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SALT LAKE CITY — A group of people filled the room at the training bureau of the Juvenile Justice Services. We were strangers who came together to gain empathy.
In real life: staff and volunteers helping youth offenders. But on that day we were the Chen family who came upon hard times.
A counselor at the Weber Valley Juvenile Detention Center played my 16-year-old sister who was pregnant. "She's due in two months," Jennifer Nelson said. Mark Strebel, a CPA with JJS, was my 10-year-old brother who had to watch me. I was "Chad," age 8, a grade-schooler. "Mom," a volunteer at the Decker Lake Youth Center, had gone back to work full-time as a receptionist.
A counselor at the Juvenile Detention Center pretended he was "Dad," a computer programmer who just lost his job of 20 years. "I'm trying to get food stamps. I'm trying to look for work," said Kyle Bullock.
For the simulation called "Bridges out of Poverty," we had a tight budget with bills to pay. Every 15 minutes represented a week of living in poverty. The idea is that staff and volunteers can't truly help youth offenders and their families unless they understand where they're coming from.
The horn sounded, and Mom went to "work," we kids walked to "school," (other rooms at the JJS) and thieves robbed our home (a grouping of chairs). On top of that, after paying utilities, Mom was out of money with more bills to pay. "I had to pawn the camera to get a bus pass to go to work," Peck said.
Staffers represented pawn shop workers, Social Security professionals and other service providers placed around the room.
Dad worked odd jobs to make ends meet. "I need to get our Social Security benefits at the Social Security office, and I think I have a job at the grocery store this week," Bullock said.
Meanwhile, Mom kept trying to find a way to get bus passes though she had no money left.
Though it was a simulation, the feelings were real and the lessons profound. "It got real real quick," Bullock said. "Now I'm starting to get desperate. I've been running around town just to keep my family afloat, you know. I'm not lazy."
And then a staff member turned over our chairs, evicting us because we hadn't paid our mortgage.
"I felt like a failure because as a father you want to give your kids what you didn't have growing up and I couldn't provide anything," Bullock said.
For me, coming home from "school" to find we had no home was terrifying. But the eye-opening experience is a reality for hundreds of thousands of Utahns. According to the U.S. Census, there's a higher percentage of poverty in rural counties in the state when compared to urban counties. That's because they lack resources like housing, jobs and education.
The JJS hopes to break down stereotypes and create greater understanding through the training. "The idea is to put each other in these situations where we have to make these moral decisions," said Paul Putnam, with the Training Bureau of the JJS.
Peck said the experience was more emotional than she had expected. "Good people are working every day as hard as they can. I was going to work and doing all I could and still there wasn't enough hours in the day."
The most surprising part for me was how stressful poverty is on children. Watching parents who are physically and emotionally absent would be scary. But that's how more than 12 percent of Utah children live. Over 120,000 kids live in poverty, according to Voices for Utah Children. I could see why many of them act out or withdraw.
All staff and volunteers at the JJS go through the poverty simulator at least once, some choose to do it more often, so they can better understand the youths they work with and their families.
