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Hospitality to the Homeless ˜ 125
tion, he brought a candle along with signs saying, “Letting the Light Shine for
Grady Hospital.” He walked and kept vigil all night in front of the jail and
greeted us when we were released the next morning.
The diverse and lively coalition that has formed around the Grady crisis is
a long-haul group of committed activists. We are working and planning together
with clear knowledge that we have a long road ahead. We look forward to learning
more about how this struggle has taken shape in other cities and regions.
And we hope to be part of a growing movement that will struggle not only to
guarantee decent health care for all God’s children, but for justice, housing, freedom,
and peace for every woman, man, and child.
Please help us cry out for Grady patients. No more clinic charges and copayments!
Nurture the public health. Support Grady Hospital.
Power, Privilege, and Privatization, by Murphy Davis
J u l y 1 9 9 9
Looking back over the years and at the political issues that have claimed my
attention, it occurs to me that some social, political, and economic forces will
simply not go away. They might go underground for a while, but not to die, to
be buried and forgotten. They rest and mutate before emerging again in another
guise.
Twenty-three years ago, I went to a small town in South Georgia for a trial.
I had traveled with several other folks, including a bright and enthusiastic Yale
law student. When we got out of the car and walked toward the courthouse, we
came to a chain-link fence surrounding a little, kudzu-covered building and an
open space. The law student, who had spent part of the previous week in town
helping with trial preparations, said, “You’ll never believe this! This used to be
the town swimming pool, and . . .” I interrupted to finish the sentence for him,
“. . . and somewhere between 1954 and 1960, the town council, fearing that the
pool would have to be integrated, closed the pool, filled it in, boarded up the
bathhouse, and abandoned it.”
The young man looked at me in astonishment. He knew that I had never
set foot in this little town. “How did you know that” “Because,” I said, “I grew
up in a Southern town.”
When I was in the seventh grade, our junior high school band practiced in a