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Matt Shaw
Speak Up is a voice Editor In Chief
for voiceless… MariaArt DirectorValdivieso

Photographer
…for the homeless, trafficked, Peggi Knowe
impoverished, orphaned, Editorial Team Peggi Knowe, Myeka Johnson,
Nate Casey, Alisha Pruett, Lana Shaw oppressed, bullied
and invisible. Speak Up Magazine
501 Hawthorne Ln,
Charlotte, NC 28204
May these stories refresh Ph: 704-980-9885
your hope, awaken your heart Forproductionadditionalof thisinformationmagazine,aboutincludingthe
and inspire new engagement. designand illustrationsnotes, printingcredits,details,visit usphotoonline
at speakupmag.org/outsiders

We’d love to hear your feedback:
The magazine is sold by magazine@speakupmag.org
vulnerably-housed street Speaknon-profitUp Magazineand is supportedis a 501(c)3by do­
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Street Writer = Has experienced homelessness

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UNMENTIONABLES
By Renee Rop SW

Life on the streets is ROUGH: Where to sleep odds with being “out there” among the rest of
without being harassed; how to keep oneself society at large.
and one’s valuables safe and dry; how to stay
warm. Where is the nearest public restroom? Life on the street can be dangerous, even in
One does not wish to get a loitering ticket, or our community. There is theft, often among
even worse, a public urination charge, which our own (homeless), if you can imagine
is actually a CSC (Criminal Sexual Conduct) stealing from another who has so little. There
charge. Life on the street is even more difficult is violence. This often accompanies theft.
for women. Safety and security are always at Violence against our brothers and sisters.

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There is sexual assault. Rape. Unfortunately, enforcement. Who is going to do anything?
this is almost commonplace among our What will be the consequences of reporting?!
alleged brothers and our sisters. The incidents It is a fact that we must continue to walk these
of sexual assault rise incrementally with the use same streets among our perpetrators. There is
of alcohol (or other drugs). fear of retribution. Making a “report” does not
get the offenders off the street immediately, if
Women who are homeless are less visible than ever.
the men. I hesitate to mention acts of violence
because the community already has a poor I know many women in the homeless
image of “us.” Yet because this has been community who have been sexually assaulted
so unmentionable, it has become one more by our own. I am among these ranks. If we talk
reason such violence continues. Don’t worry; it about this at all, it is among each other – those
doesn’t happen in your backyard or driveway. who understand and those who comprehend
It happens under bridges and in wooded the “whys” of not reporting versus “judging”
areas. It happens in the dark. It happens of the silence.
when couchsurfing or in tents. But it happens.
It happens often when we are asleep, I guess this is my attempt to “Speak Out”
unconscious, in a blackout, or too impaired or and “Speak Up” about this form of violence.
outnumbered to fight back. I feel compelled Not much can be done about it. Awareness,
to mention it, because it does happen and is maybe. Some might say this is fatalistic, but
even less reported than sexual assault among it’s simply the reality. It is unlikely that these
the non-homeless in the community. incidents will begin to be reported. It’s unlikely
others will notice and intervene. As homeless,
“Why?” you may ask. Many are the reasons. we are often viewed as non-members of
Often alcohol is involved. An unspoken code society. There is no justice for us. I mean,
is if you drink with the guys, sexual assault seriously, look at the stink created when we
may sadly be a part of the price of hanging try to build a new shelter. Many do care, but
with the guys. If you are couchsurfing, it may most do not. “Not in our neighborhood.”
be the undiscussed rent. In a tent near others, “Not on our streets.” “Not in our city.” And
presumably for safety, one cannot lock oneself so, under the bridges and into the woods we
in. We discover this only by experience. I have go where there is no safety, no security, and no
tried to warn “newbies,” generally to no avail. witnesses.

We think we are among friends; protectors.
We have even less credibility than the average
citizen within the community with local law

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THIS IS MY
NORMAL LIFE

By John Shepherd-Smith

You wake up in the morning, apprehensive mindedly rub your hands through your hair.
for your feet to hit the ground, because you Just a few weeks ago, you made the decision
already know that today is going to be a long to cut your hair down to a less controversial
day. You are so sure of this notion, you do not style.
even give it the time necessary to enter into
conscious thought. So sure because everyday When you get to class, you plop down in your
is a long day. seat. Though the day has yet to really begin,
you are already worn out. You wordlessly greet
Reluctant though you are, your feet do hit the your classmates as they join you in the room.
ground. You get up and begin the meticulous As you pull out your materials, something
task of dressing yourself. As you skim through catches your eye in your peripheral vision. You
your belongings for something appropriate for look to your right and are astounded by the
the day, you skip over the camouflage cargo spectacle in front of you. There, in the middle
pants you wore religiously in high school and of your classroom, is a whole other living,
reach instead for your khakis from the Gap. breathing, fully-functioning person of color.
You skip over the $200 sneakers you stood in Not only are they of color, they are also black.
line for hours to commandeer (or “cop” as you You wipe your eyes to make sure that what
would say back home) and reach instead for you’re seeing in front of you is real. Sure, there
your Sperry boating shoes. You skip over the are other POCs at your institution, but this is
white T-shirt you used to iron to a crisp, and indeed a sight to behold. A black person in
reach instead for the Oxford button down you your class! And it isn’t even Africana Studies!
bought last semester at the Tommy Hilfiger Before you can regain your composure, your
Factory store. You make these choices with professor enters the room. As he calls through
little consideration. Long ago, you learned the roll, the trained eye can see that he too is
that though you may enjoy your outfits from amazed and thrilled that he happened upon
back home, adorning this new style of attire two minority students in his class this semester.
will makes your day run a little more smoothly. After all, he is a proponent of African-American
In fact, this new look you’ve acquired is more rights; having sequestered three of his African-
for your peers’ comfort than your own. Your American colleagues as friends in the faculty
new outfit affords you fewer stares, a little less meetings, and going to a Curtis Mayfield
aloofness from your peers, and makes you a concert during undergrad, he has grown quite
little more relatable. As you walk out of your knowledgeable in the inner workings of black
dorm room to report to class, you absent culture in America. “I’m so glad this course

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will consist of some diverse perspectives,” he camera. Black people tweet with the hashtag
giddily chimes to himself. “I wonder if they “#JusticeForInsertVictimsName” and by
are athletes?” Now, If only he can get the the time all of this starts to simmer down,
pronunciation of their names down on the first someone else is gunned down in the street.
try and make a solid first impression. By the
looks of their attire, they must be scholars. You are immediately repulsed by your
cynicism. Have you become this calloused?
Ironically, you too are wondering how the Have you forgotten that this is America,
a-few-years-past-middle-aged white male in the self-proclaimed “Greatest Nation in the
front of you will butcher your name. Honestly, World” and not a Clint Eastwood Western?
you’d think by now you had heard all the That no matter what the crime, or a person’s
ways instructors could try to make the name background, no one should be sentenced to
“Tom” sound exotic. You grit your teeth execution without a trial on a sidewalk in the
through attendance (“Toom-é?”), and finally middle of their own community? That you
the lecture starts. At the end of the lecture, too are guilty of the crime of existing while
your professor assigns a reading by Immanuel being black? Instantly you reopen the app,
Kant. He must have been eavesdropping on and instead of seeing Tamir Rice or Trayvon
your conversations. Just last night you said, “I Martin or Mike Brown or now Alton Sterling,
can’t wait to read the works of another self- you see your body gunned down like a prize-
proclaimed racist.” winning buck in the middle of the street. Your
mother crying hysterically to reporters. Your
You leave class and make it back to your dorm name in the hashtag. Once again, you close
room. You kick off your Sperry’s and khakis, out of the app. You were right. It was a long
change into your much more comfortable day. And that night, right before you go to
tank top and basketball shorts and start to bed, you begin to steel yourself in preparation
scroll through the Moments feed on Twitter. for the next day. Prepare yourself for your
There you find that another African-American walk from the sanctity of your solitude into
has fallen victim to police brutality. Instead of a harshly indifferent world. A world in which
anger, or sadness, you are eerily unphased. A to holistically embrace your own culture is to
little part of you is actually relieved; after two mark yourself as a social pariah. A world in
or three months without a reported incident, which to advocate for the justice of your own
you were wondering whether or not you were people is to mark yourself as militant. A world
still in America. You close the app without in which the pain and fear you feel is null. A
exploring any further. You already know the world in your life is marked as expendable.
deal. The video is released to the public, the So you steel yourself with a silent prayer and
officers involved get administrative leave, prepare yourself for another long day.
there is a protest. Then the police reports are
released, the news outlet finds out the victim
is actually a petty criminal, or a gangster, or a John’s essay is not based on a single person
local menace, or all of the above. Photos from or experience but rather a combination of
Facebook posts back in 2011 are released people and experiences from all sorts of
with the victim’s middle finger pointed at the different backgrounds.
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By Kimberley J. CopleyI HATED ME TOO

If you had told me in middle school that I slowly, I can just go to ISS instead of going to
would soon learn to love myself, I would have class. A teacher hurried me along. I already
laughed in your face. The only thing I would’ve knew what was ahead of me, so I choked back
loved was to have been anybody else. tears and entered the class with a smile on my
face. It probably wouldn’t last long.
I sat in my art class, tapping my pencil quietly
on the large rectangular desk. One of the “Look who decided to come to class today
boys at my table motioned for my attention. instead of hiding in the bathroom.” I ignored
“Emily is the prettiest girl at this table.” I the comment and sat in my desk. “Kimberley,”
was confused for a moment, but look over at a boy whispered from behind me. “If you
Emily who was indeed, quite beautiful. Emily aren’t showing up to class anyway, why don’t
glanced over at me awkwardly and stated, you just kill yourself. No one misses you when
“Kimberley is pretty too.” The boy laughed, you’re not here.”
“She’s OK, I guess.”
I’m not sure what I ever did to the people who
The bell rang, and I picked up my things hated me. I just thought it was my fault, so I
walking as slowly as possible. Maybe if I walk hated me too.

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HOPE DEAD
WINTER
By Dustin LaPres SW

Violent awakening…someone’s shaking me. I in to the inviting image of a warm place with a
hear the low guttural growl of the policeman’s hot meal…but I can’t. I can’t let them dismiss
voice… me so easily, and so I get it together and
move on. Time to move on. The sun is rising
“Sir, sir, you okay? You can’t sleep here. You on the hope dead horizon, and I have certain
gotta move on or I’ll arrest you for…” That’s tenets of my invisible existence I must adhere
how I awakened so many times under the to. The intruding fight-or-flight spawned by
bridge, under overpasses, in alleyways— the detachment of the policeman’s voice
freezing under a makeshift cocoon during the reverberates inside—the cold threats of the
bleak winter months of a barren existence. enforcers of this self-subservient society
Arrest me—hell, you would be doing me a echoing inside my post-traumatic mind.
favor. If I wasn’t so proud, I’d let you; I’d give

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I am the filthy carbon visage of a legion of being because here’s some brutal truth for you:
invisible persons. I am one of the mutant It could’ve been you. You with your upper-
manifestations of a money- and material- middle-class affectations and your comfortable
centric society. I am ugly to some; an eyesore self-righteous lifestyle…your automobile,
to most, and invisible to all but a few. I walk home, white-picket-fence. It could’ve been
and I walk, searching trash receptacles for you.
bottles to return, and asking the occasional
passerby for spare change. Even a hobo needs I am not here trudging through the loveless
the cursed money to survive. I walk past open streets conducting a tragic existence, ashamed
restaurants, mouth watering and stomach and alone because of some moral failure. I am
screaming; daydreaming of the veritable feast a human being. I was born a very gifted child
of delicious treats inside. I stumble down early with a beautiful mind…somewhere between, I
morning avenues where families are exiting was lost in translation, in experience.
the comfort of their homes together, and I I have no choice whether I drink or not because
reminisce about the long lost days when I had I am untreated. I am untreated because I’m
a family, when I had a job and the comfort unimportant. I am unimportant because I am
of a home. I keenly observe everything that I unloved, and I am unloved because I have
will never have, and I hurt. I am cold and I am been pre-judged under stigma. I am the
hungry and I hurt. collateral damage of the disease of addiction,
the manifestation of stigma, and the cold
In hindsight, I’m not sure what was truly more judgment of an egocentric socioeconomic
painful: lack of everything that everyone culture. I live outdoors in brutal conditions;
else had and how that makes me feel, the under bridges, in rail yards, beneath
loneliness, fear and hopelessness; or the overpasses, and in bathrooms near you.I am
sting of the resounding insults and threats— forgotten but not gone.
routine rejection because I have offended the
sensibilities of their beautiful society? God I am forgotten. But. Not. Gone. With a little
helps those who help themselves, right? And love and encouragement, I would one day
those that he helps he must certainly love and ascend from this desolate vacuum of societal
so I believe that if he exists, he must hate me… exile and once again walk into the spring
if he exists. sunshine of reconnection in your world. I long
to be destigmatized, loved, valued, treated…a
These early morning walks and experiences productive force within my community.
take a drastic toll on my psyche, and I feel the
endless thirst rising from within. I desperately Perhaps one day I will be the change I would
need the warm embrace of alcohol to fill the like to see in the world. I hope you are being
hole my plight has left behind. Yes, I am an the change you’d like to see.
alcoholic. Many of us invisible citizens are.
Does that offend your sensibilities, too? I hope
that it does. I hope that everything about me
and my kind sends chills through your entire

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YOU STILL HERE?
By James Regan

All through my life, there have been things So, after about six months of not knowing
that have happened to me that shouldn’t anyone or having any friends, I didn’t think
have. Moving from Syracuse, NY, down to it could get any worse…until this girl came
Fort Mill, SC, was a very big change in my up to me and said, “Why are you still here?
life. Having little to no knowledge of the area It’s not like you do or say anything.” So I just
and the people there, I went in open minded shrugged and said, “Whatever.” She came
along with an open heart. I soon realized back with, “I don’t get why you don’t just kill
how different it really is in South Carolina. yourself. It’s not like we will miss you anyways.”
The things I did in New York were considered So I nodded and said, “Yep, you’re right.” And
weird down here, and they all called me out she left me alone. So for the next few weeks, I
for “having no manners” even though I had thought to myself that she was right.
no clue what they meant. I soon realized
though that they meant the “Yes, Ma’am” kind My parents were always yelling at each other
of things. Also, the way I acted was totally and usually did not even notice and/or care
different because I had a northern accent. that I was there and that I had no friends. So
So people would say I’m weird and shut me one day, I tried to hang myself; but I stopped
out because I didn’t sound like them. Even because the neighbor’s daughter came over.
teachers would tell me I have no manners I didn’t want her to see a dead body just
which would confuse me. because she needed some food items.

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EDWARD SMALLS
SELLS SPEAK UP
DAILY. STARTING
AT 8AM.

WHERE ARE YOU FROM ORIGINALLY?
I grew up in the country in a little town called
Ravenel, twenty miles south of Charleston, SC.
All my family is still there. It was all right. We
weren’t rich enough. I grew up for awhile with
just my mother and brother and sisters.

WHY DID YOU MOVE?
I left when my son got killed. They lured him
into a back street and shot him three times
in the chest. No idea why. I couldn’t give the
slightest reason why someone would have HAVE YOU BEEN HOMELESS?
killed him. Yes. The reason is I had a federal offense which
meant I couldn’t get a job or housing. I did my
WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE MEMORY OF time, but there is no second chance.
YOUR SON?
Just raising him, and growing up with him… WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?
the beach, fishing, crabbing. He was 36, I am renting a room by the week in South
not married. He had two kids. I still see my Charlotte. The room is pretty nice, better than
grandkids every time I go to Charleston. They sleeping in a tent outside, I tell you that.
are doing great.
WHERE DO YOU SELL SPEAK UP?
WHAT IS THE BEST MEMORY YOU HAVE I am on the corner of North Tryon and 5th
FROM GROWING UP? Street by Fifth Third Bank. I start work at 8 and
I like to hunt and fish. I used to love to hunt work till five. Eight to five. It’s a job for me. I
and fish. Fish for any kind of fish that bite: love my customers; they are a great bunch of
catfish, mudfish, crappies, brims. I killed a people.
lot of squirrels, raccoons, rabbits and deer. I
had a bolt-action 12 gauge six shot. The gun WHERE DO WANT TO BE IN FIVE YEARS?
would turn you upside down. I wasn’t very old, Working. Working and living in my own place.
thirteen or fourteen years. You had to hold it
all right. It would knock you down. —Bill Shaw

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Go and do.

Which Brew Are You?

Decaf / Slactivist
As long as it’s quick & simple, you’re up
for baby stepping into social activism.

Regular / Activist
Up for a little adventure, have the ‘want
to’, but need help on the how.

Espresso / Superhero
All in. Looking for front line action or
ongoing involvement opportunities that
do the most good.

DECAF
Sometime in the next 2 weeks, head uptown, double-park, & take 15 seconds
to buy a Speak Up Magazine from Edward Smalls.
His story is on page 13.

REGULAR
Over the course of 2 weeks, thin out your clothes closets & take your excess
clothing, shoes, socks & coats to The Free Store at the end of this month.
Freestorecharlotte.org

ESPRESSO
Go with the team visiting local homeless encampments to deliver needed
resources & encouragement. Text: Habit to 68398 for info, updates, &
reminders sent right to your phone.

–Lisa Koons | 24-7 Prayer USA

This page is brought to you by 24-7, a catalyst for movements of prayer, mission & justice.
Learn more at charlotte24-7.com.

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