Homeless In Honolulu

1989 Hawaii (2)(Excerpted from The Grateful Unrich: Chapter 11: Sushi, Day Work & Crazy Horse)

Honolulu’s homeless hordes gather at the city’s parks to bed down for another 65 degree night.

The nightly parade of shopping carts, garbage bags and tattered sheets keeps watch over seedy Waikiki like a sentinel- as if beckoning to the conscience of the revelers, who prepare for another night of opulence and orgy.

Japanese investors continue to swallow up real estate in the islands, driving prices beyond the reach of locals, evicting delinquent tenants, usurping native Hawaiian land and destroying small businesses. Even this oasis has given much ground regarding its old wise ways, now sold to the highest most ignorant new bidder. The neon tourist glow of Waikiki is like a beacon of darkness and a death knell to homeless and native Hawaiian alike.

Today I decide that taking another job in Honolulu will require a reverse quantum leap in day-to-day consciousness which I am not prepared to take. I wonder if I will end up in a Honolulu park to pay for such dignity. No job exists which does not pay the devil’s currency. Each new job rips a new wound in the fragile umbilical cord which connects the human psyche to the planet.

Each new wound is added to old scars, first opened when man ceased to be nomadic and instead chose a sedentary agricultural existence- or was, as Zechariah Sitchin argues, forced into agriculture by Annunaki space aliens turned international central bankers with lizard genes.

Now – with the constraints of private property ownership a foregone conclusion – the hunting and gathering nomadic life is no longer a survival option. Indeed, what few nomadic peoples remain on this planet are the constant targets of resettlement campaigns and domestication, as they have been for centuries. The wound festers badly, infected with alchemical delusions so profoundly illogical and short-sighted that the organism earth may soon find no other option than to induce these madmen into committing collective suicide.

To work at a job for any length of time is to cast oneself a player in this tragic theater which showcases and enables man’s confusion about who he is.

Your career choices are essentially three: (1 you can help produce unnecessary consumer goods to dumb down minds, while contributing to the pollution of rivers, watersheds and air, all the while perpetuating Third World peasant sweatshop exploitation. (2 you can help cram the needless consumer shit down people’s throats- otherwise known as marketing. (3 you can wipe the asses of the money class as either servant service worker or counter of his money.

Our connectedness to what we eat is via overcrowded corporate feedlots, dingy slaughterhouses, DDT-glazed fields of genetically engineered crops, gas-guzzling trucking firms and polished Dupont-manufactured cellophane grocery store displays. If you have enough money you can shop at Mother Earth’s Gouge-arama Grocery, where you will develop a keen sense that none of these latte-sipping bozos ever ran any buffalo over cliffs. So we flounder in our makeshift material utopia, our realm of possibilities encapsulated within a cardboard box made at Rockefeller Paper Company.

Across Kapiolani Blvd. there is a park next to a pier where you can take a glass-bottomed boat tour to pester the fish for $100. Cars buzz to and fro’. An old man lays down his harmonica in favor of another swig of fermented resignation. The man beneath the torn blanket next to him doesn’t move a muscle. Beside their expropriated bench are two double-parked shopping carts containing all worldly possessions.

Further down the sidewalk lie two more bodies, then a whole fleet of shopping carts ostensibly obtained via a late-night raid at Safeway. Some contain aluminum cans, the currency of choice of these park-dwellers. Others hold plastic coverings for frequent rainy days, old couch cushions, mismatched pairs of dirty socks, glass bottles and mostly empty cigarette cartons. What others throw away, these messiahs survive upon- modern hunter gatherers with dignity intact, recycling the haste and waste of a morally bankrupt system. Throw away people surviving compliments of the throw away society, which they have decided to indeed throw away. I wonder if their lives are not more complete than most.

The old Hawaiian revs up his harp again, as if inspired by my thoughts. His melody is more powerful now. Suddenly he breaks into the old “from the halls of Montezuma” military tune just as an army chopper steals its way through the emerald green valley to the inland side. How strange and surreal that this man of zero means would remain so steadfastly patriotic and loyal to a system which has spit him out onto this Honolulu park bench, sucking his blood like a vampire to feed its material addiction.

The longer I observe these people, the less I pity them. What have they done but traded in their VCRs, their TVs and their appliances for freedom. No more bills, no more deadlines, no more Western subservience to time itself. In a sense they are liberated from the mass confusion created and reinforced daily by those playing by society’s rules.

Yes, Reagan and his Mafia Joes are cruel to them, but they are cruel to all who are not oligarchs. These homeless vagabonds have in one sense subverted the Reagan doctrine by rejecting the minimum wage management by dictatorship guilt-trip which makes most of us slaves. These hobos are the vanguard of the anarchist revolution.

Marxists simply attempt to reverse the flow of materialism from a rich ruling class to a proletariat poor ruling class. They still covet “stuff” and embrace the industrialization which provides the stuff. These dropouts turn the whole accumulation game on its head, rejecting power over others at any level. They revile power itself.

They are the definition of anarchy. They hang out in the park with family and friends- laughing, crying, shitting behind trees in the dark. They consume very little, contributing almost nothing to the industrial beast that pollutes and devours the planet. The are not to be pitied, but rather to be consulted as teachers who can lead us out of this economic cycle of violence which gnaws at our barely conscious souls.

Liberals would tell you that these people are victims with no choices; that they are sentenced to live in this park by racial bigotry, lack of social programs and the high cost of housing. These conditions do indeed exist, but this argument always seems to carry a condescending tone which disregards these people’s wisdom and abilities and the fact that many choose to live this way.

Conservatives, as usual, are just plain stupid regarding the homeless issue- citing alcoholism, mental illness and “the liberal media” to relieve their consciences of moral quagmire.

In the final analysis, no matter what social evil the liberals cite and no matter which psychological deviation the conservatives attempt to conjure up, most of the people in this park have simply come to the realization that the system which creates these political classes is rigged and that their lives are better off if they reject the whole enchilada. Hunting and gathering as they move about, regularly run off of private property, they are the persecuted anarchist nomads of our time.

A drunken old man stumbles onto the bench next to me and stretches out for a snooze. An afternoon shower quickly formulates, swooping down on the park in its typically sideways manner from windward side. As I reach into my bag for cover, the man under the torn blanket rises and goes to wake up the old drunk. “Uncle”, he hollers in a firm affectionate tone familiar to these streets, “lift your head up.” The old man complies. The younger one shoves a bag of old clothes under the old man’s head and covers him with his own blanket and a plastic sheet. “Ain’t nobody gonna’ bother you here. At least they better not.”

I am offered a job selling stereo speakers to unsuspecting bar owners around Oahu at twenty times their value. If I accept I can stay in the warmth of March Hawaii with a roof over my head, cruising the island in the company Astro van. What a life! Will I forsake revolutionary zeal for creature comforts?

Visions of watching Wrestlemania at some surfer bar on the North Shore with its rightful mafia owner make my decision an easy one. I fly to the Big Island instead and burn through my savings peering into volcanoes and enjoying the solitude and lack of tourists.

Back on Oahu, my plane leaves tomorrow morning for Los Angeles.

Dean Henderson is the author of five books: Big Oil & Their Bankers in the Persian Gulf: Four Horsemen, Eight Families & Their Global Intelligence, Narcotics & Terror Network, The Grateful Unrich: Revolution in 50 Countries,Das Kartell der Federal Reserve, Stickin’ it to the Matrix & The Federal Reserve Cartel.  You can subscribe free to his weekly Left Hook column @www.hendersonlefthook.wordpress.com

12 responses to “Homeless In Honolulu

  1. I wonder how long it’ll be before our government’s AIPAC/Synagogue masters tell them to eliminate all those “useless eaters”? Cops have been trained by Israel for several years, they’re mindless animals w/ military grade weps just waiting to do their bidding. When you begin reading of scores of the dispossessed spontaneously “disappearing”, don’t question it, they wouldn’t lie to us,…. would they?

    “The men the American people admire most extravagantly are the greatest liars; the men they detest most violently are those who try to tell them the truth.”

    – H.L. Mencken

  2. The author, Dean Henderson, has a very nice writing style. Whatever he might be describing, and whether or not you might be pro or con, his use of words seems to upstage the subject matter. A real wordsmith to say the least.

  3. Hi Dean, I love you and your writings and have learned a lot from you, but on a bit of this one I have to take exception. I live inside San Francisco’s huge invading army of homeless people, and have almost had to join them a few times myself. They probably are not all that different from Hawaii’s.

    Frankly, they are NOT the vanguard of the proletariat, anarchy personified, nor a return to ‘hunter gatherers’. Particularly not the thieves, con artists, hustlers, thugs and useless spare changers amongst them. It’s not really generalizing to see what they are. For whatever reason, including choice, they have shucked their responsibility to society, just like the rich have.

    The rich are easier to hate, and their damage is great, but there are fewer of them. The homeless wreck society in a different, cheaper, but no less caustic way. A gradual erosion and degradation of all public spaces. These homeless hordes, just like the rich, have left the burden and nearly futile heavy lifting to the rest of us stuck between scheming bankster thieves on high, and the lowly trash waiting for us around every corner.

    Thanks to banksters arranging the laws in their favor, we who are not yet homeless will be, but those we join will far more likely assault, rob and rape us, rather than lead us out of society’s quagmire. We are all like birds on the beach now, pecked at by high and low for any tiny morsel we get, and the majority of the homeless are just another pecking bird, while the future is more than likely the extinction of all birds. Meaning humans. As humanity is vanishing our bodies won’t be far behind. Sorry. Just my 2 cents.

    • Into the Light

      Both the article and this rebuttal are simply perfect….two facets of a complex reality.

      I can’t write like either the original Author or this commenter, but sit in awe of the truth inherent in both of them and their opulent writings.

      Beautiful, gutteral expression.

      Would read again! 😉

    • assault rob and rape you? they must see you as the enemy. i have more than “almost had to join” the homeless, i was homeless and slept on the beach in florida, eventually ending up in a homeless shelter and getting a job, and going on with my life. the people i spent my life with taught me SO much, from automotive repair to almost every other aspect of life. sure, there are some predators, but they are by far the exception rather than the norm. most chronic homeless i spent time with fell neatly into two categories, addicts and mental cases. most of the mental ones were harmless, but unable to function in normal society. same with the drunks. drug addicts are a different group, i generally avoided them. there is a feeling of being in it together with other homeless, we looked out for each other, helped each other get drunk, whatever. like any group of people, we developed bonds, and worked together to stay away from and protect ourselves from the robbers, the rapists, and the junkies. i could write a book and fill it with stories of the adventures i had. then i moved back to my hometown and hooked up with an old girlfriend and settled down. maybe its because i never really changed too much though, but i still feel totally comfortable among the homeless. i used to say we could “smell” money, and they must not smell any on me, hahaha! a few years back i was down in memphis for a music festival and found myself in a gas station parking lot where some black homeless folks were asking for change. i told them to hold on, went inside and got them some 40s, and one for myself, and they invited us into their, what i will call for lack of a better term, hobo jungle. this is where they lived and slept and enjoyed their alcohol after begging enough change. i knew what they wanted and they knew i was one of them, and i am generally fearless so me and the wife went back there with them instead of going to the concert, and spent a couple hours while they and their friends entertained us with stories of their adventures. when we were ready to go, one of the guys got in my face and was “asking” for ten dollars, i just laughed at him, and pulled out a $5 and told him to get a couple more 40s, and we were on our way, hahaha. that might sound stupid, but listen, its a lesson: the younger guy, the one who wants to sing you a song, he wants your money and he seems sort of scary, thats a good one to give your dollar to. he will keep the other ones away. he could probably assault rob or rape you, instead he is humbling himself to ask for your help. if youre parking your car on the street for any length of time, it might not be a bad idea to give him a $5 and ask him to keep an eye on it for you. when i did get a job flipping burgers, we would give a burger to the guy living in the dumpster from time to time, he would keep the other homeless out of the place and do odd jobs if we needed help.

  4. Great opening sentence!
    “another 65 degree night” sure caught my eye!

    Hopes this helps. Americana of the highest order.
    It’s all good; body, mind and soul.

    The Lord (and a lot of other folks ) helps those who help themselves. Good help.

    Stalking the Wild Asparagus

  5. Dean I disagree with your discription of only three kinds of jobs. I shipped out in the U.S. Merchant Marine for 13 years out of High School. I lost almost 1/3 of my wages in the Reagan years. The majority of my ships were crude oil tankers on the Valdez to Anacortes, Bay Area, L.A. area, or Porto Arrumurles. Seeing the writing on the wall in the late 80’s I got out and took my 1st and only shore side job, working in a Wastewater Plant. I feel I have done my part for the last 25 years by helping to clean the dirty water we would take in and putting out clean water. Even though I did not like the people I had to deal with I felt good about myself for doing something positive for the planet. I’ll agree there are a lot of jobs that do not exist anymore but there are still more choices than the three you have listed. I do enjoy your articles and would like to have the guts to take a chance and move out to the country like you and your wife have done.

  6. Emotional hyperbole.

    • Padraigin Eagle

      The Hyperbolic Frolic: The unreal doth tend to emphasise the real, so to say.

      As in, “Dean, a man from down south Africa way, is trying to solve a million issues here”, the emotion espied but a dying ember of once what was, of how it could have been, Afrikaners feel it best, the original earthy home of our James Dean, imagination, as always, our most powerful meme.

  7. I have never been homeless, but I have often been hungry. Can’t complain as in hard times, you make hard choices. What falls away wasn’t as important as you once thought. Somehow that makes life easier.

  8. I like to work. Also, I’m not lazy.

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