From birthdays to graduations and even to break-ups, every major event has been squeezed into the confines of digital squares.
Thanksgiving this year will be no different, as traditional turkey dinners will now include the electronic din from unmuted microphones in addition to the usual family drama. Though the transition will be difficult for many families, most will still enjoy a warm, home-cooked meal in furnished kitchens.
Portland’s unhoused community is affected differently by COVID-19. The typical meals hosted by community organizations are also having to break from tradition: Rather than buffets or table service in large dining halls, most places are turning to take-out containers of traditional fixings and turkey sandwiches.
These large meals in past years provided comfort to some members of the houseless community. Nigge (pronounced Na-jee), who lives at the corner of NW Second Ave and Glisan Street, appreciated the community organizations. “They feed a lot of people, and it’s not that bad! It’s a meal!” Though he will still pick up a prepackaged Thanksgiving dinner this year, he doesn’t think the atmosphere will be the same.
As Nigge paused to tidy the front of his tent and wave to a friend walking past, he reflected on the meals in previous years: “All the people that’s homeless got to come together … that was a start.”
With normal Thanksgiving customs upended, people living on the streets are navigating new ways of celebrating that balance safety with intimacy.
“It’s going to be a more depressing kind of day, but I think a lot of people will kind of come together on it, too,” said Chase, an energetic man who moved to the streets of Portland earlier this year. As he waited outside of the Bud Clark Commons, he reflected on his hopes for Nov. 26. “I think that something cool is gonna happen, you know, because people are gonna make do with what they do and Portland’s pretty good at that,” Chase said.
Dwd (pronounced Da-wed), a Street Roots vendor and dog enthusiast, mused on the absence of a dining hall-style meal and noted that he’ll probably have more time to spend with his friends and, of course, his dog, Kephira, who barked softly as he talked as if to voice her approval. He still plans on cooking a meal, despite limited resources, he said, gesturing to his small tent.
“The stuff you make always tastes better,” he said, and Kephira barked in assent.
Others agreed strongly with Dwd. While free food is nice, Thanksgiving meals have strong traditions that are hard to mass-produce, and many people want to create delicious dishes for themselves and their friends.
James Robinson, who goes by Cleveland, aspires to show off his skills. “I grew up in the restaurant industry. I’ve been bussing tables since I was 8 years old,” he said, readjusting his oversized Browns hat.
Cleveland wants to cook for his friends on Thanksgiving. After losing his glasses and ID, he can’t find a job and buy the supplies he needs for a big meal. He gestured to his friends, who were chatting around a tent on Northwest Fifth Avenue, and remarked, “I’m a social person. … If they gave me a whole bunch of (ingredients), I know more than enough people to share it with.”
Across the city, regular meal services have been reduced to take-out boxes of food for people in need. But Thanksgiving and similar holiday meals were different. It was a day when people didn’t have to stand in line, in the cold, for food. They were served at the table. And the menus offered the familiar favorites, often paired with small gifts, even live music, to make the day special. That’s all canceled this year.
The Union Gospel Mission has transformed its annual Thanksgiving Day meal, which historically serves up to 800 people, into a delivery service for people living outside. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and the rest will be delivered to camps by the organization’s Search and Rescue Outreach team. Other meals will be handed out at a new overnight shelter in Southeast Portland and to those living in the Old Town neighborhood, where the mission is based.
“We’re doing the best we can under the circumstances,” said Courtney Dodds, communications manager with the mission. “I think everybody is feeling the pain of not being able to do what they normally do, so we’re doing our best to try to make it special, still connect with folks, offer some human connection, offer what we can, but do it within the guidelines.”
For people already estranged from their family and lacking a warm home, the holidays can make the disconnect even more acute, Dodds said. And the pandemic conditions have taken away even basic opportunities for hospitality.
“People’s emotions are high,” Dodds said. “We’re eight, nine months into this thing, and the timing of this is sad for us all. The fatigue of it all is real, and then heading into a holiday season and having the cases go up and having to sort of re-lock down — the emotions of it are still very real and sad for people.”
Darius Jones is the emergency culinary director for Catholic Charities and St. Francis Dining Hall in Southeast Portland. He said the loss of that community event extends far beyond the absence of a sit-down meal.
“It takes away that touch of humanity,” he said. “It takes away a friendship or a conversation,” Jones said. At St. Francis, Jones, staff and volunteers still serve meals daily, but only to go.
“They’re missing that sanctuary of being able to sit down, with a good plate of food, and have a conversation, whether it’s with a volunteer, or a staff member or with one another. That’s been putting a lot of mental strain on a lot of people as well.”
Jones says he sees the emotional toll the pandemic is taking on people outside every day.
“It’s weighing on them,” he said. “It’s weighing in forms of aggression, in anger, I can see it and hear it in their voices. You don’t need to be a psychiatrist as such to hear it in the voices that speak to you every day. It’s becoming a lot more difficult for the people. Every day the common thing is, ‘I’m here today. I woke up. I’m cold and I’m freezing, but I’m here.’”
Rose City Resource
To search for resources for food boxes or other reduced-cost or free services in the Portland metro area, visit rosecityresource.streetroots.org
Catholic Charities, in partnership with St. Philip Neri Church, had intended to deliver 1,000 meal boxes for distribution throughout the city, but COVID-19 restrictions made the volunteer effort involved unrealistic. With limited resources and limited food, Jones said, they are rationing food and money and will be limited to making about 100 meals each for Wednesday and Thursday.
“I know there’s going to be more than 100 people standing in my line,” Jones said. “It’s going to be tight, and it’s getting tighter and tighter with no relief coming from any local and federal government agency.”
And Jones doesn’t mince words on his thoughts about housed families complaining they won’t be together for their Thanksgiving meal.
“You still have a roof over your head. You still have food in your fridge. You still have heat and utilities. And you should be thankful for that,” he said. “Thanksgiving says it right in the name. We’re supposed to be thankful and grateful for what we have, and unfortunately in today’s society, we’re not. We’re not thinking of one another, of those who don’t have a roof over their head, or a hot meal on a regular basis.”
For many unhoused Portlanders, Thanksgiving is about more than the food or the company: They recognize the day’s fraught history. For Cleveland, an ideal Thanksgiving dinner would involve a recognition of the original Native American presence in Oregon and a conversation about how to give some portion of the land back. Similarly, Dwd said he felt uneasy about the telling of the Thanksgiving story. “If maybe (we) could actually get the history right, I think that would be amazing,” he said.
Aside from the history, the very act of celebrating feels problematic to some. “I don’t like the holidays. I don’t like American holidays. I don’t like Thanksgiving,” said a man who goes by the name of Aura. Sitting on his platform at the intersection Northwest Everett Street and Fourth Avenue, with his dark sunglasses resting low on his nose, Aura was cynical about the thought of Thanksgiving. “I love being thankful, and I love eating with my family, but we should do that every day,” he insisted.
Aura also considered a social justice perspective on Thanksgiving, but one that felt more personal to him. He saw hypocrisy in the large meals provided by the community. “To me, it feels like there’s a disconnect,” he said. “I need a place to prepare (food) and feel safe long enough to keep a week’s worth of food.”
A comfortable Thanksgiving can’t happen for Aura yet. He looked up at the sky, whose dark clouds threatened rain, and spoke honestly: “I need a kitchen. I need a place to live.”