Last week, because of my contacts on the streets and with law enforcement, I was asked by a crisis response unit to locate a homeless woman. Her family was concerned about her mental health, and after a couple of days running down leads, I learned her whereabouts.
On a sweltering afternoon, I found her sitting in a folding lounge chair in the middle of the sidewalk outside a shopping center near a busy intersection. Because this would be my first time interacting with her, I parked close enough to observe her behavior without startling her, trying to assess whether she was any threat to herself or others. She had covered her head and body with a blanket, and I didn’t want to scare her. I’ve learned that that first encounter can determine whether a person will trust you, so I was overly cautious.
That’s when I noticed what was about to happen. Two what I can only now call thugs were sizing her up, which convinced me that they planned to harass or abuse her, and she had no idea of the impending danger.
In my years of working with homeless people and experiencing it myself, I’d heard of assaults on homeless women. But somehow never witnessed one while I was working the streets. This perhaps was because my vehicles had plainly visible government logos and markings all over.
You’d think that would be a deterrent. But oh no — they looked my way and proceeded to rip the blanket off the sleeping unsuspecting woman and almost pushed her from her chair. You could see she was shaken up by this cowardly deed. I started blowing the horn as they stood over her laughing.
Then they brazenly approached my vehicle, offering the excuse that they were just having fun — as if a homeless person is a plaything — and asked if I wanted to “do something about it.” They had done nothing for which they could be punished, they declared. You see they knew and understood the low prosecutorial priority of their premeditated crime. And that’s a sin and a shame.
I rolled my window down ever so slightly and told them to hold on a second, as I finished my call for help from officers in the area. Sensing that, they took off down the street crossing to the other side of the road before quickly moving out of my sight.
I got out to assist her, and let her know I saw everything, but her mental state was such that she now viewed anyone as a threat, saying she just had to use a bathroom. I watched this highly upset human being move across the street to an open field and relieved herself with heavy midday traffic just a few feet away.
About 15 minutes later the young thugs came back from wherever they were going to laugh again and snatch off the blanket once more while mocking her. She jumped up this time startled as they chuckled and left. She returned to her seat and was in a full meltdown when a police officer arrived. After I told him what happened, he set out trying to find attackers. After about 15 minutes the officer returned, saying he was unable to find them. He also knew the lady wouldn’t be in the best shape to press charges because she doesn’t speak to the police, so I said I would.
I also told the officer how powerless I felt watching this unfold and how I should have gotten out of my vehicle and physically challenged them. He told me I did the right thing because those young toughs would have been happy to hurt me as well. Maybe my ego made me think that at age 70 I could have stopped them.
Later, said officer called and told me he caught up with them and followed them for a while before they turned, approached his unmarked car, and asked for his badge number. These punks were bold — the kind we need to get off the streets.
I was saddened by what I witnessed that day firsthand. I often hear talk about violence against women. Doing this work I routinely see female victims who are bruised and battered and know people have no idea what homeless women go through. They are defenseless and not even safe when a clearly marked government vehicle sits a few feet away.
Wendell Williams is an artist and vendor with Street Sense Media.
