Serving "the Other Man"

You can only protect your liberties in this world by protecting the other man's freedom. -Clarence Darrow

When I left the Colorado Public Defender's Office, my beloved colleagues gave me a plaque with this inscription, thanking me for my time defending "the other man." I think a lot about the other man, both in the legal context and outside of it, because that "other" is often the same. Minority. Poor. Mentally ill. The least of these brothers and sisters. I really believe that if I care, then my life should reflect it.

Recently, I served dinner to the Over-the-Rhine community at Nast Trinity Church with my bar association. Nast Trinity serves dinner to the OTR community every Sunday evening. I'll be honest: I was tired from traveling and dreading going, even though I knew it was for a good cause. When I walked up to the church steps, right outside of beautiful Washington Park, there were homeless men and women scattered in various doorways. One person was curled up under an archway sleeping. Just inside the doors, the kitchen and dining area awaited. 

The small group of volunteers set up tables, made lemonade from powder in huge coolers, put together salad, heated up food, and then we served about 200 people in three groups. Most of our diners ate silently, the majority of the noise coming from us, the volunteers, chatting with each other or asking if anyone wanted seconds. I thought about this, compared to when I go somewhere to eat and get served. I thought about what it would be like to go eat somewhere out of necessity and not necessarily out of pleasure. I thought about how I have no idea what it would be like to sleep on a church step, or to plan your meals around the time there is free food available somewhere. 

It felt right to serve, though I don't know if my being there meant anything to the people I served. It certainly meant something to me. It meant that the other work I do, either volunteering at places like the CityLink Center or through my career, no matter how little change it seems to bring at first, does mean something for anyone I am able to push forward just a little bit out of poverty. It also seemed right to be of service to those who would never be treated the same way I am when entering a store or restaurant, and perhaps in most other times in their day walk around as the "other"- the lesser. I suppose in the end, all I'm saying is, for those of us who are more fortunate, it does our souls good to remember those who are not, and to see them face to face.