About ten months ago, I wrote a column about some of my experiences in the Uwharrie region of North Carolina, the south-central part of the state. My first stay there coincided with the emergence of a 13-year brood of periodic cicadas, and the song they sang was a loud, rapturous part of the symphony of energy created by all living things.
Cicada [Bill Rhodes]
The 17-year brood currently adding background noise to life here in western North Carolina does not have the overwhelming physical or decibel-level presence that the Uwharrie brood had. Still, I feel the magic in their gentle reminder that patient transformation can play a significant role in survival.
I appreciate the lessons cicadas offer even more than I appreciate their strange beauty and connection with the universe. However, I must acknowledge that my little winged brothers and sisters have had somewhere between 40 million and 200 million years to perfect their practice of patient transformation. I have been on this earth in my current form for a mere 58 years, and Homo sapiens have been here just a wee bit longer than that. Some lessons have a long learning curve, so I try to give myself grace on the days my patience wears thin.
Last year’s cicadas and my time in the Uwharrie also brought new levels of awareness regarding some of the challenges faced by people who are unhoused. I recognized that learning experience as a significant event in my life but did not connect it to the foreshadowings and other warning signs of troubled times ahead that I had felt for a long time — silly me.
Fast forward through a year filled with complex family issues, the devastation wrought by Hurricane Helene, and the nightmare of the United States of America’s political, social, and cultural hellscape. I am Dorothy, gone from Kansas to Oz, and I turned down the ruby slippers because I would rather have a pair of good walking shoes.
Cover to The Emerald City of Oz, illustrated by John R. Neill [public domain]
I am one of many good Witches. At any given time, any one of us might feel like we are short on heart, brain, or courage, but I assure you, as I do my companions, that that is not the case. It is okay to rest. It is okay to cry. It is okay to rage. It is okay sometimes to feel like we are tiny beings standing in front of the ice-cold walls of the Emerald City, which seem to have grown to towering, insurmountable heights. Even good Witches get tired.
Here in Western North Carolina, we are still dealing with the aftermath of Helene, and we will be for years to come. This is not another Notes from Swannanoa column, though. One of the most important things I have learned over the past few months is that all the ugly, heartbreaking truths about inequity exist and even flourish at the core of every disaster recovery effort. Sadly, they do the same at the core of many disaster recovery or public assistance agencies, government agencies, community groups, religious organizations, sports organizations, and schools.
The government of the United States of America has been hacking away at the support systems put into place to ease the inequities inherent in our society. The blame for that does not rest solely upon the great puppet at the head of the table; it spreads from bottom to top and back again.
During a recent workplace meeting, my colleagues and I discussed the specific needs of some of our neighbors and the changes in our community that are reflective of changes happening everywhere.
This example of a situation where housing inequity endangers health and lives was part of our discussion:
- Alan and June have been life partners for 10 years. They are not married. Each of them receives disability and is unable to work, so they are on a limited, fixed income. Housing barrier #1.
- Because of their disabilities, neither one has a recent employment history. Housing barrier #2.
- Because of their fixed income, they could never afford traditional housing, so they lived in room rental situations instead. Therefore, they have no rental history—housing barrier #3.
- As sometimes happens, poverty, physical pain, and other life circumstances lead them to make a few bad choices. Neither could afford a private attorney, resulting in each having a minor criminal history—housing barrier #4.
- June now uses a wheelchair and needs a home that is ADA-compliant, including requiring a wheelchair roll-in shower—housing barrier #5.
- June’s mental and physical health issues qualified her to participate in a community program that will qualify her for housing assistance. Because they are unmarried, Alan cannot share that housing without paying much of the rent—housing barrier #6.
- Alan is being considered for the same program but will take months to complete. When he does complete it, the program can procure housing for them together. Time is housing barrier #7.
- Finally, there are a limited number of rental units available that meet June’s needs or have low barriers regarding income, rental, work, and criminal histories—housing barrier #8.
Multiple community agencies are working together to support a temporary housing situation for June and Alan financially. If there is a single agency that could maintain long-term support for their situation, I am unaware of it. We will all scramble to pull together resources until the cows come home. Still, the unhappy, horrifying truth is that June and Alan could become unhoused before either of them completes their program and can obtain supported housing. It might not be enough even though they are doing everything right to help themselves. June is not likely to survive living unhoused. Alan is not likely to survive without June. I often wonder if scenarios like this are the intentional result of the great grinding machine of a society that views some living beings as less than others.
Like many others, this community needs more affordable housing units. A common way to acquire them is to build apartment complexes with certain splits for funding. Those allow for a percentage of the new apartments to be income-based rentals or to participate in subsidy programs such as HUD Section 8. Unfortunately, Helene wiped out at the local grocery store, creating a food desert. The presence of a food desert eliminates the possibility of federal funding for that kind of new construction. Of course, the federal government is eliminating so much funding that the food desert might not matter, but it does in more than one way. It affects housing and the ability of our neighbors to acquire healthy food.
One might say that not having a local grocery store is no big deal. Just drive to the next town, take the bus, or have Instacart deliver your groceries! But what if you do not have a car or other transportation? What if the cost of grocery delivery would take up 1/3 of your grocery budget? What if you work until 5 p.m., and the bus only runs every 90 minutes, with the last bus running at 7:30?
Life is hard. It is going to get harder. Everyone who does not have their head stuck in the sand or up a political party’s ass knows this. And if we know it, we must do the necessary work to help our neighbors make it safely through.
Do these things matter to me because I am a Pagan or because I am a human being? I have given this much consideration but cannot come up with an answer to the question beyond this: I believe with all my heart and spirit that being a Pagan, a Witch, an earth-based practitioner, and everything else that I am has made me a better person.
Healing Together [Beth Trigg]
Where do cicadas and Witches and the cold, tall walls of the Emerald City come together in this telling? Right here, in this space, in these words I wrote last year:
(Cicadas and Witches) …are earth and fire. Their constant, ringing siren song is part of the universal harmony that includes the Earth’s hum and the reverberating symphony of the stars. They hold all of that power in their collective song and cause harm to no one during their time on Earth’s surface. Yet, despite their captivating appearance and life cycle, they frighten people. Cicadas (and Witches) are harbingers of difference and change, which is as unwelcome for some humans as an unexpected knock on the door.
We are there, knocking on the doors, and knocking on those emerald walls every single day. We will not stop until they finish crumbling, and we create safe passage for our neighbors to obtain what they need in order to live safe, healthy, and happy lives.
So mote it be.
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