Homelessness Isn't Going Anywhere
But those who experience it deserve to exist somewhere
This Holiday season, we’re going to talk about encampments, sweeps, and especially how they collide in the Winter.
In solidarity with those experiencing this terror firsthand, I will donate all of December’s Paid Subscriber earnings to the Sanctuary Supply Depot in Minneapolis, which provides direct aid and life-saving supplies to encampments.
If you’ve been thinking about becoming a Paid subscriber, now is a great time to start!
On this, the longest night of the year, so close to Christmas, I was tempted to write something more “positive” than this. I suppose that is a tall order, given the subject I’ve committed to exploring this season. Nonetheless, it feels a bit dour to write a post about how bad things are this close to a season associated with hope.
But then I was listening to This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley (a masterpiece—maybe the best book I’ve ever read) in her chapter on lament and hope. And it reminded me that being honest about the state of things is an act of hope.
I’ll let her tell it:
“In lament, our task is never to convince someone of the brokenness of this world; it is to convince them of the world’s worth in the first place. True lament is not born from that trite sentiment that the world is bad but rather from a deep conviction that it is worthy of goodness.”
It’s into that context that I honestly reflect on the state of things as it pertains to homelessness. And things are not good.
When I first wrote my book in 2021-22, the signs were there. The cracks were showing in the progress we had made; the forces at work in our world that do harm to the most marginalized were licking their wounds and sharpening their swords. And in 2022 and 2023 we saw their retaliation: increased violence, criminalization, sweeps/raids, and a renewed commitment to a housing market that favors (and even subsidizes) the already-wealthy. The homelessness numbers have never been worse, the waiting lists have never been longer and, most despairingly, people are dying.
I remain as committed as ever to the belief that homelessness is solvable, and that we could end it in my lifetime. The state of things today is not inevitable, but manufactured; cities are making deliberate choices, in the face of irrefutable evidence, to enact policies that crush the poor for the sake of the rich. We could change course and see an immediate impact.
But it is not hard to read the tea-leaves and see we are not headed that way. Instead, we are on a trajectory toward more despair. The long arc may bend upward toward justice, but its incline feels especially imperceptible. The continued, intentional deferral will mean that many folks who deserve to live inside won’t get to, and their lives will be shorter and harder because of it.
And so we have to fight hard for their right to live, even if outside. We have to defend camps because if we won’t do what we know we need to, they will have to live somewhere and they deserve what dignity they can forge in the meantime. We have to abide the ways that their survival inconveniences us, infringes on our comfort. They deserve to survive more than we deserve whatever “good life” we’ve been told we earned. Because ultimately, true flourishing only happens if we cast our lots together.
I believe that it will get better, yes, after it gets worse for a while. And there are of course moments and movements worth celebrating. But tonight, the longest, darkest night of the year, I don’t want to give you a silver lining. I want to sit in the darkness as an act of hope.
Once more, a quote from Cole Arthur Riley in This Here Flesh:
“Lament is not anti-hope. It’s not even a stepping-stone to hope. Lament itself is a form of hope. It’s an innate awareness that what is should not be. As if something is written on our hearts that tells us exactly what we are meant for, and whenever confronted with something contrary to this, we experience a crumbling. And in the rubble, we say, God, you promised.”
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it. At least, that’s what God promised. I believe! …Lord, help my unbelief.
Merry Christmas to all.
I'm knee-deep in books already, Kevin. And here you go, recommending a book I've held out on purchasing all of 2023. But when you say it's possibly the best book you've ever read? Purchased. I read Chasing the Scream on your recommendation, and it was riveting. Thanks. Happy holidays, friend. Grateful to have you as a guiding light in this work.