I woke quite rested. It was a comfortable place. I noticed that the bright spots I'd seen the night before and thought were a little glimmering stream, were actually an old mattresses and trash from some other poor slob. Before packing up, I walked over and examined this pit of despair. It was atrocious. Why people - and being homeless is no excuse - are so disrespectful to the land that shelters them--gives them solace sometimes from a hostile world, baffles me.
There were clothes, junk food bags, baby toys, hair products, personal mail, old store receipts... If I were a real anthropologist, I could cordon off the spot and put together a very accurate picture of who lived there. And furthermore, if I were a police detective, I could use these items to track down and prosecute these people for littering - and, as I would discover - trespassing; even arrest them. I'd seen this kind of thing so many times in my travels that it should be turning into a "whatever" experience. Instead, it irritates me more and more. Perhaps I'm scooting out on a limb here, but I'm beginning to feel as if the homeless have a special responsibility to not litter and leave waste. Sure, there may be mental health issues going on, perhaps low intelligence, or maybe even a revenge factor--whereby, trashing a place is payback to society for trashing people.
But, it really only hurts the land itself, along with the plants and animals that have made it their home. It looks absolutely awful and hardens the heart of society against people who have no other place to live. It doesn't justify that heart-hardening, but it does partially represent homelessness shooting itself in the foot. From a purely selfish point of view, it also deprived me of a much better place (were it clean) to camp the next night.
When I write some books after this Journey, one of them is likely to be a kind of "How To Be Homeless Responsibly" manual. I sighed, and walked back to my tent and packed up. Then, I gathered my own trash into a plastic bag (as I always do) stuffed it into the backpack and headed out through the path I'd cleared the night before.
It was a street with rather light traffic and Sunday morning, so no drivers saw me step onto the grassy shoulder. As I started up toward Cox Road and Starbucks, I looked to the right and saw a sign tacked onto one of the trees bordering the place where I had just slept. It said, "NO TRESPASSING! POLICE AUTHORIZED TO ARREST!" Shit. How had I missed that the night before? It was a sign I would get to know well in the next few days.
I rely on the lack of trespassing signs as part of my nightly ritual for camping. If there is no sign prohibiting people from temporarily spending the night in a reasonably suitable place, I believe (rightly or wrongly) that I should be able to sleep there. Now we return to some of what I was examining in the post about criminalizing homelessness (Day 222).
When I got to Starbucks I looked up a term I'd always wondered about: "Ignorance of the law." Here is the fascinating result of this research--at least to a layman in my circumstances...
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Mens Rea, Aut Non?
In the arguing for guilt or innocence in criminal and civil law there is a term called, Mens rea (Latin, for "guilty mind")...
The standard common law test of criminal liability is usually expressed in the Latin phrase, actus reus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea, which means "the act is not culpable unless the mind is guilty". Thus, in jurisdictions with due process, there must be an actus reus, or "guilty act", accompanied by some level of mens rea to constitute the crime with which the defendant is charged (see the technical requirement of concurrence). As a general rule, criminal liability does not attach to a person who merely acted with the absence of mental fault. The exception is strict liability crimes.
[Source: Wikipedia - Mens rea.]
Well, all of that sounded hopeful. In this case I had no idea that there was a sign, or I would have moved on to a place where there wasn't. That is my personal policy. Unless I am in a very serious emergency situation, where I must rest and could be injured by not doing so, I will not trespass if the act is plainly prohibited. The tricky thing is that little exception at the end of the Wikipedia quote above: "strict liability crimes." For brevity - and in the context of my unique situation - one may think of this as "making an example" out of my "offense." Hence (says civil authority), do we criminalize a person who was ignorant of the offense he was committing in order to make an example out of his "crime," because the trespassing of homeless people onto public or private land is a "grave social evil" [Wikipedia - Strict liability] (like "drugs"--supposedly, lack of safety in the workplace, etc...).
We are now looping back to the Eighth Amendment issue, for which (as I demonstrated in Day 222) there truly is credible legal precedence now. Would my offense of spending the night where I did, considering genuine ignorance of the law I was breaking--I thought there was no sign, be unjustified by using an Eighth Amendment defense? If so, this would constitute a strict liability exception to my unintentional ("the act is not culpable unless the mind is guilty") actus reas. In such a case, I could be prosecuted and convicted, even if I was purely innocent of mind, and had the legal precedent of an Eighth Amendment defense. And THAT, my dear readers, is purely based on subjective or ideological politics.
That is why it is so vitally important for concerned people to carefully study, understand, and come down on one side or the other on the subject of whether homelessness, by its very nature, necessitates "illegal" behavior of the kind in which I had just unwittingly participated.
As long as society is unwilling to address the conflict and social hypocrisy arising between (1) permitting homelessness (whether it is chosen or not chosen as a lifestyle) to occur and (2) demonizing and criminalizing it because it occurs, it will continue to be a problem with no solution in site.
Again, I will say that I am not out here to be a voice for this issue. It is not my mission. However, if what I do leads to personal legal jeopardy, I will most definitely turn that into a public conversation. I want that last sentence to be very clearly understood. You may recall that I made a final decision back in Mobile, Alabama, to "live by service" and if necessary "die by service" to my friends. This kind of preaching is an example of what I am willing to practice.
In general, the readers of this blog tend to be very thoughtful and highly intelligent people. It does not matter whether they lean to the left or the right of politics, economics, religion, or social issues. I have - anecdotally - about 60% left-leaners and 40% right-leaners reading each day. Yet, by default my avoidance of political ideology brings us all together in the center through this blog, even if it is only for the half hour we take to read it and consider the things that I am facing and reporting about, here at the ground level of this amazingly diverse nation. Perhaps that is what makes it so novel.
If the kinds of minds who are interested in this stuff are so intellectually capable of being interested in the very wide range of subjects and issues covered here, while also fully comprehending that they are all ONE thing - WE, the people at this particular point in history - then they are already making the difference that will be needed to improve our country, and maybe, just maybe, the whole world. A long sentence to express a simple idea; one worth rereading several times I think.
* * * * * * *
I published my post for the day and then headed out to buy some underwear and socks (sorry Fay, I wore through all three pairs you gave me!) at Wal-Mart...
Taken on a hill next to Cox Road near Starbucks.
A miniature golf course on the way down Route 74.
After picking out my new undies and choosing a two-pair set of wool socks (good choice by the way even though they were more than I'm used to paying, at about $7.00), I stood in line at the "Express" lane of registers (all the others were packed full) for an astounding 15 minutes. The jovial, personable, but very slow and elderly cashier carefully scanned each of two hundred items that he'd kindly let the jovial, personable, and elderly lady bring to his conveyer belt. They shot the shit, laughing and carrying on, stopping to tell jokes, and genuinely having a big ole' time, while I waited in line with my two small items, fifty pound backpack, and wearing a sweat-accumulating hat.
When the long party had finally run its course and I got to pay for my socks and underwear, the cashier (obviously sympathetic to my homeless appearance) wished me a "God bless you, Sir. Stay safe out there." I thanked him and made my way past the searching eyes of the skeptical door monitor back "out there."
On my way across the parking lot I saw the wording that always grabs my attention: "Buffet". The Dynasty Buffet - which I hoped and prayed was Asian - was open and didn't look very busy. Walking in the door, I was doubly pleased to see the big "Wi-Fi" decal prominently displayed. This was gonna be good! And, it really was.
It was $7.95 for lunch (despite what their website says). With a water, that is less expensive than a McDonald's medium Quarter Pounder with cheese meal. The food was of a higher quality than any of the dozen buffets I've been to in the last fifteen months. The sushi especially, was outstanding. The chef (technically, called an Itamae) was a master, an artist, part-god, part-man, but mostly genius.
American sushi today is so much more interesting and creative than when it first exploded into the mass-phenom it was in the 1990's. They mix styles, use every kind of exotic sauce and ingredient... And, of course every chef has his own creations. Suffice it to say - considering the quality of the product and the quantity of my consumption - I ate $50 worth of high grade sushi on this hallowed day. I have been there twice since, and now really consider this a sushi restaurant. Safe with most medications. Your results may vary. Consult your doctor if you are planning to imbibe more than twenty rolls in one sitting. Ha!
Of course the place also had an especially fresh salad bar, glistening with lightly moistened vegetables, all kinds of dressings (I don't use dressing, I prefer cottage cheese) and - to my heart's sweet delight - half-sour pickles (rather than dills). There was also all of the regular fare one might expect. I'll discuss my fascinating (okay, maybe not that fascinating) Asian buffet system of avoiding the "Chinese hangover," bloated feeling, or race to the toilet side effect in another blog post soon.
I should mention as well, that the staff of Dynasty is unusually kind, and they remember you if you are conscientious enough to leave a good tip--which they deserve and doesn't hurt you, because you just paid so little for such an enormous pile of delicious food. I'd find out two days later, just what dumping some extra change in the sushi chef's tip jar would get me. There is no "bottom shelf" at this guy's counter, he seemingly only works with top shelf ingredients. But, my friends and colleagues, readers and supporters, staff and volunteers, only a few exclusive tip-givers know about... Laaaaaa... the... "Cloud Shelf" (cue Zen chimes).
I was also able to stay there for quite a long time without getting the Asian evil eye that fends off fattened, loitering, dirty white boys like myself. I processed photos and prepared myself for a very special appointment the next day. Then, once satisfied that I'd sucked the marrow out of every bone of this experience, and frankly seeing that my tablet battery was about to go into coma-mode (Dynasty can be forgiven for not providing AC outlets), I left.
Absolutely high as a kite on sushi, with a spring in my step and a song on my lips, I stopped to witness the end of a pretty sunset...
The cold air, the weight on my back, and the realization that I had to seek out a different sleep spot in this tightly regulated, but very pleasant town, brought me back to the ground. And, walking around this area of East Gastonia is a chore--which might be the strongest understatement I have ever written. It is a solid six hundred acres of malls, box stores, restaurants, gas stations and specialty shops; precious few sidewalks, with - sorry to shout - NO CROSSWALKS AT ALL. That means there are no walk signs, and no accommodation for anyone who would choose to walk or ride a bike here.
I actually find this astonishing. In such a well-developed, modern-minded city, flush with the constant cashflow of a thousand brand new business (Starbucks itself is spanking new, with a label on Google Earth but no building shown--only a field and trees), they seemed to rush right past pedestrian needs and made the area entirely and exclusively for cars. It can take me 5-10 minutes (not an exaggeration) to cross Route 74 over to Cox Road. Every hour is rush hour, and I mean RUSH.
Honestly, in spite of how much I am enjoying my days here, the near-inability to simply cross a road really bums me out every time I have to do it. Yes, there may only a handful of people "unfortunate" enough to not be driving, but ignoring the fact that we, more primitive people, do occasionally still walk and need to do things like cross the street (for godsake!) is a major oversight of the civil engineering here in East Gastonia. After luxuriating in the Pacific West culture, where "like, duh! like-why wouldn't you like-walk where you need to gooo?" the self-satisfied driving-at-all-cost (I think) is going to go the way of the triceratops.
After dodging Dodges, fording roads around Fords, getting honked at for simply being the chicken who chose to cross the road, I was able to walk on the grass (there are no shoulders, do recall) up to the same street I'd gone to the night before. And I just kept walking until I crossed a bridge when I came to it (had to work that in) and saw a tall-treed area of woods; this time with no signs anywhere. It was pretty open, and I was dubious as to whether I could find a place and not be seen. I half-succeeded in the shadow of fallen tree covered with dead vines.
What a day! I might be frustrated with the road I walk sometimes, but the discovery of a cheap high quality place to have my daily bread, and another sleep spot that I was fairly sure would work for just this one night, allowed my mood to stay buoyant. I set up the tent, climbed in and rapidly slipped into sleepy land...
Gastonia Sleep Spot 2
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