Enlarge Kris Van Riper of Crisis Assistance Ministry played the "employer" for Tuesday's Poverty Simulation.

Posted: June 9th, 2011 Greg Lacour

Deena Scott approached the table where Laura Marett sat, playing the role of a government agency Scott needed to see for money.

“Where’s the unemployment office,” Scott asked, “so I can pick up my money?”

“There is no unemployment office.”

“No, see,” Scott said, pointing to a laminated sheet she carried, “I’m getting unemployment benefits, $350 a week.”

“Oh.” Marett glanced at the sheet. “They’ve run out.”

“Oh,” Scott said, frowning. She trudged away.

Scott’s role was “Ben Boling, age 42,” a fictional poor person struggling to secure what he needed to live as part of a Crisis Assistance Ministry Poverty Simulation. It’s a guided experience, born from a Missouri nonprofit’s idea, that assigns a large group identities, money and circumstances typical of people living below the poverty line and forces them to try to make their way through life in four 15-minute “weeks.”

Crisis Assistance has hosted poverty simulations as its Crossroads initiative since 2007, averaging about three per month at churches, businesses, clubs and nonprofits. Marett, the agency’s advocacy coordinator, said they’re Crisis Assistance’s primary advocacy tool, with one main goal: “To sensitize all of us to what poverty feels like.” Unlike most simulations, this one – held Tuesday at Covenant Presbyterian Church on East Morehead Street – was publicized and open to the community; about 35 people, many of them college student interns from Duke and Davidson, took part.

“We’re hoping to plant a seed and provide an experience, and what they do next is up to them,” Marett said. “There’ve been times I’ve seen when people were moved to tears. Teachers have shared stories about students who before were acting out in class but now have a better understanding of what poor students go through. It’s the kind of experience we hope people can personalize and take out of this room.”

Participants were divided into seven “families.” Some people were adults, some children. Arranged around the fellowship hall were eight “institutions,” including a quick-cash outlet, pawn shop, place of employment, DSS and the “U-Trust-Us National Bank,” which volunteer Denise Bellamy admitted afterward shortchanged every applicant. The breadwinners had to navigate the maze of agencies, provide child care and oversight, hold down jobs, buy food and pay the rent or mortgage – all while hoarding and often exhausting their supply of precious bus passes, without which none of the rest was possible.

By “Week Three,” five of the seven families had been evicted from their homes. Some participants laughed at their misfortune, but Marett quickly brought them back to reality: “Please keep in mind, we’re not making fun of poverty. Everyone you’re playing is based on a real person.”

Roberto Olivares, a 20-year-old public policy major at Duke, was one of eight members of the university’s DukeEngage community program who took part in the simulation. He said he’d never fully grasped the burden poverty can force on someone.

“I had no idea about the emotional pressures of knowing you have to care for people in your house, children, a spouse,” said Olivares, who played a 39-year-old mother of three. “It just kind of overwhelmed me, especially at first.” It was, he added, “an eye-opening experience.” 

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