\u201cMy name is Kleidson Oliveira Beserra. I spent almost six years on the streets, from 2005 to 2011.\u201d The presentation seems simple, but it carries a profound twist: for a long time, he wasn't even called by his name. \u201cI was only called Radiola. Radiola was an insignificant guy. Not Kleidson.\u201d The pejorative nickname came from a deficiency in his arm, which, due to its positioning, resembled the arm of a record player. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The street, he says, teaches. It teaches hardness. It teaches fear. But it also reveals gestures of unexpected humanity. \u201cPeople who can't afford anything are empathetic. They offer more than they have.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For almost six years, Kleidson lived between pavements, marquees and imposed silences. From the street, he brought marks, but also the idea that solidarity is born where you least expect it. In this conversation, he reconstructs his journey in his own voice; from shame to welcome, from the nickname he didn't choose to regaining his name.<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cNobody chooses to live on the street,\u201d he says. \u201cBut a series of wrong choices can lead you to rock bottom.\u201d During his time on the streets, he learnt to distinguish between two types of help: that which comes from the heart and that which comes with interest. \u201cThere's industrialised solidarity, which goes out into the street expecting a return. This dissipates public policy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Through her experience, she realised that listening is the true transformative resource. \u201cThe people who help the most are those who listen well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even though he needed care, he avoided going to the Psychosocial Care Centre (CAPS) in his neighbourhood: he was afraid of the label. \u201cThey said it was a place for crazy people, drug addicts.\u201d She sought care away from home and found the opposite of the stigma: welcome. \u201cI didn't use any substances for 30 days. That gave me strength.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n From then on, he began to replace addiction with something else: \u201cfreedom\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the midst of his helplessness, he also met his partner, Brenda, a young woman marked by violence and hopelessness. \u201cI was slowly committing suicide. So was she.\u201d The relationship emerged as a mutual survival pact. \u201cLooking after someone was the best thing that ever happened to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The two became stronger on the street and decided together to leave it. \u201cI didn't want her to go through what I went through. I decided to give her a roof over her head.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Today, life includes children and a routine that smells of belonging. \u201cI walk around smelling nice, tidy and clean. I have an identity. I'm a reference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kleidson is currently the organiser of the PopRua National School, an initiative of the Centre for Populations in Situations of Vulnerability and Mental Health in Primary Care (NUPOP\/Fiocruz). <\/p>\n\n\n\n The welcome he experienced in mental health marked his perception of change. \u201cThe individual has to want it. There is no miracle. But the support network sustains the process.\u201d The decision to leave required strong reasons. \u201cOne of the important factors was family. Another was to protect someone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The CAPS discussion groups also left an impression. \u201cThere's always someone defending the SUS, defending the Psychosocial Care Network (RAPS). It's exciting because it recognises professionals who really help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Among the most memorable episodes, Kleidson recalls the day he saved a little girl from drowning in Esp\u00edrito Santo. \u201cI held her by the chest and felt her heart beating fast and hard.\u201d He thinks about her to this day, imagining who she might have become.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kleidson has a precise diagnosis of PopRua's policy: it lacks continuity, listening and the presence of those who have lived on the streets. \u201cThey give the guy a packed lunch and leave him alone. There's no follow-up.\u201d The problem, he says, is exacerbated when third-party organisations operate without the participation of graduates. \u201cThey hire outsiders who have no empathy. The policy isn't effective.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n From this experience, he created, with his wife and other companions, the Instituto Pop Rua Brasil<\/strong>. \u201cThe first institution created by people born on the street. Everything came from experience. Now we have to wait for the CNPJ to start operating.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cToday I see things more clearly than before,\u201d she says. Looking at her own children (three), she rediscovers reasons to carry on. \u201cI wake up, kiss my little one (Mateus, pictured with him). Life is very good.\u201d The struggle is now collective: the defence of the rights of the homeless population and the strengthening of complete, not fragmented, policies. \u201cWe continue. We don't give up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This report is based entirely on the testimony given by Kleidson Oliveira. O Solidaritas<\/em> adopts practices of qualified listening, respect for narrative autonomy and an explicit commitment not to reproduce stigmas associated with the homeless population.<\/p>\n\n\n\n An account by Kleidson, a former homeless person, about solidarity, reception at CAPS and the creation of the Instituto Pop Rua Brasil to transform lives.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1093,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_themeisle_gutenberg_block_has_review":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[26],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1092","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-vozes-da-rua","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1092","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1092"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1092\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1100,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1092\/revisions\/1100"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1093"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1092"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1092"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solidaritas.blog\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1092"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}The street and what it taught us<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The stigma and the recovered name<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The meeting that turned into a new beginning<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
When care works<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Other memories that can't be lost<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Why public policies fail<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
What's next?<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nEthical note<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"