after dark.
DEA END ATCHISON
