Catherine McAuley Center hosts revamped poverty simulation

MARION — Imagine a game simulating the pitfalls of society — one where cash is exchanged for obligations, trades are made, salaries are collected and penalties are imposed.

In this game, the stakes are higher than landing on the “Luxury Tax” space or an opponent’s built-up property in Monopoly. In this simulation, running out of colorful fake money can mean you go hungry, become homeless, lose the transportation vital to your work or lose your children to the state.

For a few dozen participants at St. Mark’s Lutheran Church in Marion last weekend, those were the outcomes for several people navigating the Catherine McAuley Center’s poverty simulation — an activity designed to replicate the Catch-22s lurking at every corner of society for those with little money and social capital.

For 9.7 percent of Linn County, it’s not a game that ends after two hours — it’s real life.

How it works

“Really we’re looking at giving people an idea of some of the situations they might face if they’re living in poverty,” said Bailey Wilson, women’s services program specialist for the Catherine McAuley Center who helped revamp the game.

A packet with some cash and means of transportation for each player describes their family, how much income they earn, their rent and other limitations.

Through four timed rounds, each one representing a week, families have to complete their necessary tasks each week — paying rent at the landlord’s office, paying their utilities, getting groceries, taking their children to day care, picking up their paycheck, and securing transportation

The simulation, which the center has hosted in previous years, has not been done since 2019. In previous versions, when participants ran out of money, the game ended and they could start over.

This year, with new elements like transportation, participants faced consequences if they couldn’t complete all of their life necessities in time.

Additional stations, like a food pantry and assistance office, were strategically located out of direct view from most participants to imitate the difficulties of navigating resources and finding help.

Playing the game

Immediately in week one, lines started forming, and it became apparent just how precious time was to complete their tasks.

“How did you get here?” each person manning stations asks participants, strictly enforcing their means of transportation.

At the “Chance” station, unexpected wrenches are thrown into the gears of life — some good, but most bad.

Children coming home with head lice costs some parents $10 for the right shampoo. Children having growth spurts costs other parents $70 for new clothes. If your child comes home wanting to play sports, you must pay $50 — or simply tell them “no.”

Some come with emotional costs. Can’t afford to wash your clothes? Just wear dirty clothes, then. Can’t afford to make a dish for the dinner you were invited to? If you’re short on cash, just show up empty-handed and disappoint your hosts.

Others ran into expenses not detailed in their packets: $200 for a dental emergency, $300 in lost wages after contracting COVID-19 or $1,000 for car repairs, for example.

Quickly, they realized just how expensive it is to live in poverty. Even for those with the means to swing their regular expenses, like many real-life working families living near the edge of poverty, it became apparent just how easily life could be derailed by an unexpected expense.

Before long, players who became aware of the unannounced assistance stations were getting cash to hold them over just long enough so they could sell their cars — their main means of completing daily tasks — and finish the round successfully. Some started bartering — a scrappiness that mirrors the resilience many develop in poverty.

“There’s unwritten rules to this game, and that’s the tricky part. There are ways you can get by, but nobody’s out there telling you,” said Katie Splean, volunteer and outreach manager for the Catherine McAuley Center. “You’ve got to figure out how to be your own advocate. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

Some took advantage of their social network, begging for rent money. One lent money to a friend who couldn’t repay it as expected, straining their relationship.

Others with some spare cash took pity on the person struggling next to them in line, offering assistance. Deb Vos of Cedar Rapids, who was offered $200 from a stranger, was brought to tears even by the imaginary prospect.

“We need community to survive,” she said, realizing the need to step up and help each other.

By the end of the second round, people’s utilities were close to being shut off, cars were lost due to lack of car payments or insurance payments, and children were taken by the Department of Health and Human Services from parents who couldn’t pay their child care or buy enough groceries to feed their family.

In the third round, some became homeless — a new element added to the simulation this year, as Linn County’s unsheltered homeless rate hit a new high.

“It’s surprising to me how fast it happened,” said Alice Murray of Cedar Rapids, after she lost her housing in the simulation.

Between losing wages while out sick with COVID-19 and paying her car insurance, she couldn’t make her rent. She rushed over to the landlord’s office to pay rent right after getting paid, but it was too late.

Feeling defeated, the experience transported her to days when she survived with her husband on cheap frozen pizzas. Since the pandemic started, she’s had COVID-19 twice, but was fortunate enough to have a job where she could recover without losing wages.

She was anxious about how she would finish the game, with a car repair scheduled for her in the next round.

Even for those making it by each round, the limitations of the simulation instilled real life realities about living in poverty.

Many could walk between their tasks in the large room for this simulation, but walking everywhere in real life takes hours and expends valuable energy. Going to the assistance office during business hours means missing work. Purchasing a bus ticket to get to the food pantry, only to have to still go to the grocery store to supplement what you receive, is a drain on one’s time and one’s budget.

“I think of Monopoly, where the rich get richer,” Wilson said. “We’re playing a game where the poor get poorer.”

Real life challenges she sees with mental health care access, substance use and domestic violence adding layers the simulation can’t replicate, she said.

Why it matters

Like most of the Catherine McAuley Center’s outreach events, building a community of allies is the goal.

“We want to gain better awareness about the barriers that populations we serve face,” said Splean. “Maybe it doesn’t affect you directly, but you think about how it might affect neighbors in your community.”

With new legislation this year aiming to further restrict access to programs like SNAP (formerly known as food stamps,) Splean said the context gained from going through the conflicting challenges in the simulation can inform communities of the consequences of new bills they hear about in the news from their elected representatives.

By gaining understanding, the simulation can instill a sense of empathy that can be invaluable in bonding communities together for success.

Comments: (319) 398-8340; elijah.decious@thegazette.com