Nanati Fetene

Physically present, and socially distanced, just for sake of the covid guidelines, the mostly African American crowd lined up by the gym entrance where the cherry blossoms were pouring their leaves blushing over our faces. Their eyes narrated the exhaustion from all the news of deaths, loss, and regularly changing regulations. Yet their shared culture, values and experiences seemed to surpass their prostrations. It seemed to bond them emotionally. They were certainly ready to just get things done for their own, their family, their community, and country, even if it meant having a nudge on the unhealed wounds for the Black Indigenous People Of Color (BIPOC) in the Northeast Portland area when it comes to vaccines. Hoping that this time, they aren’t being tricked by the well known and approved “health care” proclaiming organizations into getting syphilis that affect their health, but an actual vaccine that builds their resistance to the pandemic. Hoping that the fact that they’re getting the vaccine through their local Self Enhancement Inc.(SEI), their very own local organization might have a better outcome than a government agency they heard about from afar..

Catherine Zhu

On a gloomy overcast Monday afternoon when the sunless cloudy sky still somehow made me squint, I drove to downtown Portland. I wasn’t heading for the delicious trademark food trucks, or the playful, people packed Pioneer Courthouse, or even the cute boutiques and luxurious shopping malls. No, I was heading towards an interview with a woman working to help sex workers and victims of sex trafficing. On the drive, I was having second thoughts, wondering if the building would be run down, shady, and unmanaged, except for a woman who’d be dressed in poor donated clothing, probably covered in tattoos. These aren’t stereotypes I’m proud of, but they are images I relied on given I had no prior contacts and education, much less conversations, with those in this mysterious industry. Walking to their building, I passed a homeless man on the sidewalk with a tangled gray bird nest of hair. He was holding a ragged, fraying brown blanket to his chest and dragging his feet, unsure of his destination. I remember feeling afraid, running past without meeting his eyes, and regretting letting my Dad drop me off so far from the building. 

Nico Johnson

Despite having frequented the restaurant prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, I walk up to the building feeling anxious. I grasp the cool bronze of the door handle and shudder a bit when I realize it is the kind of metal that leaves a nauseatingly sour scent on your hands. Four sheets of paper taped to the inside of the window welcome me––one instructing to maintain six feet of distance between customers, another reading “Thank you for supporting Sho!” and making me smile. Inside, I follow the scuffed blue arrows on the ground that remind me of how long we have been living with this blasted virus. Eventually, I stop behind a sign instructing me to wait to be seated. Ahead of me is a woman in black sweatpants and a black sweater staring down at her phone, surely perplexed by the kid who just walked in with a cherry red binder, two pencils, and the nub of a pink eraser that desperately needs replacing.

Harrison Copp

Sri Lanka, 2015 – Peter Singer had just sold $18,000 worth of stamps. The buyer, a prominent Imam, was an eager collector and longtime customer who had been picking off stamps – mosques of the world and landmarks of Sri Lanka – from Singer’s collection. The customer had supposedly paid in full – four separate installments over the course of a couple weeks. But Singer had received nothing. One of their emails was hacked, and the sum had been sent elsewhere.

Frances McConnell

Molly Pringle’s path to Executive Director of Portland Street Medicine is closely tied to her past work in domestic abuse, which has long since been an issue in the United States. According to the CDC, “nearly 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have experienced severe physical violence by an intimate partner during their lifetime” (CDC). What’s often overlooked, however, is the intimate relationship between domestic abuse and houselessness. It’s estimated that approximately 80% of houseless women with children have experienced domestic violence; the ACLU states that advocates have known for years that “the connection between domestic violence and homelessness and suggest ways to end the cycle in which violence against women leads to life on the streets” (ACLU). Pringle began her work at Portland Street Medicine in October of 2019; previously, she had done work at Call to Safety, a crisis hotline for domestic abuse. “One of the top causes of homelessness for women is domestic violence and fleeing an abusive relationship,” she told me, citing this relationship as the reason for her interest in PSM.