"While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart."

I find sanctuary whenever I leave Kensington. I don’t expect to have to step over needles, see people passed-out drunk on the sidewalk, or break up a fight. And, gratefully, most of the time I am granted the reprieve. But the other day I was at Wawa (a Philadelphia-area convenience store) and greeted one of our regular guests who was sitting outside begging for money. He didn’t recognize me at first, but once I smiled, a big smile crossed his face along with a little wave.
I went in, got my Caffeine-Free Diet Coke and some cash from the ATM, and upon my exiting the store, I was instantly transported back to 2441 Kensington Avenue. John, the guest, was engaged in a tussle with another man who was taking swings. Amidst the blows, the Wawa customer was yelling profanities surrounding derogatory racist and homeless comments. To water it down, “This guy is always out here begging for money! Why doesn’t he just get a job!?” To be fair to the customer, John is always out there begging for money, but the violent reaction to a humble request for some spare change seemed unwarranted. This type of incident isn’t unusual, in fact, crimes against the homeless are on the rise, especially in our neighborhood. But I didn’t expect it outside of my community.
In typical St. Francis Inn fashion, I began calmly talking John out of the fight, hoping that I would be able to diffuse at least John’s defensive attack. Just as I started the intervention, a SWAT Team, along with 3 police officers (one of which that was undercover) came running outside and abrasively separated the two men. I snuck away, secretly grateful that I didn’t have to work through that fight on my own, but unsettled by the violent and harsh manner with which the situation was dealt. Suddenly I understood the value of a peaceful presence and the pacifistic way the Team handles such situations.
Maybe after 3 years, St. Francis has taught me something after all.

Locavores

The average food commodity item travels 1,500 miles before it gets to your plate. From the bread you eat to the strawberries that top your shortcake, it is highly likely that, unless you went to your local farmer’s market, your “fresh” food traveled at least half way across the country to fill your belly.

There are many issues wrapped up in the way our food is grown, processed, managed and shipped. When we go to the grocery store, we don’t think about how, despite the foot of snow on the ground outside, we are still getting fresh strawberries or lettuce, or even though our local farmers haven’t even seen the ground since December. We neglect to consider the many additives that are included in our fresh foods to toughen them up for their journey, and we don’t realize that what we think are fresh apples or watermelon were actually harvested a minimum of five days before and are the social darwinism champions that have survived their journey across the country or ocean.

The “locavore” movement is designed to not only revitalize small farm owners and local businesses, but also to shed light on the plausibility of eating locally. Since the early 1990s, Americans have had the ability to get any type of fruit, vegetable, grain or meat whenever they wanted, regardless of the season. With efficient technology and transportation, we can obtain asparagus in November, fresh spinach in January, and green beans in February, even if it costs more. We’ve lost sight of patience and delayed gratification. Our sense of urgency and demand for satisfying our cravings is depleting our own bank accounts, but also the social capital of the United States. Our small farms are at risk of losing land and their livelihood; the carbon emissions from the distribution of produce are polluting the atmosphere; and the very soil we walk on is being compromised all for our taste buds.

For those with the patience to read, “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” by Barbara Kingsolver is an excellent memoir of a family that chose to become locavores for a year. It is informative and anecdotal and provides some personal insight into a life shift that could replenish what has been lost.

If you don’t have the time or like to read, “Food, Inc.” is a film that, less endearingly but no less informatively, exposes the globalization of the food industry in the United States and across the world. It focuses primarily on the meat industry but the gut-wrenching command for change is the same.

This is simply a broad brush stroke of locavores and the movement to eat locally. Do some research, discover local farms and farmers markets in your area so you can contribute to your local economy. It’ll take time and patience, but the pay-off will be big.

My Trip to Jail

Visiting somebody in jail always has a sense of excitement and anxiety for me. Each of my experiences have been vastly different, ranging from an “official visit” where I was allowed a minimally invasive search, unlimited visiting time, and private space for the inmate and I to talk, to being rejected for the supposed presence of drugs on my body.

Last year, my first visit to the Philadelphia Correctional Facilities was marked by a feeling of loss of identity and individuality. I was treated like a number, shuffled through and processed, and expected to follow the same rules as the inmates. No crossing your legs, you must sit straight forward, no touching, no jewelry, closed-toed shoes only, no revealing clothing. You are invasively patted down (sometimes a few times), drug tested, sent through a metal detector, and are under the watchful eye of the guard as you sit in a large room with any other inmate receiving a visit and their guest. “1072984, 15 minutes... 1072984, 10 minutes... 1072984, 5 minutes...” are warning signs that I will soon leave the cinderblock-walled, stale room, back to my freedom and the inmate is ushered back to her cell, left to absorb the visit as I may be the only person that goes to visit her this week, this month, or at all. When I approach the locked door, I give the guard an anticipatory look, waiting for the loud buzz and click to permit me through, I am patted down again, retrieve my earrings, nose ring, watch, slips of paper, and even my belt from the locker, and get back into the inmate shuttle van that takes me back to my car.

I can’t help but think that if that is how the visitors are treated, how are the inmates treated? Like criminals? Well, I guess that’s probably expected. But what is the rationale behind our prison system? Punitive or Rehabilitative? There are two camps at work here, that people have done a crime, they should pay the time. Lock them away, deprive them of every luxury so as to deter them from ever committing another crime again. The other ideology is seen as rehabilitative, seeing the inherent potential for good in each inmate and providing them with the tools and training to make better decisions on the outside.

Given my de-humanizing experiences, I would venture to say that at least Philadelphia tends more towards the former, resulting in shockingly high recidivism rates, 68% of men and 58% of women re-committing the same crime that landed them in jail in the first place. We simply cannot expect people to make better choices if they are not educated and provided the opportunity to work through their issues in a most therapeutic and individualized manner.