Five days at the poverty line

from the Stanford Daily

By An Le Nguyen

“Poverty is more than just a moral issue. It is a very costly decision for the country as a whole. We all pay the price, poor and non-poor.”

As he says this, Sociology Prof. David Grusky hands me a gigantic tome — a 1,082-page whopper — and tells me to read an article by Barbara Ehrenreich.

“She’s doing exactly what you’re doing,” Grusky says. Ehrenreich, a middle-class journalist, lived in poverty for a month to test the assumption that work could lift poor women out of their dire straits. But Ehrenreich’s experience greatly surpasses what I hope to accomplish by living at the poverty line for five days.

In truth, I feel uncomfortable discussing poverty. I do not have the credibility of a seasoned researcher to claim expert understanding of this issue. Nor can I profess to know what it is like to live at the poverty line. So I decide to undergo the experience myself — to walk in another person’s shoes and hopefully not stumble along the way.

Day 1: Getting Started

According to the Department of Health and Human Services, the 2008 poverty threshold was set at an annual earning of $10,400, more than $1,000 short of the quarterly undergraduate tuition for 2007 - 2008.

The number of Americans living at or below the poverty line is staggering. Grusky, who founded the Stanford Center on the Study of Poverty and Inequality, pinpoints two factors that contribute to the high incidence of poverty in the United States: poorly paying jobs and a market economy with little redistribution. He also asserts that poverty engenders social problems such as alcoholism, drug addiction and crime. Like global warming, it is a predicament with expensive shared costs.

Armed with this information, I expect the worst. But with classes as a substitute for minimum-wage work and Stern Hall as a proxy for government-subsidized housing, the situation is not so dismal.

As the Director of Property Management for the Palo Alto Housing Corporation (PAHC), Georgina Mascarenhas is well acquainted with the ins and outs of state-subsidized Section 8 housing. She informs me that residents are expected to contribute “30 percent of their adjusted growth income” for rent.

This means that $3,120 has already gone down the drain. When I subtract a liberal $960 for utilities, $100 for my bike and $1,500 for sundry personal supplies, I am left with $4,720 for the entire year. I calculate an expenditure of approximately $12.93 per day, meaning dining hall meals are out of the question.

I bike to Safeway to stock up on food provisions. All together, I spend $14.06 on five days worth of food. My meals are to consist of cup of noodles, ham and cheese sandwiches and apples. Granted, this frugal budget enables me to splurge on an occasional cafe mocha or latte, but it is mainly in anticipation of crises. Those living at and under the poverty threshold can survive on a day-to-day basis. However, when emergencies arise — an accident, a health problem, a natural disaster — the financial burden comes to the forefront.

I heat up water in my room and dig into my cup of noodles.

Day 2: Learning the Hard Way

Gradually, I realize that my experiment resembles an unhealthy diet, rather than an earnest foray into poverty. I feel like a candidate for the latest lose-three-pounds-in-one-week ad, as opposed to an emerging social activist.

I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but as a Stanford student, I am endowed with certain privileges that make my assertions about poverty appear, at best, ignorant and, at worst, hypocritical. And in spite of my efforts to approximate living conditions at the poverty line, I find myself far removed from the plight of America’s poorest.

My classes, however taxing they may be, can never replicate the physical and mental exhaustion that accompanies low-wage jobs. The relative safety and luxury of dorm life does not reflect the dangers and instabilities of Section 8 housing. Sure, I can eat $3 worth of food every day, but what good does this do for the single-mother who works two jobs to support her children?

I begin to feel that students, myself included, may make very little difference in the fight against poverty, and this realization strikes the very center of my being. With all of our good intentions, how have we ameliorated the lives of the poor? Have our community service efforts, poverty awareness programs and food drives been in vain?

Day 3: A Two-Way Discourse

At the Haas Center, I encounter Nick Cheng. As the Leadership Program Assistant, Cheng works closely with student leaders to support the growth of Stanford organizations. He becomes pensive when I ask if these student groups make a difference on the lives of their intended beneficiaries.

“The impact is at least as strong on the individual that is going on these volunteering events,” Cheng says. “It is about appreciating the community for teaching them about these issues.”

So community service is a two-way dialogue, I propose.

“Yeah, it’s not just the immediate impact, as in how much food you provide for a night,” Cheng continues. “It’s about the experience on the students too.”

This strikes me as a fresh thought. In the midst of my sandwich and noodle consumption, I have forgotten that students also benefit from service — that their exposure to poverty might not produce instantaneous gains, but may pave the way for future change.

Day 4: Privilege and Responsibility

With the exception of library access and caffeine intake, I miss very little from my “normal” life. If anything, I am more appreciative of the simple blessings I possess — a warm bed, a safe place to stay, meager but enough food.

On the phone, I converse with Tommy Tobin ‘10. Tobin co-directs the Stanford Projection on Hunger (SPOON) and, speaking with him, I get the impression that alleviating poverty is possible.

“Stanford groups and organizations are doing a bit right now,” Tobin notes. “For example, the Poverty and Inequality Center is doing a lot with research . . . There are certain groups going at it from an awareness realm — that’s Students Taking on Poverty (STOP).”

From an outreach perspective, SPOON picks up extra food from student dining halls and the Faculty Club to deliver to food banks. The group’s objectives are to reduce food waste and to provide assistance to those in need. In light of SPOON’s achievement, it appears as if students are playing an active role in addressing the immediate demands of the poor.

But we could do more, Tobin argues. His goal is to ensure the success of Summer SPOON because “there is very little aid going on in the community over the summer.”

Tobin’s rationale is straightforward. “It’s not like hunger and homelessness take a break,” he states. “My goal is to save a ton of food and to have this as a recurring program, even when I might not be here.”

He plans to coordinate with programs that operate over the summer session — Summer College, Sophomore College, Upward Bound students and local high school kids.

Curious to know what motivates Tobin to pursue these ambitious goals, I ask him why SPOON and outreach programs are meaningful elements in his life.

“In dealing with all kinds of people,” he begins, “you learn about what you want to do and about yourself and about the privileges you have.”

Tobin and his peers, I realize, are simply trying to return the favor — tenfold.

Day 5: Seeing the Light

On my last day living at the poverty line, I am both relieved and saddened. Throughout my experience, I have learned more from the people with whom I have interacted than from the actual experiment itself. My focus has shifted from just experiencing what it is like to subsist in poverty to the larger implications of student actions to remedy the problem.

Yet, the point does not drive through until I speak to Alex Martin ‘09, co-president of Night Outreach to the Homeless. Martin leads Friday night walks up and down University Avenue, and occasionally in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. Night Outreach volunteers do more than bring food and clothing to the homeless; they also make the effort to get to know the homeless.

“For me, it’s also a breaking down of those artificial barriers of who should be my friend, or just someone I do charity with,” Martin says.

Martin describes her friend Dennis, who lives on the streets of Palo Alto. Despite the cold, Dennis tried to dissuade her from buying him a pair of gloves and a beanie from Longs because they were too expensive. Martin bought them anyway.

“I would spend $20 in a heartbeat on a friend back at school for something frivolous, but it’s not going to keep them warm,” she reasons.

However, even Martin has reservations about the impact that Stanford students have on the disadvantaged.

“In the short run, I don’t feel that Night Outreach makes a huge change in terms of people’s situations,” she states, taking note of the fact that many of her friends are still homeless. “In terms of our interactions and their Friday nights, maybe we do make a change.”

Echoing Cheng and Tobin, Martin believes that service is a mutual relationship. “A lot of the goal of Night Outreach, even though we might not say it, is actually to care for and help develop the students in ways that we get them to care and to see that this is a really valuable experience,” Martin says. “To be able to interact with people on this level and to not have those fears and that tension of wondering if you should drop in change or not.”