The cost of social justice

Yesterday I was teaching my social justice class about social justice and liberation.

I get up there and spew this wisdom that I forget to take.

On Monday, I got a call at work from a lady that I have started to work with regarding social justice issues in the region where I live. Let's call her "G". G called and told me that there is a woman she knows, a client, who is in desperate shape. She has no money for food, is two months behind on rent and the job she was counting on (she cleans houses for a living) canceled that morning. G couldn't meet her to give her a Price Chopper gift card, so I volunteered to meet the lady (let's call her "Ana"), since I live close to her.

All day long I thought about this woman. I pictured her sitting in her kitchen and worrying about how she was going to pay the bills and feed the kids. I remember being little and watching my Mom figure out our money on the backs of envelopes or scraps of paper. She counted on every penny. I knew when things were rough, money-wise at home. That's when dinner consisted of fried eggs and rice or rice and Spam. I remember when there was no money at all, how we would empty out all of the piggy banks and create a game of it all. Being older myself, and knowing what it's like to lie awake at night an worry about money, I tried to put myself in Ana's shoes.

My immediate instinct was to go to the store and take some money out of the ATM. Money that I would give to this stranger. I tried to quickly sketch out a mental budget of how much money my family and I would need until the next paycheck. I tried to figure out if I could afford to be of any help. After wrestling with my conscience and memories of my childhood, I withdrew the money and obsessed about it for the thirty minutes it would take me to get home. The conversation in my head was interesting. I told myself that this was money that I could use for myself for gas the next day. "I could buy gas, lunch and some groceries with this" I thought to myself. I thought that if Ana was sketchy, I wouldn't give her anything. I thought that if I found a way to spend the money before I had to meet her than the money would be a moot point. I heard the old tape playing in my head, voices of my family (ironically) telling me what I fool I was and how I can't trust anybody and I don't have money to just give away and on and on.

I decided I would talk to my Wife. After all, giving money away was to give family funds away. As I thought aloud with my Wife, I could see--clearly see--what I needed to do.

I waited in the church where the day's free hot meal was being served. I read the bulletins and anything I could read until someone might notice me and how out of place I was in my North Face jacket and pressed pants. A woman from the church asked my name and said that there was someone waiting for me.

When I met Ana, I was struck by how much she looked like my own Mother. Her face, pretty but worn and her hands showed how hard she had worked in her life. She immediately told me most of her life story--all in Spanish--and the tears streamed down her face. The story she told is not unlike the stories I am hearing everywhere, of good people trying to find money and food to make their lives work and keep their families going. The difference was that this story didn't have a "face" until Monday night. I took the money out of my pocket and told her what my Grandmother used to tell me when she gave me money: "Poquito, pero con carino." It basically means, it's a little, but it's with care.

Upon seeing the gift, she grabbed me and held me tight. She was crying harder now but still managed to kiss both of my cheeks and telling me that she would repay me. I told her not to even worry about that. God would take care of me. I told her that I couldn't help her with more money, but I could get her the food that she needed for her family. I said goodbye and found myself to be uncharacteristically (for me) emotional outside of the church.

I came home and told my Wife about Ana, we shared the story with friends and received all kinds of donations that are being delivered tomorrow.

Yesterday, she called to thank me. She called me an angel and said that she has been asking God to bless me. Meanwhile, I have been doing the same for her. I have done nothing but worry about this lady since Monday. I heard from G today that this woman has been doing better since Monday. The money that I gave her allowed her to relieve some of her stress in what bills she was able to pay. She was hired for cleaning jobs this week and she is feeling like her luck is starting to change.

I told my class that there is a price for social justice. I told them that you could lose family and friends, you could feel isolated, and extreme cases, be subjected to violence. What I forgot to mention that social justice--when it really works--means that you are genuinely connected to another human being's suffering. Ana's problem became my problem as well. It wasn't enough for me to witness that, it was something that I needed to confront in the minimized way that I did.

I don't regret what I did. I regret that I couldn't have given any more. What I hope is that Ana is okay and that she knows that she is cared for, and that there are millions of people everywhere who would easily do the same--and more--for a stranger.