I am Human: Forgotten in Atlanta
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I am Human: Forgotten in Atlanta
Summer had just begun its way up from hell and into Atlanta in 1997. The oppressive heat hadn’t passed over church this morning and seemed to take its own seats in the pews.
Me, too young to have a choice to where I spent my Sundays, also sitting down in the pew awaiting a word from the pastor. Thankfully, his sermon came swiftly and we all gathered in the dining hall for a hearty meal in exchange for our devotion.
A man, who seemed to have forgotten his Sunday best, dressed in tattered clothes and a face that appeared to need God more than anyone else in the room. With his chin at his chest, and thumbs tangled, he unassuredly approaches the deacon.
“Are you serving dinner?”
His words were direct and unmistakable even though his entire approach and appearance said otherwise. His light, fragile frame, the evidence of a man who didn’t often enjoy the nourishing pleasure of hearty meals.
The deacon, well-dressed and annoyed, asked him to leave, without the normal intonations of a question.
He left without much ado, unaffected by blatant rejection, tolerant to dispappotinemnt. I imagined the smell of things baked, fried and frosted would dollow behind him and haunt his senses so that his stomach would howl and holler.
I was confused. I became curious. If God was at church this morning, he had declined to stay for the dinner.
Thief. Whore. Addict. Degenerate. Drunk. Poor. Lazy.
Human.
All too often we narrow down the lives of homeless human beings down to a single word. A solitary word that leaves no space for the depth of tragedy, no breadth of experience, no allowance compassion, no place for their stories.
There are 6,000 humans in Atlanta with untold stories….
They are humans without homes, people whose lives have been unconsciously rendered non-existent and unimportant as we pass by them everyday. Yet as we walk by, drive past, look the other way, these forgotten people have become an unknown part of our own stories. I Am Human is a project that seeks to uncover the memoirs of humans in the shadows, to fill in single words used to describe these sons, daughters, mothers, fathers and veterans with the stories that surround them. It’s a project that captures the narrative of our collective community and an opportunity to bring awareness to the tragedies that have befallen our forgotten humans of Atlanta.
$5000 won’t change the world…
But it’s what’s needed. Each dollar goes toward the equipment needed, for the stipends that encourage people to talk about their experiences and to produce the photos and captions that garner our attention. To create an awareness that sparks a dialogue and a dialogue that spurs change.
I am Human is our city and our story.
Join me.
Summer had just begun its way up from hell and into Atlanta in 1997. The oppressive heat hadn’t passed over church this morning and seemed to take its own seats in the pews.
Me, too young to have a choice to where I spent my Sundays, also sitting down in the pew awaiting a word from the pastor. Thankfully, his sermon came swiftly and we all gathered in the dining hall for a hearty meal in exchange for our devotion.
A man, who seemed to have forgotten his Sunday best, dressed in tattered clothes and a face that appeared to need God more than anyone else in the room. With his chin at his chest, and thumbs tangled, he unassuredly approaches the deacon.
“Are you serving dinner?”
His words were direct and unmistakable even though his entire approach and appearance said otherwise. His light, fragile frame, the evidence of a man who didn’t often enjoy the nourishing pleasure of hearty meals.
The deacon, well-dressed and annoyed, asked him to leave, without the normal intonations of a question.
He left without much ado, unaffected by blatant rejection, tolerant to dispappotinemnt. I imagined the smell of things baked, fried and frosted would dollow behind him and haunt his senses so that his stomach would howl and holler.
I was confused. I became curious. If God was at church this morning, he had declined to stay for the dinner.
Thief. Whore. Addict. Degenerate. Drunk. Poor. Lazy.
Human.
All too often we narrow down the lives of homeless human beings down to a single word. A solitary word that leaves no space for the depth of tragedy, no breadth of experience, no allowance compassion, no place for their stories.
There are 6,000 humans in Atlanta with untold stories….
They are humans without homes, people whose lives have been unconsciously rendered non-existent and unimportant as we pass by them everyday. Yet as we walk by, drive past, look the other way, these forgotten people have become an unknown part of our own stories. I Am Human is a project that seeks to uncover the memoirs of humans in the shadows, to fill in single words used to describe these sons, daughters, mothers, fathers and veterans with the stories that surround them. It’s a project that captures the narrative of our collective community and an opportunity to bring awareness to the tragedies that have befallen our forgotten humans of Atlanta.
$5000 won’t change the world…
But it’s what’s needed. Each dollar goes toward the equipment needed, for the stipends that encourage people to talk about their experiences and to produce the photos and captions that garner our attention. To create an awareness that sparks a dialogue and a dialogue that spurs change.
I am Human is our city and our story.
Join me.
Organizer
Anthony 'Truth' Gary
Organizer
Atlanta, GA
