my fellow americans

Last year, in this our Valley of Heart's Delight, a total of 90 million meals were provided to those neighbors of ours who were struggling to feed themselves. 90 million meals. Can you imagine? This is truly a remarkable feat … but not because of how much food was made available.

In order to have fed all those in need—the children and adults, the seniors, the disabled, those working two and three jobs without a living wage—238 million meals were required. 90 million were provided. The additional food that was needed, food that was stored in warehouses and piled high on the shelves of grocery stores but not made available to the hungry, is enough to feed the full population of Sunnyvale for an entire year.

We have long thought of America as the most bounteous of nations … [t]hat hunger and malnutrition should persist in a land such as ours is embarrassing and intolerable. More is at stake here than the health and well being of [millions of] American children…. Something like the very honor of American democracy is involved.

(President Richard Nixon, May 6, 1969)

I am not in the habit of invoking President Nixon for moral authority, but there it is. And I find it extremely discomfiting to be put into ethical defensiveness by his words … yet I can’t dispute them.

So where did the 90 million meals that our community provided come from?

· 41% came from food stamps

· 21% came from soup kitchens and pantries

· 19% came from school nutrition programs

· 15% came from Women, Infants, and Children (WIC)

· 4% came from other sources

Over the course of 2009, an average of 2500 Californians lost their jobs each day. At Sacred Heart we have gone from serving 15,000 people per month to 26,000. The needs are crushing, and there is no way we could continue to provide for these burgeoning numbers without the support of our community. But the needs have outstripped what our traditional sources of support are able to provide.

Our pantry program is now relying on the temporary influx of federal stimulus resources to augment our established food sources. Nearly 10,000 of those we now serve each month are receiving food provided specifically from the federal stimulus program. However, this source of supplemental nutrition is scheduled to end abruptly on September 30th of this year. The hunger of those who are coming to us with nowhere else to turn knows no such abrupt cessation.

Ultimately, we must recognize that neither we, nor all the non-profit feeding programs in the valley combined, can come close to ending hunger in our community. Food stamps, school meals, and WIC all play critical roles in providing nourishment to some of the most vulnerable members of our society. If we can agree with President Nixon that the hunger of our children, the elderly, the disabled—of anyone—is intolerable, then we need to strengthen the entire safety net, not merely one strand.

denial

 

            It was Monday morning, and the open can of Campbell’s in her left hand read Creamy Potato and Garlic in lighthearted lettering. With her free hand, scraped and scabbed as it was, Sheila used a toothpick in lieu of a utensil. By the dozens people passed her by, entering and exiting Sacred Heart, hungry and hopeful for something—anything—to help them survive another day. Eating the cold chowder, thick as a shake, Sheila mumbled unintelligibly between each oily bite.

When I approached her that morning, Sheila had eaten about a third of her chowder, and now it was becoming difficult for her to reach the remaining contents with her paltry piece of wood. She pressed her knuckles against the rim of the can, holding the thing at an angle while trying to skewer the congealed lumps of starch. She seemed determined to use the bit of timber as a spoon or ladle, and it was painful to watch her frustration mount with every failed attempt. The roosters kept behind the house that adjoins our parking lot were crowing emphatically—it was unnerving.

Sheila’s face was furrowed with the telltale trenching of one who has been on the streets for far longer than the stint of a temporary setback. Her hair was a tangled nest, her skin dry and brittle. She spoke in rapid bursts of anguished nonsense while her eyes rattled around in their sockets looking everywhere but at the person she might be addressing.

“Can you call fluoride?” she said quickly, suddenly somehow lunging her arm and leg at me without warning. I had no idea what she meant.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, squinting at her mouth to assist in my comprehension.

“Can you call for a ride?”

“Oh,” I said. “You need a ride?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she retorted, without a hint of eye contact or exasperation.

“OK. Got it. Sure.”

I took out my cell phone, and Sheila removed her foot from her shoe. Peeling away her stocking, she showed me a foot that was desperately malformed. The toes were shriveled and fused, and the foot itself bent sharply at a right angle. It looked partially crushed. I shuddered and nodded at it.

“See,” she said softly, speaking it seemed both to me and to herself. “This is what they did to me.”

I called the number she recited and spoke briefly with someone by the name of Abraham (although I have reason to believe that this was not his real name). The conversation went absolutely nowhere. I explained that I didn't know Sheila, and although Abraham gave no indication that it was peculiar for me to be placing the call, the exchange ended unresolved with Sheila picking up her pile of odds and ends and traipsing across our lot and up the street.

As she disappeared from view, the rooster crowed again.