"They told me we couldn't be here," says Eric Wirkman. "We were informed that if we served again, further action would be taken."

Someone in the Pioneer Square neighborhood had called the cops on Wirkman's charity group, Food Not Bombs. The incident set off a wave of leftist indignation. It's not a crime to feed the poor, the activists assert. They will be ready for the next Sunday, post-WTO style.

The incident and its outcome, however, is not about cops vs. charities. Instead, it harbors two revealing lessons. First, sometimes the most well-intentioned people have god-awful communication skills. Second, poverty can be a far more complicated thing than some activists want to let on.

Food Not Bombs (FNB) has been serving food in Occidental Park for years. Police have told them on and off over the years to change their location to the Public Safety Building at the intersection of Fourth and James. A few years ago, FNB complied. But the feeding area didn't serve their political purposes. Serving the homeless behind a wall at Fourth and James would hide the homeless problem from everyone. Seattle just wants to sweep these problem under the rug, they say, and FNB has no intention of letting that happen.

For Pioneer Square residents and property owners, the issue isn't as simple as FNB makes it. David Brunner, a Pioneer Square property owner, is the de facto spokesman for the neighborhood. Brunner notes that there are four major shelters in the area, including the Compass Center and the Union Gospel Mission. "There are so many feeding programs down here," Brunner says. "Just one more that increases the chances for rats and pigeons in the park is really not what we need."

More importantly, Brunner says, "We need to look at methods of working together to treat poverty." He poses some serious questions. Does FNB have ways to link the mentally ill with a service provider? Can they identify someone with a drug addiction? The neighborhood group has a committee made up of social service agencies, local businesses, and city and county officials. Has FNB ever approached the committee to try to integrate efforts to fight poverty intelligently?

The problem, according to Brunner, is that organizations like FNB, along with countless church groups and other charities, come to Pioneer Square, feed the homeless like they're pigeons, then go home and feel good about themselves. Brunner hopes that FNB returns to serving the poor at Fourth and James. There, at least, the homeless people are allowed the dignity to wash their hands before eating. There is no running water in Occidental Park.

The showdown on Sunday, January 23 comes faster than expected. It's 5:40 p.m. and about 50 homeless people cram the park. Just before FNB arrives, another charity group finishes handing out food. "God's Meals on Wheels," which is basically three women in a gold mini-van, pass out McDonald's hamburgers and religious tracts. Then they praise Jesus and leave.

Food Not Bombs comes armed with decent food: veggie stir fry, soup, mashed potatoes, and brown rice. The servers get to work setting up tables. The post-WTO protesters, expecting the cops, create a scene. They unfurl banners and hold up signs. One Woody Guthrie wannabe sings protest songs about tractors, cops, and the underclass. The people clap and feel pretty good about themselves. Two legal observers for the National Lawyers Guild are there making sure the cops (who prowl by in one squad car) don't harass FNB's efforts to feed the poor.

The homeless, skittish of all these strange people, grab their food and disappear. When things are more toned down, they tend to hang out and mingle with the food servers. Now they vacate the park as if it were on fire.

The cops never set foot in the park. Instead, Brunner wanders in. A tall, broad man with gray hair, he stands outside the FNB group for a while, talking to another Pioneer Square resident, who is out walking his Tibetan terrier.

Finally, Wirkman and FNB member Chris Flanagan meet Brunner. They shake hands and exchange hesitant words.

No, Flanagan concedes, they don't have an up-to-date list of phone numbers of other service agencies available for the homeless people. Yes, Flanagan says, they would be interested in talking to the neighborhood's social-service committee.

"I don't think the police are going to show up tonight," Brunner says optimistically. No, probably not, Flanagan agrees.

It is a landmark day. After years of bitching behind each other's backs, the two sides finally have a conversation. "I'm kind of positive," Flanagan says. "We'll see. Our goals are to stay there and to keep doing what we're doing."