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VIDEO: Homeless Persons Memorial Day in Baltimore

December 22, 2011 at 10:49 am 3

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On the longest night of the year, with the number of people dying homeless in Baltimore steadily rising, hundreds of people gathered at the Inner Harbor last night to remember those who died in the city without a home.

At the interfaith vigil, held at the Inner Harbor Amphitheater, speakers read the names of the 111 homeless people who died in 2011, recalled some of them personally, and represented them symbolically with pairs of shoes.

“Greg Flowers was my friend. James Robinson was my friend. The streets of heaven are too full with angels tonight,” said Adam Schneider. “We gather tonight to remember that their lives had meaning we gather tonight to remember that they meant something to each of us.”

Death Toll Doubles From 2009 to 2011

“We have fallen short and not always shown fellowship and stewardship. We are seen by others as a prosperous culture. But there are men, women and children among us who are barely surviving,” said the Rev. Bryan E. Murray. “Some are forced to live in places unworthy of habitation. Struggling to make it to shelters before closing time.”

There were 45 deaths of homeless people in 2009.

Eighty-seven died last year.

This year – with still 10 days to go – there were 111, according to the organizers.

(This video by Bill Hughes has a ten-second delay in front. Speaking on camera are: Adam Schneider, James Crawford Jr., Rev. Brian E. Murray, Rabbi Martin Siegel and Rev. Andrew Foster Connors.)

  • Lin Romano

    This was a fitting tribute to people who experienced homelessness who died this year. It also was a recommitment to working toward a just society. Let’s all consider and take actions toward this end!

  • Unellu

    The Paradox of Snow and Ice

    People came to remember the homeless of the city–
    the ones who didn’t make it through the ice,
    the cold and the snow that fell last winter–

    to the delight of those kids who have homes–
    those men and women under their own roofs–
    the ones who careened down hills on sleds,
    squealing with joy,
    the ones on skis
    who accelerated on the speedways of the mountains,
    the ones on lifts looking down
    at the glorious opportunities of snow for play,
    snow for conquest, snow for racing on trails
    cross country–
    the ones who know snow as friend not foe–

    don’t know snow at all,
    until they feel the wet weight of snow
    accumulating like on a salt free road–
    on their throats, in their eyes,
    through their shoes between their toes,
    until the blinding force of snow
    freezes them inside out,
    their dying gasps choreographed
    as icicles suspended in the wind–

    they don’t know snow at all
    the ones who watch snow through windows
    and sigh how pretty snow,
    on empty boughs, how white and pure–
    what do they know about the shivers
    that come before the surrender–
    the chatter of the teeth,
    the clatter of the bones,
    the curling of the feet,
    the curdling of the blood,
    the congealing of the hands,
    and then the loss–
    all pain,
    all movement,
    all yearning,
    all struggles–gone to snow,
    gone to ice–

    In the arctic– icebergs calve,
    floes swirl in the frigid waters,
    warming skulks– gouges great big holes
    and activists call for action
    against the melting.
    in the cities people– hearts turned to ice
    step over bodies mummified–
    activists haul those mummies to paupers’ fields
    and bury them with songs, prayers
    and promises of , “Never again,
    never again will we allow
    the homeless to die in this brutal way,
    never again will we ignore their plight
    because they are one of us!”

    under bridges and by passes,
    on park benches and doorsteps,
    icebergs are cast from living folks huddled together
    in vain for Prometheus to bring them fire.

    They don’t know snow at all
    the ones who watch snow through windows–
    the ones who walk in ice with cleats
    don’t know ice,
    how pretty snow
    on empty boughs, how white and pure,
    they sigh,
    how glorious the stalactites
    hanging from the eaves…

    Usha Nellore

     
       

     

     

  • Unellu

    The Paradox of Snow and Ice

    People came to remember the homeless of the city–
    the ones who didn’t make it through the ice,
    the cold and the snow that fell last winter–

    to the delight of those kids who have homes–
    those men and women under their own roofs–
    the ones who careened down hills on sleds,
    squealing with joy,
    the ones on skis
    who accelerated on the speedways of the mountains,
    the ones on lifts looking down
    at the glorious opportunities of snow for play,
    snow for conquest, snow for racing on trails
    cross country–
    the ones who know snow as friend not foe–

    don’t know snow at all,
    until they feel the wet weight of snow
    accumulating like on a salt free road–
    on their throats, in their eyes,
    through their shoes between their toes,
    until the blinding force of snow
    freezes them inside out,
    their dying gasps choreographed
    as icicles suspended in the wind–

    they don’t know snow at all
    the ones who watch snow through windows
    and sigh how pretty snow,
    on empty boughs, how white and pure–
    what do they know about the shivers
    that come before the surrender–
    the chatter of the teeth,
    the clatter of the bones,
    the curling of the feet,
    the curdling of the blood,
    the congealing of the hands,
    and then the loss–
    all pain,
    all movement,
    all yearning,
    all struggles–gone to snow,
    gone to ice–

    In the arctic– icebergs calve,
    floes swirl in the frigid waters,
    warming skulks– gouges great big holes
    and activists call for action
    against the melting.
    in the cities people– hearts turned to ice
    step over bodies mummified–
    activists haul those mummies to paupers’ fields
    and bury them with songs, prayers
    and promises of , “Never again,
    never again will we allow
    the homeless to die in this brutal way,
    never again will we ignore their plight
    because they are one of us!”

    under bridges and by passes,
    on park benches and doorsteps,
    icebergs are cast from living folks huddled together
    in vain for Prometheus to bring them fire.

    They don’t know snow at all
    the ones who watch snow through windows–
    the ones who walk in ice with cleats
    don’t know ice,
    how pretty snow
    on empty boughs, how white and pure,
    they sigh,
    how glorious the stalactites
    hanging from the eaves…

    Usha Nellore

     
       

     

     

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