If people are hungry, you feed them. It’s not rocket science.
That’s what Free Hot Soup does every day. They set out food each evening in a section of Director Park in downtown Portland and feed people, often those who are homeless or extremely low-income, who need a hot meal.
It’s not a city project. It’s not even a nonprofit organization at the helm. It’s people seeing a need in our community and doing something about it, plain and simple.
But in downtown Portland, when money is involved, there’s no such thing as simple. The city has put in place a new permit process that in essence limits Free Hot Soup’s access to Director Park to once a week and requires they get insurance and apply for permits to conduct the meal. Commissioner Nick Fish, who oversees the Portland Parks and Recreation Bureau, has said it will work with Free Hot Soup to keep them operating and feeding people in need. But the policy will likely reduce the group’s meal service in downtown Director Park.
This is yet another fight in the proxy war against people experiencing homelessness. This time, the battle is over public space, the commons of our city.
It’s not just a Portland thing. Free Hot Soup is the latest to sue government over feeding people who are homeless. The group is suing to block the rule change and allow them to continue serving nightly in the same park. Food Not Bombs has been feeding people in public places for years and suing cities intent on curtailing their efforts with regulations, licenses and fees. In the case of the organization’s lawsuit against the city of Fort Lauderdale, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that feeding the homeless is protected by the Constitution as free speech.
In comparison to the displays of Food Not Bombs, Free Hot Soup is a much smaller production, without an elaborate serving structure, that involves simply setting out food to share with people in need. A picnic in the park.
It is confronted, however, with the Portland Parks and Recreation’s need to increase revenue. The bureau is in the red, and parks need to bring in more money, specifically by renting out park space.
In a manner eerily reminiscent of our housing market, we’ve been sold on the idea that every space has to produce, to create a measurable, quantitative value, to make money for the city or private interest. Every inch in service of someone’s dollar. Opportunities are all around us, as long as someone is willing to pay for it, even if not everyone can.
But this commentary is more social than political. The rule changes on park permits make the case for safety, insurance and access, and just so happened to come after businesses complained about homeless people in the park.
We have more fare inspectors on our public transit system reportedly because people were concerned about fare jumpers, but a closer look at the complaints reveals they wanted certain people, often homeless, off the trains and buses.
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And year after year, neighborhoods fight against even structured camps where people try to claim a bit of peace and shelter, a bit of space to call their own.
The fact is there is no public space where homeless people are socially welcomed to “be.” There is no public space where you can safely rest if you live with a substance abuse or mental health disorder. Even the respite of the parks seems increasingly fleeting.
These are our commons – a place, a population and an issue we all have a shared interest in.
Yes, we can share this city. We must share this city. We can do that if we stop hiding behind regulations that deflect our responsibilities as members of a complex community. We cannot regulate, complain or even charge away the homelessness and poverty that is all around us. But we have it within our capacity to make room for everyone and maybe even improve our collective tomorrow. One simple place to start is to listen, say “hello,” “welcome,” and perhaps, “here’s some hot soup.”
We are reminded of a former Street Roots vendor – a volunteer and dear friend who spent many years homeless, tortured with physical and mental trauma. But he had our office space where he could grab a cup of coffee and talk to people who supported him. Ted eventually achieved housing and sobriety – he would make photocopies of his sobriety coins and turn them into holiday cards for his family. He began volunteering in the office, and each week he would bring in bologna and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that he handed out to people on the street. He didn’t think twice about having a city-sanctioned permit. Ted did it because, he said, he remembered what it was like to be hungry, when he would have given anything for a sandwich.
Ted passed away several years ago, but his kindness is instilled in the spirit of our work. He didn’t have to do what he did. He didn’t have to get up early and make 20 sandwiches each week. But if people are hungry, you feed them. It’s not rocket science.