When death on the street becomes normal, something is broken

A man died on a Portland sidewalk Sunday, sitting curled in the middle of the pavement, eyes closed, tinfoil clutched in his left hand, a small baggie in his right.

For hours, hundreds of people walked past his body. Most didn’t even glance down. Independent journalist Kevin Dahlgren finally stopped, checked for a pulse, and called 911. He waited an hour for someone to come collect the body. It’s the hundredth time he’s seen this year.

This is where we are.

We’ve trained ourselves not to look down at the bodies, the needles, the human wreckage on our sidewalks. We step around them on our way to work, to lunch, to home. We’ve gone numb because the alternative, actually seeing it, feels unbearable.

I understand the numbness, the anger, the exhaustion. The homelessness crisis has overwh