(Photo by Levi Meir Clancy / Unsplash+)
When community supervision in Benton County, Oregon enforced homelessness on me, I had two choices: Invest in a tent, car, RV, old school bus, etc., or rent a motel room until my money ran out.
My options for motels were limited to The Rodeway Inn or the Super 8, both within easy walking distance of parole and probation and in my price range. The Super 8 manager quoted me a decent weekly rate, so for the next 17 months of my “community supervision,” I stayed there primarily until I survived probation and parole.
Luckily, I had money and the ability to generate some income, despite my parole officer denying every job application I tried to submit (save one temporary one) the entire time I was on her caseload. If I had run out of money at any point, I would have ended up sleeping directly outside. There are very few shelters that admit registered sex offenders, certainly none in Benton County. The transition center, which was never made available to me, is an extension of the county jail.
My only other option, penniless, would have been sleeping outside on the waterfront. And thanks to the Supreme Court’s ruling in favor of a camping ban in Grants Pass, Oregon, local governments now hold the power to criminalize that last resort, too.
Recent research regarding pre-trial detention shows how even spending one day in jail can increase a person’s likelihood of spending further time in jail in the future. It is easy to see how this makes sense when cities like Grants Pass criminalize poverty and being unhoused, even when they do not have the shelter bed capacity to meet the unhoused population. However, what is truly troubling is how this criminalization is embraced by both sides of the political aisle.
From California Democratic governor Gavin Newsom to Oregon House Republican leader Jeff Helfrich, I have seen the recent Supreme Court ruling allowing for the criminalization of poverty and homelessness described as “common sense.” It is dishonest, and cruel. But unfortunately, like Justice Neil Gorsuch wrote for the majority, it is not unusual.
In his 2005 book “But They All Come Back,” Jeremy Travis writes of the intersection between homelessness and the criminal justice system, “Only rarely do practitioners operating in these systems fully grasp the connection between homelessness and involvement with the criminal justice system.” Though his book is almost 20 years old, it is telling that the same disconnect is evident today. This fundamental and deliberate negligence is a chronic problem.
Individuals with criminal records, like myself, are shown in some studies to be 12 times more likely to experience homelessness. Because of housing discrimination, laws against where certain offenders can live, diminished earning capacity, and punitive-minded parole officers, people in the criminal system are increasingly likely to remain in the system in some perverse jail-to-homeless infinite loop.
We are, as Travis writes, “a subpopulation that experiences two revolving doors — one that leads in and out of prison, and one that leads in and out of homeless shelters.”
This loop doesn’t just exclusively apply to individuals with criminal records. As many as two-thirds of homeless individuals are also living with some sort of mental health condition, the majority of which goes untreated due to the severe shortage of mental health providers and the cost of healthcare.
The visibility of unhoused individuals in this country has increased, as has the rate of mental illness within that population, as homelessness is shown to create severe psychiatric distress. One does not have to be trained as a psychiatrist to see this causation: It is common sense that having an unstable living situation would create mental unbalance. Using jail as a solution for a mental health condition is extremely cruel, dangerous and completely ineffective, yet it persists.
I can attest firsthand how mentally draining and anxiety-inducing being unhoused is. Every week, I struggled to afford my motel room and was wrapped up in the anxiety of what I would do if I ran out of money. There was at least one night every two weeks when I was so wrapped up in anxiety that I could not sleep; I stayed up all night frantically thinking of new ways to make money and still abide by my probation and parole conditions.
These infinite loops between mental illness, the carceral system and homelessness must not be upheld by our elected officials, who are charged with protecting our wellbeing and our rights. It is a sham and a shame.
In Danielle Sered’s “Until We Reckon,” the restorative justice leader articulates how America’s criminal justice system is the only institution that prescribes a remedy – incarceration – that has not only been shown to be ineffective but is proven to accelerate crime and homelessness. To punish poverty and homelessness by incarceration is a common response by authorities, even if it is a completely nonsensical one.
Because there are alternatives.
Even crude alternatives, like the solution I found of living in a motel room for 17 months, would be cheaper for tax-payers than the costly default: a jail bed. Whether through motel vouchers or something more permanent, a housing-first approach has proven more effective and less expensive than our continued reliance on punitive measures like fines and incarceration. It is also safer, as jails, shelters and sleeping outside can become incredibly dangerous and violent. Individuals should be free to choose the safest alternative for them.
I want to see our elected officials have the courage to say this. To be brave enough to tell the truth. Most people would prefer to live in a society where the elected officials and government bodies use their pulpit and our coffers responsibly. The criminal justice system claims to be about accountability, yet that accountability is asymmetric. It only extends to one side — the side labeled criminal.
Recognizing this is essential so we can start building safer, more equitable communities; as Sered writes, “the first element of accountability begins with truth-telling.” Instead, we get the same tired political cycle of gaslighting us that criminalizing being unhoused is common sense.
Using the most expensive, ineffective and inhumane tool in our toolbox — jail — to cover for our mental health treatment deficiencies, economic inequality, housing unaffordability and the very failings of the criminal justice system itself is not common sense. It is stupidity. Common stupidity.