OPINION: Seeking realistic solutions to homelessness in Anchorage

It happens every time I drop off one of my daughters at Ben Boeke for hockey practice. Someone outside, near, or walking by the once-iconic Sullivan Arena stammers or stumbles, screams or yells, or simply lays on the roadside quietly sleeping off whatever demons they have yet to fully defeat. It is really easy to judge as I drive by in 10 degree weather, heated seats on, hot coffee in hand. It is also easy to be angry and to think about how “the homeless” are draining our city of resources as they provide residents and visitors alike with a visual reminder of the other side of life — a life none of us think is in our own future.

On a particular day in January of this past winter, I sat in the bleachers above the Ben Boeke 1 rink watching my daughter and her incredibly accomplished 12U Girls All Stars team practice ahead of an out-of-state trip to take on a set of teams in Texas. As with every time before, I sat watching her practice with coffee in hand, down jacket, gloves and a knit Penguins beanie on. I was comfortable. Warm.

Over the rail toward the west, where the main entrance is located (which has been locked to keep the “riff-raff” out), I heard some frantic wailing and the sounds of pain and anguish. I immediately thought of it being a homeless person who was angry, drunk, high or potentially just causing a scene, and ignored it while I go on watching the team practice. But it got louder and louder, and did not stop. After a couple of minutes, I decided to walk over and have a look over the rail to see what was happening. It most certainly was not what I expected.

What I saw instead was some of the very best of Anchorage (medics and EMT firefighters with the Anchorage Fire Department) tending to a man on whose body was just waking up to the fact that it had been exposed to sub-freezing temperatures outside for some period of time. He must not have been fully aware, either due simply to the cold or to a combination of alcohol or drugs and the cold that lulled him to sleep. In all honesty, it didn’t matter at that point. I stood there watching as the men worked to communicate with their patient, to help ease his pain, and to diligently (but slowly) warm his core while the pain in his frozen limbs became more and more apparent. In that moment it didn’t matter why to him, to the firefighters, or to me why he was there. What mattered was that a human being had frozen outside for far too long, and was in agonizing pain that not even the firefighters could tame perfectly.

I am a recovering alcoholic. I have not touched a drop of alcohol since Nov. 10, 2013. I know the grip that alcohol can have over a person -- even someone that seems to have everything. I had a flourishing business at Shred Alaska, Inc., two beautiful young daughters, a wife that I did not deserve, extended family in good health, a home, cars — all that you could ask for, and yet, alcohol still beat me for too many years.

The reason I mention this is that it provides some perspective and a check for me whenever I start to blame, curse or question why the homeless can’t “just quit drinking” and become functional members of society. I could hardly do it, and I had everything. It is a much, much different thing to do when you have next to nothing and, more importantly, when you do not see a path out of the desperation, pain and helplessness that life appears to be presenting to you. I believe that this line of thinking can be used to help bring us all together to remember that, beyond all else, we are all human and that, in fact, we have more in common than we do in difference. No problem is black and white, life is a complex system, and we must approach each issue with honesty, integrity and focus as if those we are helping are our own families.

I intend to be held responsible for my own actions in every part of my life, and I would approach issues such as homelessness, addiction, housing, job placement and training in the same way. For any system to work, you have to have hope, have a realistic path to climb, a guide to help you along the way, and you must also understand that if you fall, you must get back up, dust yourself off, accept responsibility for your failure, and take the next step all while aiming to do better this time around. We are missing the hope, the path, the guide and the accountability. As just one of 12 on the Anchorage Assembly after the election on June 21, I would be honored to do my small part in working across all support systems to make sure that, more than anything, we remember we are all human.

Robyn Forbes is a candidate for Anchorage Assembly District 1 (North Anchorage).

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