The getaway

On Thursday night, we headed to West Hollywood to do street outreach. I had “So Good” by B.o.B. stuck in my head. As we walked to meet the doctor from the Los Angeles Children’s Hospital who would be leading our group, I passed a man slumped on the sidewalk just as I reached the chorus. I crooned, “You never had it so good,” as his gaze slowly met mine. He was slumped on the sidewalk, eyes glassy, teeth missing. I was stuffed with Korean barbecue and smiling. The disparities between us shocked me into silence.

Over and over again during Breakout, I would see how different the world as I experienced it was from how it could be. I sang when others slumped. I slept when others did drugs that would help them stay awake and protect themselves. I had a loving, supportive family when others had lived in 12 different foster homes before turning 18. Before Breakout, I explained this obvious injustice to myself as a failure on the part of the homeless, whether it was drug addiction, insanity or mental disability. Before Breakout, I was worried about my safety — not the wellbeing of others. I was worried about dealing with maniacs, ex-convicts and drug addicts during the trip.

But the people I met that night weren’t armed with guns but with a dark humor and tempered optimism. One transgender girl, when we asked if she needed anything, wondered if we had any hormones in our backpacks. They were funny, friendly and grateful. They were nothing like I’d expected. When I told my dad this, he said how easy it is for me to see only the good; that I’m new to the issue, and it’s easy for me to be idealistic; and that a lot of these people are mentally ill or cultivating serious substance abuse problems.

But that’s not the easy part. The easy part is seeing the bad. I’ve been raised my whole life thinking that, in America, the only failure that exists is internal. That if you can’t do well, it’s because something inside of you is preventing your success. But now I see the cracks in the system and understand how this system demonizes and ostracizes those that fall through. Not only are the homeless refused entrance to community spaces and arrested without due cause, we call them gross, dirty and insane to justify our refusal to help them.

I wish I could describe all of the people we met, from Wayne the Vietnam veteran to Deborah the singing secretary to the boy who, petting his dog, told a pastor he’d like a referral to democracy in light of the “capitalist dictatorship” we currently live in. But I don’t want to catalog the unfortunates of Los Angeles. That’s not the point of Breakout. I didn’t go so I’d have a good article to write or a good story to tell, something which I didn’t realize before I went. I’m usually a reader, a writer. A watcher.

But this spring break, I broke out of more than the Orange Bubble. I broke out of my natural shyness. I broke out in song. I broke out my walking shoes. I broke out my wallet. I broke out of 19 sheltered years in suburbia. I broke out of a generation of societal conditioning that demonizes those who the system fails. But most importantly, I broke out of the apathetic mindset I had cultivated since middle school when I thought that there was too much wrong with the world for me to be able to fix it.

I don’t think this anymore. None of us do. By the end of the week I heard group members forego introducing themselves by saying, “These are issues I’m really passionate about,” and instead say specifically that they were on the trip because they wanted to get more involved with the LGBT community on campus or that they hoped to start an LGBT center in conservative hometowns. I heard several group members ask the agencies if there were any openings for summer or permanent employment. We were no longer “interested in” or “curious about.” Instead, we were “going to.”

Susannah Sharpless is a freshman from Indianapolis, Ind. She can be reached at ssharple@princeton.edu.