by Monica Clark
Contributor
Wednesday marks the 25th anniversary of International Day for the Eradication of Poverty, established in Paris in 1987 by Fr. Joseph Wresinski and his Fourth World Movement.
Wresinski, who died two years later, had declared that "wherever men and women are condemned to live in extreme poverty, human rights are violated. To come together to ensure these rights be respected is our solemn duty."
In 1992, the day was officially recognized by the United Nations.
At Wednesday's celebration in a UN chamber, Jay Fernandez, a formerly homeless senior now living in Oakland, Calif., will read his poem about the devastating consequences of poverty.
A tall man with a resonant voice, Fernandez, 61, lived on the streets of San Francisco for many years after severe depression led to the loss of his counseling job in a social service agency and a subsequent downward spiral to economic destitution and emotional isolation.
Five years ago, he walked into the Winter Shelter for homeless seniors at St. Mary's Center in Oakland and began a slow journey of healing. He participated in the center's counseling and other social services, moved into transitional housing and now has an apartment of his own.
Through it all, he wrote poetry, meditations on poverty and the power of care and community in regaining equilibrium and engagement.
His recovery is just what Wresinski had in mind when he developed the Fourth World Movement on the conviction that a partnership between people in poverty and those of other backgrounds can create experiences and policies that overcome the exclusion and injustice of persistent poverty.
Only a few people will be able to witness Fernandez's proclamation Wednesday. But his words deserve to resound far beyond New York City into the hearts of us all.
A REAL POEM
© 2011 J. Fernandez Rúa
In this sooty-soup
grit-gray rain
I need to share
let it all go
and tell you about a real poem
a poem
made of flesh and blood
with far seeing eyes
and a deep
and powerful grace
His name was Juan Gonzalez
Juan Gonzalez
I met him in the line waiting for a bowl of soup and piece of bread
and soon
within weeks
we were inseparable
He became a brother to me
where he walked I walked
where he ate I ate
where he slept I slept
when I was sick, he nursed me.
when he was sick, I nursed him.
Sometimes
we even slept under the same blanket.
At times,
he reminded me of St. Francis
because he loved pigeons too.
Called them
his little brothers.
Then, just when I was beginning to see
hat this man
- who walked around with the words of Jesus in his pocket -
could teach me something real
what we expect but never talk about
happened:
One December night
he fell asleep on a bench in Old Man's Park
and never woke up again.
His beautiful heart just stopped.
The streets had worked him too hard for too long
and now he was done.
So remember:
his name was Juan Gonzalez
and he died on a bench
in Old Man's Park.
Not because he was a drunk, demented or insane.
Not because he has on heroin or crack.
Not because he did not want to live.
The truth is simple: he wanted
what we all want-
o love and be loved in the peace of his own God.
And something more-
o be useful
o be useful.
Yes, the truth is simple:
he died because and
only because
like me
maybe like you
he was poor
gritty gray poor
and except for Sister Mary and her few sisters, here and there.
Tell me
who gives a damn about the poor anymore?
Stand or kneel
beg or cry
We're on our own
No one knew that better or deeper than my brother Juan Gonzalez
and if he was here
right now
he would say this:
Let us not be stereotyped
Let us not be marginalized, cast aside
Let us not be victimized
Let us not be shamed into silence.
Whatever your name is
I am you
whatever language or culture you were born into
I am you
whatever racial group you belong to
I am you
whether you are man or woman
I am you
whatever faith you hold on to
I am you
whether you're in prison in New York City
Or a detention camp in the fields of Nebraska
I am you
whether you're sleeping on a square of cardboard in Oakland
or under a grid in Philadelphia
I am you
I'm in every living pulsating cell
hat hungers for justice
and the right to love.
I am you.
I am you.
