The other day I was on one of my long walks when I saw an altercation and an assault at a homeless encampment near my apartment in North Portland.
Two figures in the distance were shouting and clumsily scuffling with each other. They looked like two drunks. One punched and knocked the other down onto the hard asphalt path.
I then saw two people jog from some distance away to the downed man. Instead of helping him, they punched and kicked him while he was on the ground. From the distance I was at, some of the blows appeared to land on his face and head.
This was over quickly. I saw the two assailants (a young man and a young woman) walk away smiling and laughing as they returned to their tents. They even gave each other a high five.
When I reached the downed man, he was struggling to get back up. He looked dazed and his lip was bloody. I asked him what his name was and if he knew where he was. I tried getting a basic grasp of whether his brain or spine were injured but this was complicated by his drunkenness, which he acknowledged.
Homeless people nearby shouted about how he “tried to pull a gun.” But I couldn’t tell whether the gun incident happened today or sometime in the past. Was he disarmed moments ago or was this assault punishment for a previous brandishing of a weapon? Did the guy have a gun on him now?
I pushed and dragged him to a safer area away from the shouting people and the three people who had punched and kicked him. I sat him down in the grass where he could avoid falling again and hitting his head on the asphalt.
A police officer arrived and I told him the story. Some decent person among the encampment had called 911 and mentioned a gun, which was why the response was full and immediate. A firetruck and an ambulance and more police arrived within a couple of minutes.
I told the officer everything I had seen and then I told him I was getting anxious with all the people converging on the area and I wanted to go because of virus precautions.
I left and I had a lot to think about.
Firstly, this place is more than an encampment nowadays. Because of its size and population, its constant campfires, its portable toilets, its loose dogs, and the other permanent-looking features, it’s more like a slum.
I only half-hesitate to use the word. “A squalid and overcrowded urban street or district inhabited by very poor people.” What other word is there? “Encampment” seems tame. But this is a place for fights, open drug use, and screaming and shouting. Every day something goes on that is disgusting, ridiculous or threatening to passersby.
Secondly, I looked into the victim’s eyes to check whether he had unequally dilated pupils. I looked at his bloody lip. I listened as he moaned semi-coherently about having just been “robbed of everything he owned.” I saw a hurt man who needed help.
But after all this I can’t say it awakened a deeper sensitivity in me to the plight of homeless people in my area. I felt a bit of contempt for those in their tents who just let him lie there on the asphalt after the assault. And I also want them to shut the fuck up and get along with each other. Fighting and shouting are not “survival activities” like sleeping or peeing behind a bush. And perhaps this guy was flashing a gun and making life harder for the others.
Lastly, there is a viral pandemic going on. If I contracted the coronavirus because of some dumb altercation, it would feel extra bitter about it.
I just wanted to walk. There is so little green space in my area and to see parts of it overtaken with tents, hand-dug trenches, and trash is sad. When I get some fresh air during this virus lockdown I don’t want to be shouted at and followed and asked whether I want to buy stolen razor blades and skateboards. I don’t want to smell burning trash and be lunged at by dirty off-leash dogs.
It’s rough all over. I don’t have solutions. But for now I think I will be biking more instead of walking. When you are on a bike, you can’t be entangled as easily. Instead you just glide by.
pseudoisaac 