Wounds, Old and New--Ours Too
Michael and me walking down a street in West Virginia late one night. Photo by Michael Williamson/The Washington Post
It hit us the other day. In all the miles we have traveled, no one has refused to talk to us. Not a single person has asked me to put away the notebook or raised a hand to block Michael’s camera.
This surprises us.
We’ve been journalists for years, he three times longer than me, and we’ve had doors slammed in our faces and been called names for the simple fact that we showed up at a time when a person wanted nothing less than to talk to the media.
We expected to encounter a bit of hostility on this trip. In a few rare cases, we’ve even had escape plans. They always end the same: If we get separated, meet at the car. After all, we are stepping into unfamiliar places and asking people questions even their friends don't broach. How much do you make? How do you use the restroom in a place with no running water? Do your children look at you differently now?
But, from homeless camps to upscale neighborhoods, there have been few pauses, few hesitations before the answers came spilling out. It’s as if the recession has changed what is acceptable to talk about. As if now that there is something bigger than all of us to blame, we can show our wounds.
It has probably helped that Michael and I have shown a few of our own along the way. How could we not? How could we listen to people talk all day long about hardship and not be reminded of our own brushes with it?
“I can describe four types of trailers because I know what it’s like to live in them,” Michael said one day.
He also knows what it’s like to sneak cans of tuna because he was hungry and to be served sugar sandwiches, which are exactly as they sound, sugar between two pieces of bread. I used to eat chip sandwiches – again, made exactly as you'd expect.
Still, we are well aware of the differences between our stories and the ones we’re hearing now – we had no way of knowing what we didn’t have until we had it. The people we are meeting across America knew they had something, often had worked hard their whole lives to get it, only to lose it in the last year or so.
Their wounds are still painfully fresh. The fact that so many are willing to show them to us, knowing we will post them here for thousands to see, must say something about this recession.
By
Theresa Vargas
|
July 21, 2009; 6:26 PM ET
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Posted by: mmrafferty | July 21, 2009 10:24 PM | Report abuse
This is an excellent series. Great photos. Usually, the Post just covers DC yuppie scum.
Posted by: win_harrington | July 21, 2009 11:12 PM | Report abuse
EDITOR: 'Michael and me walking down a street' is incorrect. It should be 'Michael and I (were) walking down a street...'
The author's confusion about when to use 'me' is not just a one-time affair. 'We’ve been journalists for years, he three times longer than me' is another misuse of a pronoun. It should be 'he three times longer than I (have been)'. You just do not say, 'he and me'. I thought even third grade children knew this.
I remember teaching my children to avoid the 'he and me' trap. I hope the editors do this service for this WP writer.
Posted by: elainemeinelsupkis | July 21, 2009 11:56 PM | Report abuse
Michael and Theresa,
As an aspiring journalist and avid traveler, I've been following your blog all summer. I'm familiar with your work after reading the Post online for the past year or two, but this is definitely my favorite thing you've done.
The stories you pick to highlight are very poignant and raw, and the work you're doing is very inspiring to someone like me.
Thank you for doing a trip like this, and keep up the good work!
Posted by: AlexaGarciaDitta | July 22, 2009 8:18 AM | Report abuse
Elaine above,
You are a jerk. To read this series and what these journalists are trying to bring to light and then only comment about Theresa's use of grammar only makes you look like the idiot you are. I am a college graduate English major working as a tech writer. If you only have negative things to comment about this very important blog, just go eff yourself and stop commenting. You jerk.
Posted by: sandrags | July 23, 2009 8:01 AM | Report abuse
The comments to this entry are closed.
I'm telling you. Big trouble is brewing. Most people can survive under-employment, unemployment or partner down for only so long. Six months, 8 months, a year possibly. Then you run out of family goodwill, chits, credit cards, 401K, mattress money. You stand next to a person last year and their story may have been different. Under the stiff chin we are all stoic. That is, we were. Time has run out. Life is about to change. Big time.
To grouse about the banks is a waste of time. But, now they are safe (maybe) and the rest of us are drowning. The government saved the ships but there are no passengers.
I cough blood. Repubs say protect the docs from malpractice. I can't go to the hospital. Dems say give 'em health insurance. No one has that issue right, yet. I don't care whether they get into a torts issue or I can't pay my medical bill. I want health care! Stop smoking. Tax the rich. Neither is the issue or the solution. No wonder BO's popularity is falling. And, I voted for the guy.
Try negotiating with your lender lately? What a cluster F that is. Their mandate is making loans not modifying them.
Big ships are trying to turn around at sea. But, nobody is on them. Just some new big egos and some old ass-h-les using remote controls.
I owe taxes. I have no other debt. I drive an old gas guzzling clunker. I'm losing my house. I work at a job making 1/10th of what I made two years ago. I have a college education. My job does not provide health insurance. Yes, I smoke (took it up again when the stock market crashed last fall). I'm 56. I have a god-given heart defect. Private health insurance cost me $6000 a year with a $5000 deductible (sp?). Gave that up. I can't get the mortgage loan modified. God knows, I've tried. For a year now. Yet I get a letter once a month from my lender or some hack company imploring me to modify my loan.
Somethings got to give. So, I ask, how do we change things? Wait for politics? Work harder or smarter? Sit quietly and read about everyone else and their misery? Hit the blogs? There are other options. We just don't want to take them.