Excerpt From the transcript of the On Being show in which Krista Tippett interviewed Michel Martin:
MS. MARTIN: What we are simply saying is, I see you. I mean, I know for example when — you know, when I was working for “Nightline,” and I went to Turkey after there was a terrible earthquake there, and like, you know, thousands of people were killed. And I was feeling really useless. Um, thinking, boy I wish I were a doctor. I wish I were a structural engineer. I wish I could do something more useful. But then people would come up to me and say, thank you for being here. And I would feel, like, wow, why are thanking me? And then I thought — and I called my — you know what we do at a time like this. You know, I called my husband, because [laughs] I really feel like so useless. What am I doing here? And he said, you are showing them that they exist. And I appreciated that, because I’ve held onto that. It’s like sometimes the best thing we can do for people is let them know that we see them.
MS. TIPPETT: Mm-hmm.
MS. MARTIN: And so sometimes, you know, other people’s bad news is, you know, their lifeline, and letting them be understood. In fact, this was the very first story I did when I was at The Post as a little baby reporter at The Washington Post, and I was sent out on the summer — it was one of those terrible stories that you hate to do because some little boy had fallen out the window of the projects.
MS. TIPPETT: Yeah.
MS. MARTIN: And I had to knock on the woman’s door to get a comment from her. And I kid you not, I walked around the block three times before I mustered the courage to knock on her door, because I knew I had to. And I felt like, you know, and I knocked on the door. And she — and I said, I’m so sorry, I heard about your son, I came to see if there was any — a comment that you had. And she said, where have you been? Because she felt that if someone from the media didn’t come, then this was invisible and it had no meaning. And she had things she wanted to say, like why weren’t there any safety screens on the windows, which there were supposed to be. So, I bring that up to say a lot of times, what sometimes what middle class people see as intrusion, other people with no power see as validating their existence.
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This part of the conversation was so meaningful to me, particularly a day after sitting with my clients in their "I hate this place!" rage, fear, anxiety, uncertainty. Literally, from the first session to the last, I heard some variation on this experience of powerlessness. In the first cottage, one of the women was screaming about how much she "hates this place!" The person I actually went to pick up for her session was having a rough time of things, and I found myself feeling quite lost and powerless to be of much help to her. The person I worked with in the afternoon was clear in his wish that I would take him away, because he indicated a wish to leave the session space for a while and he directed me straight to one of the vans sitting in the parking lot.
My last session was with a challenging group of men who live in an untenable situation- stuck in a room, all day long, dependent on whoever was coming in to support them, and angry, frustrated, powerless. One of the men, the youngest in the group at only 31, yelled and yelled and yelled, as he often does, but this time, even though he doesn't use words to speak, I distinctly heard, through his yelling, the words "I HATE THIS PLACE!! I HATE THIS PLACE!!"
Our session had begun with one of the guys being pushed back into the room by his annoyed staff person. I knew he preferred not to be with us, and I had encouraged him to go and be in the other area, so instead of taking off his shoes, his shirt, his pants and grabbing at me, he kindly got up and walked toward the door. His staff person pushed him back in, because, she said, "he keeps going and leaving the day area and eloping, and we are so short-staffed, I can't watch him and all these other guys as well, so he's going to have to stay in here! Everyone gets frustrated that there aren't any staff, and then they call off!" She, too, was in an awful situation.
It was hard to know what to offer the men, musically, that could even come close to supporting them. All I could do was acknowledge it and let them know, "I hear you, and, yes, it is very hard to live here, and right now it's also very hard to work here. And I hear you saying you hate this place, and I'm sorry you're feeling so disrespected."
And so, as I felt as if absolutely nothing I could do would be of any help to the guys, one of the most poignant moments was when the young man who was screaming came over to me, after four times, handing me my guitar case and seemingly letting me know he wanted me to leave, picked up a brush that was sitting on the table, and he handed it to me. I was holding my guitar, and I thought, "Whaaaa?" Until he pulled my hand to his head, and he kept a hold on me as he slowly had me brush his hair.
So, Michel Martin, thank you for reminding me that what I do have to offer my clients is "show them that they exist."
