Dumpster Diving: The New Roller Disco

From TheEconomicCollapseBlog.com:

Have you ever thought about getting your food out of a trash can? Don't laugh. Dumpster diving has become a hot new trend in America. In fact, dumpster divers even have a trendy new name. They call themselves "freegans", and as the economy crumbles their numbers are multiplying. Many freegans consider dumpster diving to be a great way to save money on groceries. Others do it because they want to live more simply. Freegans that are concerned about the environment view dumpster diving as a great way to "recycle" and other politically-minded freegans consider dumpster diving to be a form of political protest. But whatever you want to call it, the reality is that thousands upon thousands of Americans will break out their boots, rubber gloves and flashlights and will be jumping into dumpsters looking for food once again tonight.
So is this actually legal?

In some areas, dumpster diving is considered to be legal. In other areas, dumpster divers are technically breaking trespassing laws. Although in most areas the police have so many other problems that they aren't really concerned about cracking down on dumpster divers.

One of the biggest issues facing dumpster divers is safety. Crawling around in back alleys and side streets in the middle of the night is not exactly the safest thing to do. But the lure of large amounts of free food is enough to keep some people coming back over and over again.

During the recent economic downturn, the popularity of dumpster diving has exploded. Today, there are dumpster diving meetup groups, dumpster diving Facebook groups, and even entire organizations such as Food Not Bombs that openly encourage their members to go dumpster diving.

If your family was going hungry, would you go dumpster diving?

You might be surprised at who is doing it. Dumpster diving is not just for the homeless and the unemployed anymore. A lot of people that have decent jobs have picked up on the trend...

Dumpster Diving?
September 15th, 2011
http://theeconomiccollapseblog.com/archives/dumpster-diving

Homeless Eat Cake in New York

From the World Socialist Web Site:
Already at record levels, New York City’s homeless population is poised to skyrocket further as fifteen thousand families face elimination of rent subsidies. Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced the elimination of the program, known as Advantage, earlier this year, cutting off the availability to new participants in March. Those already enrolled in the program were also threatened with immediate invalidation of their promised aid, but a court temporarily ordered the City to continue payments at least through July while court proceedings continue.

A combination of budget cuts at the city, state and federal level resulted in the elimination of the $140 million-a-year program, which partially subsidizes rent for working New Yorkers in the shelter system. As a result, the city’s Department of Homeless Services predicts a huge spike in the number of homeless. The agency admits: “The family census [for homeless shelters] will increase by a startling 50 percent by June 2012. The cut would also be catastrophic to formerly homeless clients in the community—tenants who have obtained leases through the program and have only just begun to stabilize in their apartments. No longer receiving the subsidy, these households would soon be at-risk of eviction and shelter re-entry—sending them in a downward spiral of confusion and upheaval.”

New York City slashes aid to homeless
Dan Brennan
21 July 2011
http://wsws.org/articles/2011/jul2011/home-j21.shtml

Obamaville

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/12/14/obamaville-springs-tent-c_n_391093.html

Obamaville: Springs Tent Community Has Sign Tying President To Homelessness
12-14-09

A tent community in Colorado Springs became the subject of controversy last week when an unknown person had a sign created that read 'Welcome To Obamaville: Colorado's Fastest-Growing Community.' The sign hung on a gate outside the tent community until this weekend, when it was replaced with a sign that read 'Please Help: We Need Firewood, Propane And Canned Food.'

KRDO, News Channel 13 in Colorado Springs, interviewed Spencer Swann, who designed the 'Obamaville' sign after being commissioned by a person he would not name. He said that the idea was to draw attention to the plight of the homeless. 'You mention his [Obama's] name, you get some attention, I think that was the whole idea behind it' Swann said.

Swann did not comment directly on whether the sign was intended to play off of 'Hoovervilles,' the name given to tent communities of homeless people during the great depression. Colorado Springs has been battling an epidemic of homelessness so significant that the city has considered banning camping within city limits due to 'safety concerns' from rampant tent communities.

The secret world beneath Sin City

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8239319.stm

The secret world beneath Sin City
By Adam F Burke
Las Vegas
Saturday, 3 October 2009

The state of Nevada has one of the highest rates of homelessness in the US.

But even though there are more than 14,000 homeless people in Las Vegas, it is easy to spend a weekend in Sin City and never see signs of a crisis.

Most tourists take in Vegas from the interior of a casino - slot machines, blackjack tables, cocktail waitresses in impossibly tiny outfits.

If you are willing to pay the price of admission, a lift can transport you to more excess upstairs - rooftop pools and lavish suites.

But what if there were a lift that descended below the sunken lounges, past kitchens and utility closets, through layers of concrete, into the ground beneath the casinos?

Here, you would see another, very different, version of the city: the storm drains.

Tunnel network

Matt O'Brien, a Las Vegas writer, has been exploring this underworld for several years. In 2007, he published a book, Beneath the Neon, about exploring the 300 miles of tunnels that criss-cross beneath the strip.

The evening I meet him, he is wearing heavy boots, and carrying a backpack and industrial-sized flashlight that could double as a weapon.

"I've been exploring these storm drains for more than five years," he says, sloshing through muck and gravel that blanket the tunnel floor.

"I think I know these storm drains better than anyone who doesn't actually live in them. And I know the storm drain system probably - and this is nothing to brag about - better than anyone else."

It is after 9pm on a weekday night. Above, the Vegas strip is coming to riotous life.

Gamblers are laying bets, showgirls are flourishing their feathers. Below, in utter darkness, the storm drains echo with the faint sounds of dripping water.

At one point, the tunnel widens to form a chamber. A flashlight reveals the plump, almost illegible cursive of graffiti lettering covering the walls - beautiful colours and designs.

"This is one of the underground art galleries that I discovered down in the storm drains," Mr O'Brien says.

Noises make me stop and shine the light back in the other direction.

Mr O'Brien understands this impulse.

"There's always the butterflies," he says. "There's always that apprehension when you walk into a storm drain. Just because you've been in the drain the day before, that doesn't mean it's going to be the same environment the next day.

"I've met people down in the drains - you'll come down the next day, and all of a sudden, you know, they'll tell you to screw off. They'll...make it clear they don't want to talk to you today."

Over the years, Mr O'Brien has met more than 100 people who live in the tunnels.

Thanksgiving dinner

We head away from the trickling water, down a side channel that stays dry most of the time.

The ceiling gets lower, the corridor narrower, and the air becomes stale with the faint scent of body odour and human waste.

We come upon an encampment - a cardboard lean-to where two men are sitting in the glow of candlelight. One of them is slumped on a couch.

In front of him, on a makeshift coffee table, are a few hypodermic needles. The other man is better groomed, wearing a button-down shirt and a decent pair of trousers.

They greet Mr O'Brien enthusiastically.

The men are introduced as Brian and Steve. They have not seen O'Brien since he was down here at Thanksgiving last year.

Steve talks about how they returned to their camp that day to find Mr O'Brien had left them Thanksgiving dinner.

"Big turkey and stuffing. It was pretty good," he says.

Steve is the well-dressed one. He is 42 and grew up in Las Vegas. He makes his living at casinos around town, doing what is known as "silver mining": looking for credits left behind on slot machines.

"You know, I'll start at Harrah's. And depending on how I feel, I'll go to either the Venetian and the Mirage. A lot depends on how I look, because those are two very hard places. If you don't look right, they'll stop you and watch you. It's always busy at Harrah's, so you're able to walk through the casino without drawing much attention to yourself."

To blend in, Steve has to dress the part.

At his "bedroom" (demarcated by cardboard walls), he has got racks of shirts and trousers. He has a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and even a makeshift shower.

Needles and bottles

Steve says his luck varies. The night before, he had visited several casinos, and things had not been going well.

"Then I went to the Bellagio. I was walking through and turned the corner in one area of the casino, and there on the machine was $116 (£70). Nobody around, so I hit the cash-out button. Took it, cashed it out, and that was the end of my night. Helped me out today. I ate very well today. I had a late breakfast last night. And I still have about 50 bucks left," he says.

But Steve is addicted to methamphetamine and gambling, so holding on to money can be difficult.

"That's what I'm trying not to do is gamble my money away any more. And as far as the drugs, I'm trying to slowly get myself to where I don't crave it," he says.

"Tonight, I'm taking it easy. I figure I'll just call it an early night and see what I can do tomorrow," he says.

After a while in the Las Vegas storm drains, it is easy to lose one's bearings - to forget that directly above is a very different world.

"You can be in the Hard Rock Casino, which is one of the hipper, kind of younger, richer casinos in town, kind of celebrity-watching people, people-watching, betting $1,000 per hand in a game of blackjack. And right underneath the Hard Rock is one of the worst Skid Rows I've ever seen in my life," Mr O'Brien says.

There are broken bottles, hypodermic needles strewn all over the tunnel floor and people passed out.

"And last time I was down there, I actually saw some blankets and teddy bears and stuff, which gave me the impression that a young kid was living down in there with a mom or dad, or both."

That contrast is what keeps Mr O'Brien coming back to the tunnels.

He brings food and clothing to people like Brian and Steve. The tunnels have become a kind of refuge for him from the city.

"When work wasn't going all that great, or my relationship with my girlfriend wasn't that great, I would strap on the boots and grab my flashlight, my gear in the trunk. And a lot of times I would just gear up and walk a tunnel," he tells me.

"In some ways, there are certain things about underground Vegas that I prefer to above ground Vegas."

Surge in Homeless Pupils Strains Schools

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/education/06homeless.html

Surge in Homeless Pupils Strains Schools
Her family is facing eviction, but Charity Crowell, 9, and her younger brother are enrolled in elementary school in Asheville, N.C.
By ERIK ECKHOLM
September 5, 2009

ASHEVILLE, N.C. — In the small trailer her family rented over the summer, 9-year-old Charity Crowell picked out the green and purple outfit she would wear on the first day of school. She vowed to try harder and bring her grades back up from the C’s she got last spring — a dismal semester when her parents lost their jobs and car and the family was evicted and migrated through friends’ houses and a motel.

Charity is one child in a national surge of homeless schoolchildren that is driven by relentless unemployment and foreclosures. The rise, to more than one million students without stable housing by last spring, has tested budget-battered school districts as they try to carry out their responsibilities — and the federal mandate — to salvage education for children whose lives are filled with insecurity and turmoil.

The instability can be ruinous to schooling, educators say, adding multiple moves and lost class time to the inherent distress of homelessness. And so in accord with federal law, the Buncombe County district, where Charity attends, provides special bus service to shelters, motels, doubled-up houses, trailer parks and RV campgrounds to help children stay in their familiar schools as the families move about.

Still, Charity said of her last semester, “I couldn’t go to sleep, I was worried about all the stuff,” and she often nodded off in class.

Charity and her brother, Elijah Carrington, 6, were among 239 children from homeless families in her district as of last June, an increase of 80 percent over the year before, with indications this semester that as many or more will be enrolled in the months ahead.

While current national data are not available, the number of schoolchildren in homeless families appears to have risen by 75 percent to 100 percent in many districts over the last two years, according to Barbara Duffield, policy director of the National Association for the Education of Homeless Children and Youth, an advocacy group.

There were 679,000 homeless students reported in 2006-7, a total that surpassed one million by last spring, Ms. Duffield said.

With schools just returning to session, initial reports point to further rises. In San Antonio, for example, the district has enrolled 1,000 homeless students in the first two weeks of school, twice as many as at the same point last year.

“It’s hard enough going to school and growing up, but these kids also have to worry where they’ll be staying that night and whether they’ll eat,” said Bill Murdock, chief executive of Eblen-Kimmel Charities, a private group in Asheville that helps needy families with anything from food baskets and money for utility bills to toiletries and a prom dress.

“We see 8-year-olds telling Mom not to worry, don’t cry,” Mr. Murdock said.

Since 2001, federal law has required every district to appoint a liaison to the homeless, charged with identifying and aiding families who meet a broad definition of homelessness — doubling up in the homes of relatives or friends or sleeping in motels or RV campgrounds as well as living in cars, shelters or on the streets. A small minority of districts, including Buncombe County, have used federal grants or local money to make the position full time.

The law lays out rights for homeless children, including immediate school placement without proof of residence and a right to stay in the same school as the family is displaced. Providing transportation to the original school is an expensive logistical challenge in a huge district like Buncombe County, covering 700 square miles.

While the law’s goals are widely praised, school superintendents lament that Congress has provided little money, adding to the fiscal woes of districts. “The protections are important, but Congress has passed the cost to state and local taxpayers,” said Bruce Hunter, associate director of the American Association of School Administrators.

Fairfax County, Va., where the number of homeless students climbed from 1,100 in June 2007 to 1,800 last spring, has three social workers dedicated to the homeless and is using a temporary stimulus grant to assign a full-time transportation coordinator to commandeer buses, issue gas cards and sometimes call taxis to get the children to their original schools.

Like Fairfax County, the Asheville area looks prosperous, drawing tourists and retirees, but manicured lawns, million-dollar homes and golf courses mask the struggles of many adults working at low-paying jobs in sales and food service.

Emily Walters, the liaison to the homeless for the Buncombe County schools, is busy as school begins, providing backpacks and other supplies and signing children up for free breakfasts and lunches. But her job continues through the school year as other families lose their footing and those who had concealed their status, because of the stigma or because they were not aware of the benefits, join the list.

Sometimes it includes driving families in crisis to look at prospective shelters — a temporary solution at best, Ms. Walters said. When the county receives a two-year stimulus grant next month, she said, she hopes there will be more money to help people avoid eviction or pay security deposits for new rentals.

The evening before school began, Ms. Walters drove 45 minutes to an RV campground to deliver a scientific calculator and other essential school supplies to Cody Curry, 14, who lives with his mother, Dawn, and his brother, Zack, 11, in a camper. Mrs. Curry had to downsize from a trailer, she said, when her work as a sales clerk was cut to two days a week.

The first day of school, Ms. Walters drove to a men’s rescue shelter in the city to take Nate Fountain, 18, to high school. Nate said his parents kicked him out of the house last spring, during his senior year, because he was not doing his school work and was drinking and using drugs. With Ms. Walters’s help, he said, he expects to finish high school this semester and study culinary arts at a community college.

“I spend a lot of time just making sure the kids stay in school,” Ms. Walters said.

The busing service was especially valued by Leslie Laws, who was laid off from her job in customer service last year and lost her rental apartment.

Ms. Laws and her 12-year-old son are staying in a women’s shelter in Asheville, far from his former school. He is deeply involved with activities like chorus. Now he must catch the bus at 6:05 a.m. and ride one and a half hours each way.

Educators and advocates for the homeless across the country said that in the current recession, the law had made a difference, minimizing destructive gaps in schooling and linking schools with social welfare agencies.

Charity Crowell, despite her vow to bring up her grades, may be in store for another rough semester. Her stepfather works long hours delivering food on commission, but business is poor. Her mother, Katrina, wants to look for a job, but that is difficult without a car.

Food stamps help, but by the second half of each month the family is mostly eating “Beanee Weenees and noodles,” Ms. Crowell said. As school resumed in late August, the family was facing eviction from the $475-a-month trailer and uncertain about what to do next.

A version of this article appeared in print on September 6, 2009, on page A1 of the New York edition.

Camp Runamuck

http://www.truthout.org/090909R

Camp Runamuck: A Glimpse of the East Providence Homeless Community
Wednesday 09 September 2009
by: John Mottern, t r u t h o u t

Barbara Kalil and her husband John Freitas co-founded Camp Runamuck in late March 2009, after being forced to leave their campsite in the Roger Williams State Park in Providence, Rhode Island. The plaque above their home read "Shelter for Persons in Distress." The irony came as a slap in the face to this unemployed nurse.

"The park ranger was really great to us, but one day the Preservation Committee found us while on a tour and were horrified to see our tent," Kalil said. "We had to leave because we didn't want the ranger to get in trouble."

Now Kalil and Freitas live under a bridge with about 25 other homeless people, all residing in an assortment of tents, many covered with tarps for added protection. This makeshift village is located under a cathedral-like series of immense cement arches and pillars of the Washington Bridge, which is part of highway 195 in East Providence.

Kalil, who appears to be in her late forties, lives in a tent very close to the Seekonk River. She glides slowly back and forth in her rocking chair flanked by several pink flamingos and other lawn ordainments. The pink sharply contrasts her blue nurse's pants, scrubs left over from the job she lost before becoming homeless. The walls of the bridge are covered with graffiti art depicting castles with armies, large faces and quotes. The place feels like a contemporary art gallery that you might stumble across down a side street in Chelsea.

"This is much better than the shelters, which are unclean and unsafe," Kalil says. This sentiment was shared by many in the tent city.

"It's getting more difficult because people are bringing less donations and they are scared to come down here after the stabbing incident a few weeks ago," she says. "Churches seem to bring less because they're under pressure from the community (at large) not to help us."

This odd collection of people, living on the fringe, have chosen to take their chances as a loose clan operating with few rules. There seems to be a level of security gained by the power in numbers and the watchful eyes of the overall group.

"It's simple. We take care of each other." says Kalil.

Katie is 19 and would only give her first name. She wears a bright-colored t-shirt and a mini skirt that would make any teen's father crazy. Her tattooed belly and pierced lip are strangely elegant. She is a pretty girl who lives in Camp Runamuck with her boyfriend.

"I'll never be a materialistic person again in my life. I will not be greedy," she says. "You can put 100 people together, blacks and whites, gays, drug addicts who are completely different, but we all get along because we're stuck in the same position. We all get bit by bugs."

The inside of Katie's tent is clean and organized. A single condom lies on the shelf next to a prescription bottle.

"I've never had to wash my clothes by hand," she says. Katie is hoping for a spot in a couples' shelter or to qualify for Section 8 housing. She pointed out that there are 59,000 homeless people in Rhode Island. "I'm looking for a job but you have to have an address to get one. What am I going to say? I live in a tent."

Ed Therrien, who is unemployed and a resident, is also the unofficial cook for the camp. He runs the outdoor kitchen which sits at the far end of the camp, and like any other restaurateur his work is never done. There is a disjointed collection of canned and dried food stuffs, bottles, pots and pans gathered at the cement base of one of the giant bridge pillars that rises about eighty of feet in the air. There are a variety of barbeque grills, coolers, and tables used for food preparation under the grand canopy of cement. It is awe-inspiring architecture, giving the place a holy and surprisingly calm effect. A large American flag is starkly taped on the pillar in the center of the kitchen area.

Therrien says he learned to cook from his grandmother at age 13 while she was working in a restaurant. He makes sure there is breakfast and dinner for the full population every day, using mostly donated supplies.

"The Board of Health came and checked us out and said that since we had a dumpster, everything was fine with our kitchen," Therrien says. "It was great because the donated dumpster, which is now emptied every week, arrived at the same time The Board of Health people showed up."

Needless to say, there is no running water or electricity, water always being in short supply.

"We always need ice, water, charcoal, and food supplies," Therrien says. He'd previously lived with his daughter in a situation verging on impossible. He moved to Camp Runamuck after losing his job in May.

Bruce Yeoman and Wayne Strobel have lived together in a small dome tent in Camp Runamuck for two months. They are battling substance abuse and are more typical of stereotypical "homeless people."

"I brought this on myself with alcohol," says Yeoman. "I either sleep or drink. I say tomorrow is not another day ... but we have each other's back, Wayne and I. The shelters are dirty and dangerous and they are always telling you what to do."

"I found Bruce sleeping in the woods before we came here," Strobel says. "This is much better and we got each other."

Yeoman then describes how direct, aggressive behavior keeps him safe. He demonstrates by pushing his body and face against me, inadvertently letting me inhale a stale whiskey gale generated from the previous night's adventures.

Although Camp Runamuck is represented by an attorney donating legal services, its residents are supposed to leave the state-owned property by September 8 through court order. This will mark the closure of the last of three tent cities in the Providence area which have already been hauled away in dumpsters.

There was talk of moving the camp to reservation land claimed by the Seaconke Wampanoag Tribe in Cumberland, Rhode Island, but the area is a superfund site which has raised legal and health issues.

The diversity of Camp Runamuck illustrates the impact current economic times are having on those living to close to the edge in America. Young and old, blue collar workers and professionals - all are appearing in greater numbers in these tent cities after losing jobs and homes.

"Homeless" no longer refers to mostly alcoholics, drug addicts and the mentally ill. It now includes many whose options have just plain run out.