Deprivation

What is deprivation? It is a word we see tossed around a lot in the current era. People who are slightly inconvenienced call themselves deprived. Not being able to get a vanilla latte ain’t it. Being deprived of books, or sushi, or freshly ground single origin coffee feels like deprivation, but it isn’t really.

Living without refrigeration, as I did for two months when I first arrived in Rochester, is closer. Living without heat or running water or reliable food supplies IS deprivation. Living without a roof or access to a bathroom is beyond deprivation. It is a human rights violation. Unless you live in the late capitalist dystopian nightmare that is the 21st century.

I have seen true deprivation up close. In my last neighborhood, there were people walking 5 miles out to the bus once a week to go to the Walmart. There were people burning their socks in the winter because they had no wood. That was the Taos mesa.

The neighborhood I live in now has it, moderated by city and county services. The large group of kids that used to hang out on the porch of the duplex I own would not fathom most of my lifestyle. They were my tenants until they moved on. I never kicked them off the porch. They never mentioned the Whole Foods deliveries. 

I did get an exterminator because neither I nor the family downstairs needed to live with cockroaches. Now that they are gone I will be renovating. Making it nicer for the next family. But I can't fix the world.

Every so often I find myself on a zoom call where income inequality comes up. "Inequality" is code for grinding poverty. The (overwhelmingly upper- middle-class) people in the discussion have opinions. What they don’t have is direct knowledge of the problem.

My refrigerator was delivered five days after I moved into the duplex. After delivery I went to Wegmans and loaded up on salmon, cream, and organic produce. The family downstairs went to the food pantry.

I am living on the edge, making a small living as an independent writer. I ration my food and cook 99% of the time from scratch. I buy used. But the burr grinder and Peet’s whole beans are fixtures in my kitchen, and I treat myself to smoked salmon every few weeks. I am not deprived. But, then again, I never really was. 

When I hear relatively rich people wax poetic about poverty, or hear a kid with a Rolex call themselves deprived because the tickets to this week's big thing are sold out, I cringe. Real poverty destroys souls and kills bodies. The instinct among the better off to look away is natural. And the fear of joining the poor is visceral.

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