We happen upon him in the recess of a doorway on Queen Street where he occupies his own square metre of raggedy real estate: blanket, pillow and a foam mattress on which you can count the tide marks of a dozen recent rainfalls.
Two street team volunteers crouch down beside him and ask gently if there’s anything he needs; perhaps a fresh blanket and a sleeping-bag. They hand over a Christmas goodie bag in which he’ll find a hat, gloves, a hand-made selection box; some basic toiletries and a Christmas card with a hand-written message. The card is important. When the other gifts have out-lived their adequacy he might keep it close about his person as a sign that someone, somewhere had spared him a thought one Christmas.
For a few minutes he’s cheery, exchanging some rapid-fire, side-of-the mouth Glasgow banter with the street team, keen to convey a sense perhaps that he’s still got his wits about him; that he has a personality; that he counts. A volunteer notices that his winter jacket has become about as useful as a negligee in a snow-storm and offers him a new one. “Big man, that’s a better one than mine,” I tell him. “Are you looking for a swap,” he fires back. “What else are you offering? Maybe pop back round later when your mates have gone and we can sort something out.”
Yet, as we leave him he’s in tears and he struggles to mumble a thank you. This is not from self-pity or any sense of despair. He’s simply overcome by the kindness he’s been shown. He knows the people on this street team and what they’re about, but wasn’t expecting to see them this late on Christmas Eve bearing gifts for him.
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“It makes you realise how privileged you are when you see these people,” says Steph, one of my volunteer companions. “It puts all of your own little problems into perspective.”
She’s one of tonight’s seven-strong team formed by The Invisibles, a group of Glaswegians drawn to this work by what they regard as a call of duty. In their day jobs, most have engaged with the city’s rough sleepers and homeless and the insidious nexus of challenges that has driven them onto the streets. And so, each Sunday night they go out into the city centre to engage with the people who lie behind the analytics and spreadsheets.
“What else would I be doing on a Sunday night,” says Steph. “Probably stuffing myself in front of Netflix series. “This is the least I can do.”
The Invisibles was formed around 10 years ago and are well-named. They deal with the residents of a hidden metropolis visible only when the shop lights have been turned off and the rest of us have departed laden with our designer swag.
Tonight’s mission starts on St Andrews in the Square, just off the Trongate that forms the gateway to Glasgow’s east end. The group unload large bags which have been pre-packed with blankets, sleeping bags and mats. Others are stuffed with outer garments such as trackie bottoms and jackets, underwear and trainers. They’re all loaded onto several luggage trolleys, including one that will dispense cups of hot chocolate, soup and Bovril.
From there they embark on weekly tour of duty around the city centre: left on to Argyle Street and on to Ingram Street and Queen Street. Then they head for Royal Exchange Square and Buchanan Street, on up to the bus station and the multi-storey car park in the shadows of which a rough sleeper can secure a degree of shelter and security.
Until the introduction of Glasgow’s Low Emission Zone they could bring their van into the heart of the city. Now the closest they can take it is the edge of the High Street beyond Glasgow Cross. Thus, the LEZ zone revives the old barrier separating the city’s most deprived communities to the east from the retail outposts in the centre. If you don’t have a modern vehicle you won’t be welcome. Like much of the lucrative sustainability sector it’s selective about what they consider to be worth sustaining.
By the end of the night they’ll have called in on 24 rough sleepers and checked out a few more doorway pitches where bundles of discarded bedding cause concern among the group. On Bath Street, at the back of the barren BHS store, a soft hat full of coins has been left behind and so we hide it under an empty blanket so that it’s still there should his owner return. Why though, did he leave in a hurry?
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On Ingram Street we approach another young man who greets us from his little street grotto: blankets, pillows and a mattress that looks good for another few weeks. He insists he’s got all he needs, but is delighted at the festive goodie bag … and the cup of hot chocolate. More banter. He affects to check the label on a jacket he’s being offered.
“Just want to make sure it’s up to scratch,” he tells me. Next he feels the material on the fresh pillow slips. “I’ve got standards, by the way,” and he gives me an extravagant wink. “That boy is always smiling; nothing seems to get him down,” says Liam. “Plus, the people who live in the flats above always keep an eye on him and ensure he has decent bedding.”
Further along Ingram Street there’s another moment of black comedy. “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate,” asks a member of the street team. “Why would I want a hot chocolate,” he fires back. “The public toilets aren’t open on Christmas Day.”
The humour and stoicism belie the grim reality of their existence. None of the 24 souls we encounter on our journey have asked for assistance in obtaining shelter and a bed in some of the hostels and night-time shelters dotted around the margins of the city centre. “There’s a degree of security on the streets that can sometimes be lacking in the hostels,” says Liam. “These places are targeted by drug dealers and the people on the streets have often had bad experiences in them, ranging from rodent infestations and feeling threatened by other residents fighting their own traumas.”
A rudimentary street intelligence network has evolved among the various agencies who work to keep the rough sleepers safe. The Invisibles point to the work of the Simon Community who are out here during the rest of the week. They have medical equipment, training and expertise in helping some of these people access accommodation.
“We keep them informed about any new faces who might require their help and they sometimes ask us to keep an eye out for some of those who’d been giving them cause for concern during the week.” Last month, High Hill, deputy CEO of Simon Community Scotland, expressed concern at the increase in rough sleepers in Glasgow and Edinburgh, saying that their street teams were currently preventing more than 100 people having to sleep rough.”
On St Vincent Street outside one of the flashy drink emporiums we meet a man in obvious physical and mental distress. He’s a military veteran who alternates between gratitude for his gift bag and eloquent fury about his situation which has arisen from acute PTSD. He tells of having been physically and verbally abused; being urinated upon and having his belongings set alight.
“Is that for real,” I ask Liam. “Sadly, yes,” he replies. “But don’t ask me why. I simply can’t comprehend why anyone would want to do something like that.” The Christmas lights on George Square are less than 50 yards away from where he sits. They might as well belong to another planet.
The Invisibles and their sister agencies occupy a shifting, unspecified territory between the abject failure of government and public acceptance of homelessness and rough sleeping. There are few votes to be won here and what ambitious politician want to be pictured in a setting that indicates defeat?
Civic Scotland, it seems, is happier spending tens of millions on baubles and folderols that convey global wealth and influence: the Commonwealth Games; Cop26, the World Cycling Championships.
“If they were serious about addressing the blight of homelessness and rough sleeping,” says Liam, “they would make a serious financial investment in creating long-term residences with permanent, trained staff. Many of us are only a couple of bad breaks or a wrong choice from destitution. Some of those who prefer to judge the people on the streets soon stop when addiction, trauma and abuse come into the lives of their own families and friends.”
For more information about the work of The Invisibles please contact seetheinvisibles@gmail.com.
All donations of cash, clothes and bedding gratefully received.
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