Entry One

Cards on the table: I was raised rich, white, and male – and in an era and country that places an unduly vast value on all three traits. Hardship in my life has meant rules forbidding television or, later, having to purchase a car with my own money (the horror!). I've never gone hungry, or feared that I would. I've never lacked shelter or a warm coat. And I've also – most significantly – never been without a support system (aside from raised eyebrows and muttered disappointment at my choosing to study film production instead of something with a hope of providing financial solvency). In light of all this, any doubt that I live a life of pure advantage must utterly evaporate when faced with the struggles detailed by the residents of the Leighton Avenue Halfway House.

Upon entering the house for the first time, I was immediately struck by both the beautiful exterior, as well as the nicely-appointed décor within. I haven't lived in such luxury since leaving for college. In fact, the whole area is – despite common USC perceptions to the complete contrary – remarkably attractive; the neighborhood differs from the suburban development of my youth only in the scope of the structures, not the quality. It was hard to imagine anyone in such nice digs complaining, at least in good faith.

However, the reasons behind the well-maintained surrounds quickly became apparent, which equally swiftly exposed the underlying differences. At a basic level, residents of the house are ex-convicts, and therefore used to regulations requiring a clean cell, tidy workplace, etc. But on a deeper level, the care and attention to detail stems not from a feeling of obligation, but of gratefulness. It's a privilege to live there, not a right, and the residents want to show their appreciation in the most practical manner possible: by taking care of that with which they've been entrusted.

Trust is fundamental to almost every aspect of these men's lives, along with its conceptual kissing-cousin Respect. Martin, by far the most extroverted of the residents we met, spoke at length during our Saturday meeting about a specific employer whom he feels abuses both. It was his testimony that really made me understand what these guys are up against, in terms of finding work.

The employer in question apparently hires out of the house often, generally for landscaping or minor construction jobs. He is also known for being generally late with payments to the residents, and furthermore, usually speaks and deals with them in a degrading, abusive manner. I say he is “known” for this because everyone in the house is aware of it – several others who had previously worked for him chimed in after Martin with similar feelings.

Any other people faced with this situation would just look for work somewhere else. But the ex-cons simply don't have that option. They're offered work so infrequently that they really have no choice – despite this jerk leaving threatening voicemails late at night, and his penchant for complaining to Sister Julia (the ultimate authority of the house) about any perceived slight. As Martin pointed out, their only available course of action is to grin and bear it, since they can all be sent back to prison at any time if any hint of rebellious behavior is detected. It's a horrifying, dehumanizing hair-suspended sword under which they all must live.

So the meetings, whatever other purposes they also serve, seem particularly effective as just a place to be heard. The value of a witness, nothing more, cannot be overstated. I look forward to learning more about the specific situations of Martin and the others, as their perspective on the subject of unemployment is unique, but extends universally by way of their necessarily-repressed frustration.