When I speak with unhoused people on the street or those who appear to be struggling with life’s essentials, I am frequently impressed by their sense of dignity and pride, in spite of their circumstances. They may be depending upon on small SSI checks, local food banks, city-supplied porta-potties, and donated tents, but regardless of material depravation, many still possess faith, hope, and gratefulness — not resignation. Some say, “One day at a time.” Many believe God is with them. I would like to know this God, the one who can comfort hearts and bodies that lie each night on pavement or cardboard.

I hear righteous anger, too. But it is often truth-fullness not bitterness over the difficulty of escaping past personal transgressions or dealing with bureaucracies that promise, but don't deliver. Rarely, do I ever hear resentment toward a white man with a camera, who represents a legacy of white privilege, exploitation, and indifference.

While making photographs on the streets of Oakland or San Francisco, disparities are obvious. However, these occasional honest conversations help me to recognize our shared humanity and to understand they are not “those people.” To place myself in situations that expose my privilege and prejudices, makes it more difficult to live in a bubble.