But this may be my most heart-felt, urgent post of all, as I am increasingly convinced that the most consequential homelessness work is no longer happening on the street.

It is happening several thousand feet above us.

A well-funded conservative policy network is developing a new philosophy of homelessness, translating that philosophy into model legislation, carrying those ideas into statehouses, and finding increasingly receptive partners in the federal government. What initially looked like scattered political frustration with homelessness is beginning to look much more coordinated.

And local communities need to understand what is being built before they inherit it.

Follow the architecture, not the rhetoric

The organization I believe deserves far more collective understanding is the Cicero Institute, founded by billionaire technology investor Joe Lonsdale, a co-founder of Palantir. Cicero describes itself as a nonpartisan public-policy organization, but its homelessness agenda represents a dramatic departure from the Housing First philosophy that has shaped federal homelessness policy for years. It advocates prohibitions on unauthorized street camping, greater use of sanctioned camping and transitional environments, changes to civil-commitment laws, and redirecting homelessness funding away from permanent housing programs that do not require treatment or sobriety.

As politicos know, there is nothing inherently sinister about a think tank proposing legislation. Think tanks across the political spectrum have done that forever.

The Cicero Foundation and it's policy institute is another story and what matters most is what happens next.

A January 2026 Truthout investigation describes Cicero Action, the organization's advocacy arm, working with lawmakers around the country to advance legislation based upon these ideas. It documents a network seeking to move homelessness policy away from Housing First and toward enforcement, mandated treatment and institutional responses.

Mother Jones has separately examined Lonsdale, Cicero and the growing political influence of a group of wealthy technology figures who increasingly see government itself as something that can be redesigned through the same engineering mentality Silicon Valley applies to companies and software.

That is the part of this story that both fascinates and frightens me.

People experiencing homelessness are particularly vulnerable subjects for technocratic experimentation because they possess almost none of the organized political power normally required to resist it. They generally do not have lobbyists or make significant campaign contributions. With significant barriers to access, many don't vote. Some cannot reliably appear at a legislative hearing at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday. Decisions about their lives can therefore be made in hearing rooms and policy shops they will never enter, by people they will never meet.

And increasingly, the proposed future follows a recognizable sequence: make sleeping in unauthorized public places illegal, expand the authority of government to compel treatment, replace some long-term permanent housing with temporary or congregate environments, tie public resources more closely to behavioral compliance, and use the criminal justice system as the mechanism that moves people from the street into those systems.

Then call it compassion.

Lousiana’s compliance to these new “rules” should scare us all

If you want to understand why I am writing this now, look at Louisiana.

House Bill 211, which passed the Louisiana House 70-28, would make unauthorized public sleeping punishable by as much as six months in jail and a $500 fine. Subsequent offenses could bring one to two years imprisonment with hard labor and a $1,000 fine. The proposal also creates a path in which defendants can enter mandatory rehabilitation for at least twelve months rather than incarceration. According to reporting on the bill, those unable to pay for treatment could be required to perform unpaid labor toward its cost.

I want Oregonians to sit with that for a moment without immediately retreating into partisan camps.

A person has nowhere private to sleep. Government criminalizes where they sleep, turning an unavoidable consequence of their homelessness into a criminal offense. That offense then gives the state greater authority over their body and their choices. They may face incarceration or mandatory rehabilitation, and under the Louisiana proposal, inability to pay for that rehabilitation could result in unpaid labor.

At what point in that progression are we allowed to ask what, exactly, we are constructing?

I use words like indentured servitude cautiously because history deserves precision. What Louisiana is proposing is not the historical legal institution of indenture. But when homelessness can produce a criminal offense, that offense can lead to compulsory rehabilitation, and poverty can leave someone performing unpaid labor toward the cost of that compulsory rehabilitation, Americans have every right to become profoundly uncomfortable.

We should be asking these questions before such a model becomes ordinary, not afterward.

This isn't really about whether treatment is good

That is the rhetorical trap I hope Oregon avoids.

Of course treatment is good. I have watched addiction destroy people I care about, and I have watched severe mental illness leave human beings profoundly vulnerable. There are people living outside right now who need psychiatric intervention far beyond what an outreach worker, shelter or a housing voucher can provide. Pretending otherwise isn't compassion.

But treatment is not the same thing as forced treatment, and forced treatment represents an enormous exercise of government power. Before we normalize it, we should have to answer some very onerous but very necessary questions.

Where are these treatment beds? Who operates them? Who sets the clinical standards? How long can someone be held? What due-process rights do they retain? What happens when someone refuses medication? What happens when insurance stops paying, or when the person never had insurance to begin with? Who profits from the treatment facility? Who provides independent oversight? What constitutes successful rehabilitation?

And perhaps most importantly: where does the person live when mandatory rehabilitation ends?

These questions gets lost in an infinite loop of treatment, discharge, homelessness, enforcement and treatment again. You can mandate sobriety. But when treatment ends, the housing crisis is still waiting outside the door.

The national machinery is already turning

This is why dismissing Cicero as merely another conservative think tank (and ignoring its national reach) misses the larger story entirely.

The federal government has explicitly moved toward a “Treatment First” philosophy. President Trump's July 2025 executive order directed agencies, in certain grant programs, to prioritize jurisdictions that enforce prohibitions on urban camping and loitering, encouraged changes involving civil commitment, and criticized Housing First as an approach the administration argues fails to sufficiently address addiction and behavioral health.

In August 2026, HUD and the Office of National Drug Control Policy formally released a Treatment First Homelessness Toolkit, followed days later by HUD and HHS announcing a broader move away from Housing First and toward treatment, recovery and self-sufficiency.

Look at the progression: a think tank develops a philosophy; policy papers give it structure; model legislation carries it into statehouses; pieces begin appearing in state law and federal executive policy; federal funding gives those priorities leverage; and eventually local governments are left to implement them.

This is no longer an abstract national argument. It is moving closer to our own front door.

And eventually it will reach Eugene.

We do not have to imagine Eugene five years from now to understand what is coming. The machinery that could reshape homelessness policy here is already being assembled, and pieces of it are already arriving.

This is how a national ideology becomes local policy. It does not arrive in Eugene with the Cicero Institute's name printed across the top of an ordinance. It arrives through federal grant requirements that determine which programs we can afford to operate. It arrives through model legislation repackaged for state lawmakers. It arrives through changes to civil-commitment standards, camping ordinances, treatment requirements and definitions buried deep inside administrative rules. It arrives one provision at a time, each presented as a reasonable response to a very real crisis.

And once that financial architecture changes, the philosophical architecture follows.

A community that once asked, “How do we get this person housed?” can slowly begin asking, “How do we get this person off the street?” Those questions sound remarkably similar. They are not.

One requires us to solve the extraordinarily difficult problems of housing affordability, psychiatric capacity, addiction treatment, poverty and long-term support. The other can be accomplished with an ordinance, a police officer, a court order and somewhere out of sight to send people.

That distinction may define the next era of homelessness policy in America.

We are approaching a moment when America may become so exhausted by the visibility of homelessness that we begin accepting the control of homeless people as evidence that we are ending homelessness.

This is a cautionary tale.

For nearly fifteen years, the bus has been how I’ve experienced Eugene and much of Lane County, not just weekday commutes, but Sunday mornings on my way to church, dozing off hoarse after Duck games, making it safely home through winter snow and summer heat, and riding during those quiet hours before the rest of the city wakes up.

People often think driving is freedom. I used to think so, too. But riding the bus offers a different kind of freedom. It gives you the chance to notice, to breathe, and to let your mind rest.

Some of my favorite moments happen before I even step on the bus: smelling lilacs blooming on the walk to my nearest stop, celebrating with neighbors when the local osprey chicks hatch, and listening to leaves rustle on a cool autumn afternoon.

As a woman whose mind never ceases to plan, strategize, and build, I cherish every opportunity to rest. Public transit lets me experience the fullness of Oregon instead of simply passing through it. It gives me time to settle before I get home, decompress after complex days at work, and move through Lane County at a pace that invites observation instead of routine.

It has also made me love this community even more.

Over the years, I’ve come to know the drivers, the regular riders, and the occasional confused visitor trying to figure out which bus to catch. After a while, the faces become familiar. You recognize the student who boards every morning, the exhausted healthcare worker heading home after a long shift, the older gentleman who never misses a chance to say good morning, and the person carrying everything they own. You start to notice the small changes: a new job, a cast on someone’s arm, a baby stroller that wasn’t there before. And when someone you’ve seen every day suddenly isn’t there, you notice that, too.

As an only child, there’s something unexpectedly comforting about it. Not because we all know one another’s names, but because we begin to recognize one another’s lives.

I recently heard someone say there’s an old saying in transit: “You don’t choose transit. Transit chooses you.”

I certainly didn’t wake up one day and think, “I’m going to work for the bus.”

My career has always centered on humanitarian work, homelessness, disaster response, public health, and the places where people and systems intersect. I don’t have an engineering mind, and I can’t tell you how an engine works. But I do understand people. Looking back, that’s exactly why transit found me.

Now, after more than two and a half years at Lane Transit District, I understand that transit isn’t really about buses. It’s about access. It’s about whether someone can get to work, make a doctor’s appointment, visit family, buy groceries, or simply participate in community life. Few places bring together such a broad cross section of a community every single day.

Oregonians understand stewardship. We protect forests, restore rivers, and care deeply for the places that make this state home. I’ve come to believe that stewardship also means caring about the people who share those places with us.

Transit has never been just a way for me to get somewhere. It has been one of the many unexpected and meaningful teachers in my life. It has taught me to pay attention, not only to what’s directly in front of me, but to the intricate details that make our community unique. It gives me the time and space to appreciate our landscapes, our seasons, and the people whose lives briefly intersect with my own.

So perhaps we should all have a public transportation moment. It’s the Oregon way.

Image description: a close-up photograph of the Rosa Parks sculpture at Lane Transit District's downtown Eugene Station. The bronze sculpture focuses on Parks' weathered hands, gently holding a single freshly cut red rose placed there by an anonymous passerby. Tiny raindrops cling to the rose's petals, creating a vivid contrast against the dark bronze. The background is softly blurred, drawing attention to the unexpected act of remembrance and care.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It settles in quietly. A headline here. A crisis there. Another candlelight vigil. Another memorial. Another budget reduction. Another person sleeping in the same doorway. Another missing girl.

Before long, the extraordinary begins to feel ordinary.

This Independence Day, our nation celebrates 250 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence. There will be fireworks, parades, flags waving from front porches, and familiar words about liberty and justice. I love this country, and I believe those words still matter. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to them.

Two years ago, I wrote about what it means to say “liberty and justice for all.” I wrote with conviction that our highest ideals should extend to those living on the margins of our communities. I still believe that. But if I’m honest, something has changed in me since then.

I have become numb.

Not because I care less.

Because I have seen too much.

In my work, I spend time in places that many people only pass through: bus stations, shelters, hospitals, outreach events, dimly lit parking lots, corner stores, and conversations on sidewalks and street corners. I have the privilege of meeting people on some of the hardest days of their lives, and while I have witnessed extraordinary compassion from individuals, I have also watched many people become increasingly accustomed to suffering.

Over the past several years, I have noticed something that has been difficult to shake.

I see younger women on the streets.

I hear more stories from front-line workers about youth being exploited.

I meet people whose struggles with untreated mental illness or addiction become far more visible as support systems have disappeared and become harder to access.

And while I don’t pretend that every person selling sex has the same story, nor do I assume that every vulnerable young person is being trafficked, I know that people’s lives are more complicated than the headlines we write about them.

That reality should trouble us.

Not because it is shocking.

But because it is becoming familiar.

I worry less about becoming overwhelmed by suffering than I do about becoming accustomed to it.

There is a subtle danger in seeing the same hardships every day. We stop noticing. We stop asking questions. We begin to assume that this is simply how things are now.

But it wasn’t always this way.

Behind every person we see on the street is a story that began long before we noticed them. A child who experienced abuse. A teenager who ran away. A family that fractured. An untreated illness. A trauma that was never addressed. A helping hand that disappeared when funding ran out. A counselor whose position was eliminated. A peer support specialist carrying an impossible caseload. A shelter that couldn’t expand. A waiting list that grew longer.

Then we ask, “How did we get here?”

Perhaps a better question is, “What did we stop seeing?”

As we celebrate 250 years of this nation, I find myself thinking less about fireworks and more about responsibility.

Patriotism has never meant pretending everything is fine.

For me, it means believing our communities are worth paying attention to, especially when the truth is uncomfortable. It means refusing to let another person’s suffering become so routine that it fades into the background of everyday life.

Liberty is not only something we inherited. It is something we continue to build—or neglect—through the choices we make every day.

This Independence Day, I hope we celebrate. I hope we gather with family and friends. I hope we remember the courage of those who believed this nation could become something greater than it already was.

And when the fireworks fade and the streets grow quiet again, I hope we are willing to look with fresh eyes at the people who have been there all along.

Because numbness may be what happens when exposure becomes routine.

But compassion begins the moment we choose to see again.

For those who call the Bethel corridor home, this road isn’t just a thoroughfare—it’s a daily gamble with physics. This stretch of asphalt, cutting through the heart of our community, has become a zone of avoidable chaos where high-speed transit regularly collides with the lives of our most vulnerable neighbors.

This is more than a road; it is the lifeline for Eugene’s social safety net. Within a small radius along the Highway 99 corridor, there is a dense concentration of essential services, including:

• St. Vincent de Paul of Lane County

• ShelterCare

• Carry It Forward

• Sponsors

• Community Supported Shelters

• Lane County Parole & Probation

These agencies serve hundreds of people daily who are navigating housing transitions, recovery, and re-entry. Many of these individuals travel on foot, often carrying their belongings along a highway never designed for pedestrians. When a high-speed arterial bisects a hub of human services, the lack of protection isn’t just an oversight—it’s a crisis of equity.

The High-Crash Reality

While these social services are vital to the region, the statistical danger of this stretch is undeniable. According to the City of Eugene Fatal Crash Report (2022-2024), arterial streets like Highway 99 account for over 80% of all fatal crashes, despite representing only 20% of the city’s street network. City planners have noted that nearly one-third of all local pedestrian deaths in recent years occurred along this specific corridor.

This local crisis reflects a staggering state-level trend: a 2024 report by TRIP found that Oregon’s traffic fatalities increased by 88% over the last decade, one of the steepest jumps in the nation.

Impaired Driving: The Perfect Storm

Although public perception often places the burden of safety on pedestrians, impaired driving remains a primary catalyst for these tragedies. Data from the Oregon State Police shows that roughly 31% of all traffic deaths in the state involve an impaired driver; in 2024 alone, Oregon law enforcement made over 14,600 DUII arrests.

The risk on Highway 99 is compounded by a high density of alcohol outlets and bars lining the thoroughfare. This concentration of liquor licenses in a high-speed zone creates a “perfect storm” where easy access to alcohol feeds directly into the impairment statistics of the High-Crash Network. In an area where sidewalk infrastructure is sparse and pedestrian volume is high, the margin for error disappears. Addressing safety in Bethel requires us to view the corridor not just as a set of lanes, but as a complex, high-risk ecosystem.

The “Capacity” Myth and the Path Forward

When residents call for increased patrols or sobriety checkpoints, the Eugene Police Department often cites a lack of capacity. To support an already time-taxed department, we must look toward “outside the box” solutions and state partnerships.

The Oregon Department of Transportation (ODOT) and Oregon Impact provide High Visibility Enforcement (HVE) grants specifically designed to fund officer overtime for DUII saturation patrols. If the state is willing to subsidize the cost of removing impaired drivers from our streets, the question for the City Council isn’t “Do we have the money?” It is “Do we have the political will to prioritize Bethel?” I believe we do.

A “Yes-And” Solution

In the spirit of hope, conversations around Eugene’s Vision Zero directive have recently revived. In her 2026 State of the City address, Mayor Kaarin Knudson signaled a pivotal shift, challenging Eugene to “begin thinking differently about Highway 99.” She reimagined the stretch as a “safer, greener, multimodal boulevard” rather than a mere highway—a public realm designed to connect the community safely.

The $10 million in street improvements completed in 2025 laid the groundwork, but continual solutions, like deterring impaired driving must be the next. We owe it to the nonprofits doing the heavy lifting and to the families who have lost loved ones on this asphalt, to demand a roadway that prioritizes human life over through-traffic.

The driver who hit Merle was unlicensed. According to reports, they failed to render medical aid and fled the scene.

In the days following Merle’s death, community grief was immediate. So was the conversation about blame. Discussions surfaced online and in public spaces that focused on whether Merle crossed safely, whether he should have waited longer, and whether pedestrians and cyclists need to take more responsibility for their own safety.

Those conversations are not new. They are also part of a larger national shift in how transportation safety experts, public health researchers, and urban planners are rethinking roadway deaths.

Increasingly, industry standard no longer describe these deaths as “accidents,” but rather “crashes” or “collisions.” The distinction is intentional.

The Power of Language

The word accident suggests randomness. It implies something unavoidable. In contrast, crash and collision are terms rooted in investigation and prevention. This assumes cause and invites accountability.

This shift is part of a broader safety philosophy often referred to as the Safe Systems approach or Vision Zero. Originating in Sweden and now adopted by cities across the United States, this framework starts from a simple but difficult truth. Humans make mistakes. The transportation system should be designed so that those mistakes do not become fatal.

The question shifts from who made the error to why the system allowed the error to result in death.

Walking Highway 99

On February 6, members of the community gathered along the same stretch of Highway 99 where Merle was struck. The group included nonprofit leaders, outreach workers, and representatives from both the City of Eugene and Lane County. Together, they walked the corridor and used the same crosswalk that connects to the St. Vincent de Paul service station.

Standing in the crosswalk, one participant quietly observed, “It’s like a cage in here. I would want to get out of this thing as quickly as possible.”

Others agreed. Even during daylight hours, participants described feeling exposed while standing between four lanes of moving traffic. Several noted how the crossing required people to pause in the middle of the roadway before the signal allowed them to complete the crossing.

One agency partner pointed out something many pedestrians experience but rarely articulate. The timing between signal phases can create extended wait periods between safe crossing movements. That lag time leaves people physically positioned between lanes of traffic for longer than feels comfortable or safe. The natural human instinct is to move quickly out of perceived danger, even if it means crossing before the next signal fully activates.

Participants reflected that if they felt vulnerable while surrounded by safety vests, group support, and daytime visibility, the experience would likely feel dramatically different at night. Reduced lighting, faster vehicle speeds, and limited visibility increase risk in ways that are difficult to measure but deeply felt by those who cross these corridors daily.

The Shift Away From Individual Blame

Historically, crash reports often highlight pedestrian or cyclist behavior. Common phrases include “failed to yield,” “darted into traffic,” or “was wearing dark clothing.” Those details still appear in investigations, but many safety experts now caution against allowing them to dominate the conversation.

Safe Systems thinking does not ignore individual responsibility. Instead, it recognizes that human error is predictable and constant. What changes is whether the environment turns that error into a survivable incident or a fatal one.

Research consistently shows that speed, roadway design, visibility, and crossing infrastructure dramatically influence survival rates. A pedestrian struck at lower speeds is far more likely to survive than one struck at higher speeds. Crossing distance, lighting conditions, and signal timing all influence exposure time within traffic.

These are design variables, not personal characteristics.

Vulnerability on Arterial Corridors

Highway 99 serves as a critical corridor connecting essential services, transit access points, and community resources. It is also a corridor that many individuals experiencing housing instability must cross regularly to access meals, case management, medical care, and transportation. Merle’s death sits within that broader reality.

National data shows that pedestrian fatalities disproportionately affect low income communities and individuals who rely on walking as primary transportation. People who must navigate high speed arterial roadways often do so because there are limited safer alternatives available to them. In some analyses, low-income areas account for nearly one-third of pedestrian deaths despite representing a much smaller portion of the population. (Download Smart Growth America “Dangerous by Design” 2024 report here).

A Growing National Conversation

Across the country, transportation agencies, trauma surgeons, and public health researchers are increasingly rejecting the idea that traffic fatalities are an inevitable cost of mobility. Vision Zero initiatives operate on the premise that every roadway death is preventable, even if individual behavior contributes to risk.

This approach does not excuse reckless driving. It does not dismiss unsafe crossing decisions. Instead, it asks a broader question: How do we design roads, signals, and crossings that anticipate human behavior rather than require perfection from it? While Eugene has demonstrated leadership through its 2015 Vision Zero pledge, rising casualty numbers suggest an opportunity to evaluate whether current safety strategies are reaching the community members who face the greatest risk.

Remembering Merle

Merle Dean Sheffield was not a statistic. He was a person moving through a corridor that connects vital services in this community. His death has prompted grief, reflection, and renewed conversation about safety along Highway 99.

Language matters because it shapes how communities respond to tragedy. When we label these events as accidents, we risk closing the door to deeper examination. When we call them crashes or collisions, we acknowledge that they are complex events shaped by human behavior, infrastructure design, and policy choices.

Merle’s story reminds us that transportation safety is not only about vehicles and roadways. It is about the lived experience of people moving through them every day.

Photo description: Following Merle Dean Sheffield’s Ghost Bike dedication at the site of his fatal collision, community members retraced his steps, crossing four lanes of Highway 99 on Friday, February 6. Photo credit: Carmen Yalexa Artiles

City leaders have framed this approach as a safety measure.

I wholeheartedly agree, safety matters.

Roadway safety matters.

Preventing crashes, injuries, and deaths matters.

But safety policy that is not grounded in evidence, data, and lived reality does not make people safer. It simply shifts harm to places where it is less visible.

This ordinance does not address poverty. It does not address housing access. It does not address untreated mental illness, addiction, disability, or trauma. It regulates behavior in public space in a way that limits mutual aid while leaving the underlying conditions untouched.

That distinction matters.

Panhandling Is Not the Problem Being Solved

Panhandling is often discussed as if it is synonymous with homelessness. It is not.

Panhandling is a survival strategy driven by poverty and scarcity. It is used by people across housing statuses. Reducing it to a visual nuisance erases the economic conditions that force people into public desperation in the first place.

Anti-panhandling policies have a long history in U.S. cities. Their primary effect has not been increased stability or safety. Their primary effect has been displacement, criminalization by proxy, and deeper barriers to employment and housing through fines, fees, and court involvement.

This ordinance shifts the penalty from the person asking to the person giving. That does not change the outcome. It simply attempts to sidestep constitutional protections by punishing compassion instead of speech.

Courts have been clear that asking for help is protected speech. Reframing the enforcement target does not change the constitutional question. It only obscures it.

Safety Claims Require Evidence

City leaders cite roadway safety as a core justification. If there is a genuine safety crisis tied to vehicle-to-pedestrian exchanges, the public deserves to see the data.

Where are the crash reports?
Where are the injury statistics?
Where are the before-and-after studies from cities with similar ordinances?

Public policy should not rely on perception alone. Especially when the consequences fall hardest on people already living with trauma, instability, and limited options.

Trauma-Informed Policy Looks Different

A trauma-informed lens asks different questions.

What happens when someone can no longer receive small, immediate support that helps them eat, charge a phone, use a bathroom, or get through a day?

Where do people go when they are pushed off visible corridors?

What risks increase when people move into more isolated spaces?

The answer is not theoretical. Displacement increases vulnerability to violence, trafficking, overdose, and death. It reduces access to outreach workers, emergency responders, and peer support. It does not make people safer. It just makes them harder to see.

This is especially concerning in a city that already struggles with one of the highest per-capita rates of homelessness in the country. When visibility is treated as the problem, displacement becomes the unspoken goal.

Public Process Matters

Many community members have expressed frustration that testimony offered during the public hearing does not reflect broader public sentiment. Online public comments show consistent concern that this ordinance criminalizes compassion and targets poverty without addressing root causes. These voices are part of the public record, even when they are not delivered at a lectern during a weekday evening meeting.

Tyler Stromme, responding to a January 22nd KLCC Facebook post on panhandling, wrote:

“If the worst thing that happens to you on your commute is having to wait 15 seconds for someone to walk to the edge of the curb to grab some money, I’d say your day is going pretty well. If you don’t want to give people money, look away and move on with your day. Taking away the option to ask for money on curbs isn’t going to fix the problem.”

Public trust depends on whether people believe their perspectives matter. When outcomes appear predetermined, that trust erodes.

Final Thoughts

This ordinance asks the public to stop responding to visible need without offering a clear, evidence-based path forward for the people who will still be there tomorrow.

Safety should never be used as a substitute for solutions.
Compassion should not be treated as a nuisance.
And policy should not be built on the quiet hope that people will simply go somewhere else.

Lives are shaped by these decisions. Some are lost because of them.

That reality deserves more than reassurance. It deserves proof.

Here’s the reality: people living outside face far higher rates of violence and early death than the housed public imagines,

yet the narrative too often centers on the danger they supposedly pose rather than the harm they endure.

The National Alliance to End Homelessness (NAEH) tracks national trends and reminds us that homelessness is rising in many communities not because people choose to be outside, but because housing is scarce and costly, services are stretched, and safety nets are weak. Their 2025 State of Homelessness overview shows growing demand for shelter, health care, and stabilization supports across the country.

Oregon illustrates these realities with painful clarity. The 2024 Hate Crimes Report by the National Coalition for the Homeless found that Oregon accounted for 29.8 percent of all fatal attacks on people experiencing homelessness nationwide between 2020 and 2022, the highest share of any state.

The report describes Oregon as having (quote) “the highest levels of violence against people who were unhoused we have ever documented.”

Oregon Public Broadcasting’s Domicile Unknown report also found that 456 unhoused people died in 2023 in Multnomah County alone, the highest number since tracking began. People experiencing homelessness in the county are 18 times more likely to die from homicide or suicide than the general population. Their average age at death was just 46.

Violence is not limited to Oregon. National research shows that homicide, overdose, and injury deaths among unhoused people have tripled over the past decade, reflecting what the NAEH calls a national emergency in human rights and housing.

And let’s not also turn away from sexual violence. NAEH has long noted that traffickers target people who are poor, isolated, and without stable housing. A National Center for Missing and Exploited Children study found that an estimated 19 to 40 percent of youth experiencing homelessness become victims of sex or labor trafficking. Another national survey published by United Way found that 64 percent of trafficking survivors reported homelessness or housing instability at the time they were recruited.

The takeaway is not despair. It is urgency and course correction.

When leaders prioritize encampment removal, displacement, and hostile architecture, they may make homelessness less visible, but they do not make people safer.

The data points in a different direction: expand low-barrier shelter and permanent housing, scale treatment and harm reduction, place peer navigators where crises occur, and stop criminalizing survival. Fear creates headlines. Facts save lives.

Photo Description: A self portrait of the author, Sarah Koski, who wears a mask in many of her photos to represent the faceless work she does helping the unhoused and the anonymity of lost souls on the street.

“Masked. Hooded. Misread.”

This photograph is also a performance piece about perception.

The black balaclava and shadowed hoodie mirror the stereotypes often projected onto people living outdoors: how safety gear becomes “suspicious” and survival becomes a “threat.”

Against a wall of burning red, the subject meets the viewer’s gaze, challenging them to confront the reflexive fear that shapes our policies, policing, and compassion.

For Sarah, this photo attempts to hold a mirror to a culture that too easily confuses poverty with danger.

I could spend hours—paragraphs upon paragraphs—sharing stories and anecdotes about our friendship. But instead, I’ll let his words speak.

What many don’t know is that Will was directly responsible for me receiving the prestigious Oregon Woman of the Year as Emerging Leader in 2024.

At the time, I had been expressing frustration over the lack of empathy shown toward people experiencing homelessness on a broad civic scale. I was brainstorming ways to elevate the stories of our local community when the award application came up. I needed two letters of recommendation. I was advised by community leaders to seek letters from government officials, senators, and “influential” community members—people whose titles might “strengthen my case.”

I brought this suggestion to Will, who immediately offered to flip the concept on its head.

“What if one of the letters came from someone who was homeless instead?” he asked.

As a former winsome anarchist and agitator, I loved the idea. Even if I didn’t win, I said, we could submit it as performance art. “Performance art” was our code word for agreeing that even if a plan failed, the process itself was worth it.

At the time, Will was living at 410 Garfield Safe Sleep. His tablet was broken, and the Wi-Fi was unreliable. He was battling both arthritis and bronchitis, yet still committed to writing the letter—sentence by sentence—over Facebook Messenger across the span of a week. I kept checking in on him, concerned that he should be resting instead. But he told me that creative projects gave him strength. I compiled his words into a Google Doc and sent it back to him for review.

When the letter was finally complete, I submitted the application with no real expectation of being chosen. But to both of our surprise—I was selected. That recognition opened dozens of doors to share the realities and challenges of life on the streets, eventually leading to my appointment as an Oregon Women’s Commissioner this year.

This is the first time I’m sharing Will’s letter publicly. Until now, it’s been a sacred piece of our friendship. But our community deserves to see his brilliance.

Will was a gem. One of a kind. I will miss him deeply.

A Heartfelt Nomination for Sarah Koski from Will Shindler, homeless.
Resident of 410 Garfield Safe Sleep Site, Eugene, Oregon.

** In the spirit of digital equity and inclusion, this letter was dictated via voice notes on Facebook Messenger and transcribed by Sarah Koski on Friday, January 12th. Confirmed and approved by Will via email on Monday, January 22nd at 12:49 PM**

From Will Shindler:

“With this cold weather, I’m hurting. I’m hurting because it’s damp and the cold goes deep into my bones. The day has gotten away from me because a guy from the tracks next to our shelter stabbed a clerk at 7-Eleven. There are people passing out around me from fetty and shelter gossip turns the day of wine into vinegar that sours in my stomach. I’ve accomplished a tenth of what I’d hoped for and still singing the blues. . . but I’m still singing. The day is young.

One may say that I exist in a town that cares more about the ‘green grass of a football field’ than my wellbeing. Statistics and scores are tracked closer than our homeless census. ‘Unhandsome souls’ are replaced with fresh green grass of home (sans tombstone) to serve for identification. Life is not easy.

What I appreciate about Sarah is that by and large, few understand ‘entitlement versus the reality’ of our life. When she asked me if I would like to ‘write’ this letter of recommendation, I knew what she was doing. This gives me an opportunity to have a positive task, to get out of my head, and dictate as I’m doing via voice memo on Facebook Messenger.

I’m dictating to spare myself frustrations from a freezing hand and the chatter between tents around me. I lost a day due to sickness, but yet I persist. I thought I’d give this the ‘good ole college try.’ I want this to be personal, not overly laudatory, but fairly generous. This is a testimonial of the character of Sarah, a Good Samaritan in a world gone mad.

Raising my voice and sharing my life is a condition of personal brutality and an exercise of futility. Once an actor for large stage, my audience is now dwarfed by reality that it is too small to adequately make the necessary information reach the ears of those who wield power. Sarah answers to a Higher Court and she brings our voice upward. She is a champion of our needs, our fears, our hopes, and our perspectives. The authenticity with which she lubricates friendships is a dear thing to us – and she knew I needed something to do.

I am writing with sincere admiration and gratitude to nominate Sarah Koski for the Emerging Leader of Oregon award. While I don’t know Sarah in her prior life, her role as ‘leader’ truly emerged when she closed up shop as a consultant and chose instead to be my case manager. Sarah is an obstacle breaker and strongly resistant to stigmatizing misconceptions of my reality. I’ve seen her make strategies, develop practical models, and formulate resources to dispel these myths and social mores.

Her current assignment: Community Resource Liaison at Lane Transit District (LTD).

There, we will be more than adequately championed by Sarah who will communicate between LTD and the community. Sarah’s professional fortitude is fine tuned in harmony with her spiritual faith. Her good intentions are mixed with the joy she shares with infectious laughter, blended with smiles of comfort and balanced by an authentic generosity of spirit.

I can think of no one more noble or worthy of recognition as her. Her ‘employment re-birth’ as a champion of the street is where she truly emerged. She’s well educated by high standards and in her past life achieved remarkable success and notoriety. Now, by some sense of time, destiny, or fate – Sarah's gift and talent for creating a self-directed discipline that demonstrates brilliant assertions of excellence and imposes with grace a sense of value is benefitting my life. Her universal desire to flow with that stream of ours is unique. She understands the laws of learning and as an avid student that becomes the teacher then student.

She demonstrates the humility that so often affords accessibility and she is now giving so many of us a platform to speak. It is with this heart that she asked me to write this letter. And for this reason, I pressed through every barrier and every distraction to provide her with this recommendation.”

*Break* *Send*

Will Shindler

What Is Sanitation Justice?

Sanitation Justice is more than a bathroom project—it's a human rights movement led by researchers like Dr. Megan Walsh Carroll at SDSU. Her research focuses on how the lack of access to toilets, handwashing stations, and safe sanitation infrastructure disproportionately harms unhoused people, especially women, trans individuals, and those with chronic medical conditions.

Dr. Carroll’s work isn't just academic. It’s applied, direct, and field-tested—her team has mapped high-need areas, advocated for municipal change, and worked with public health leaders to elevate the sanitation crisis as a form of structural violence.

The project also aims to reclaim public health as a public good—countering decades of policy that has criminalized basic human needs with community-led, co-designed interventions.

Why It Matters in Eugene

Here in Eugene, public bathroom access is inconsistent, especially after hours. Many of our unhoused neighbors must depend on an unstable patchwork of gas station bathrooms, grocery store facilities, and limited outreach service sites. The consequences are stark: UTIs, infections, dignity lost, and entire systems of public health left fraying.

Local data suggests that Eugene has one of the highest per-capita populations of unhoused individuals in the nation. Yet our public sanitation infrastructure is profoundly limited. A recent walking tour I did with outreach leaders and unhoused friends revealed entire sections of Eugene without reliable access to water or restrooms.

This isn’t just about comfort—it’s about disease prevention, equity, and survival.

Dr. William Foster: A Local Leader in Health Equity

I’m honored to be joined on this pilot by Dr. William Foster, a tireless advocate and frontline medical provider in Eugene. Dr. Foster has served our community for years through both Occupy Medical and Volunteers in Medicine. He brings a rare combination of clinical excellence and social justice orientation. Whether treating infections in unsheltered camps or advocating for structural health reform, Dr. Foster understands that true care doesn’t end at the clinic door.

His leadership in this pilot will help bridge field outreach with clinical insight, ensuring that what we learn from the ground is translated into systems-level change.

The Pilot: What We're Building Together

Dr. Carroll has agreed to support a sanitation justice pilot right here in Eugene—one that adapts her research to the hyperlocal realities of our city. Together with Dr. Foster and support from local partners, we aim to:

• Map critical sanitation deserts across the city

• Gather community feedback from those directly impacted

• Document the intersection of sanitation access with physical and mental health outcomes

This is more than a service pilot. It’s a declaration that our unhoused neighbors deserve what any housed person does: the dignity to wash their hands, use a toilet, and be treated as fully human.

What's Next

We're just getting started. Today’s presentation to the Lane County LEAGUE is the first of many conversations to come. Our hope is to co-create, not impose—to build a solution in collaboration with those who have lived without these basic rights for far too long.

If you're a policymaker, medical provider, business leader, or neighbor: we welcome you into this effort. And if you’ve lived without a place to go, we are building this with you, for you, and because of you.

The Scope of the Problem

The OSP report revealed alarming statistics. On January 23, 2020, there were 13 Native American/Alaska Native females listed as missing in Oregon’s Law Enforcement Data System (LEDS), alongside 22 missing women of "unknown" race, some of whom might also be Native American. Most of these cases involved minors, with an average age of just 20.8 years.

National statistics reflect an even graver picture. According to the National Crime Information Center (NCIC), in 2019 alone, there were 5,590 reports of missing American Indian and Alaska Native women nationwide. Furthermore, a 2016 National Institute of Justice study found that over 84% of Native American women had experienced violence in their lifetime, and 55% had suffered physical or sexual violence.

In Lane County, the crisis has its own localized context. While specific numbers for missing Native American women in the county are not always isolated in state or national databases, Lane County’s significant Indigenous population faces similar barriers. The county is home to members of the Confederated Tribes of Coos, Lower Umpqua, and Siuslaw Indians, as well as the Confederated Tribes of Siletz Indians. Historical and systemic inequities have made Native women disproportionately vulnerable to violence, trafficking, and underreported disappearances.

Barriers to Justice

During the OSP’s 2019–20 Listening and Understanding Tour, Native communities described deep-seated barriers to justice:

• Distrust of Law Enforcement: Generations of mistreatment have left Native Americans skeptical of police involvement. Many participants expressed fear that reporting a missing loved one might lead to their criminalization or that law enforcement simply wouldn’t act.

• Jurisdictional Complexities: Oregon’s mix of Public Law 280 (PL280) and non-PL280 tribes creates a confusing patchwork of authority, leaving cases to fall through the cracks. In Lane County, this is compounded by the overlapping jurisdictions of local law enforcement and tribal agencies.

• Media Neglect: Families shared frustrations over the lack of media attention for missing Native women compared to white counterparts, describing their loved ones as "not being seen."

These challenges are compounded by the vulnerabilities of women trafficked near tribal casinos, resorts, and urban centers like Eugene, where homelessness and poverty intersect with systemic inequities.

Recommendations for Change

The OSP report outlined actionable steps:

1. Collaboration with Operation Lady Justice: Partnering with the federal task force to solve open and cold cases.

2. Cross-Jurisdictional Partnerships: Developing protocols to streamline investigations across tribal, state, and local borders.

3. Community Outreach: Strengthening relationships between law enforcement and Native communities through education and trust-building.

4. Cultural Competency Training: Equipping officers with a deeper understanding of tribal history, sovereignty, and the complexities of investigating violence against Indigenous women.

For Lane County, these recommendations could be expanded to include:

• Establishing a dedicated task force for addressing MMNAW cases locally.

• Integrating data-sharing protocols between Lane County law enforcement and nearby tribal agencies.

• Funding a public awareness campaign to highlight the MMNAW crisis in Eugene and surrounding areas.

What’s Changed Since 2020?

Despite the urgency of the 2020 findings, progress has been slow. A 2024 article by the Oregon Capital Chronicle noted that while a bill was introduced to declare MMNAW a statewide emergency, systemic barriers remain unaddressed. Indigenous advocates continue to push for meaningful engagement from law enforcement and improved data systems to better track cases.

In Lane County, anecdotal evidence from outreach organizations indicates that Native women remain at heightened risk, particularly in the Eugene-Springfield metro area. Homelessness among Indigenous populations has risen, further exacerbating vulnerabilities to trafficking and violence. Local nonprofits, such as White Bird Clinic and the Native American Student Union at the University of Oregon, have called for increased collaboration with law enforcement and policymakers to address these risks.

Where Do We Go from Here?

As Oregon grapples with this crisis, the path forward demands accountability, collaboration, and compassion. Local and state governments must act decisively to:

• Invest in culturally informed policing practices.

• Build centralized databases for tracking missing Indigenous persons.

• Amplify the voices of Native communities in policymaking.

• Support localized efforts to create community-centered solutions.

The voices heard during the Listening and Understanding Tour remain clear: Indigenous women are not invisible. Their stories matter, and their families deserve justice. The crisis of MMNAW is not just a Native issue—it’s an Oregon issue, a local issue, and a human issue. Addressing it requires all of us to acknowledge the systemic inequities that perpetuate violence and to work collectively to dismantle them.

Image: A red lace bra, cut at the straps by an apparent knife, lay on the floor of a Eugene restroom near bottles of alcohol and canisters of nitrous oxide. Photo by Sarah A. Koski

Today, thanks to the power of LinkedIn and a post from one of my British counterparts, I was made aware of a Sunday news article featuring the first of a four-part series centering on women experiencing poverty and the unhoused.

For further reading: Exclusive: Hidden homeless scandal as nearly double number of women sleep rough than official stats

The Sunday Mirror’s investigation into the “hidden homeless” lays bare a crisis that often remains unseen and unspoken. Simon Murphy’s article highlights the grim realities faced by women experiencing homelessness in England, and it has inspired me to reflect on my work and advocacy here in Eugene, Oregon. The parallels between the findings in Murphy’s piece and the challenges women face in my community are stark, and the stories he shares underscore the urgent need for systemic change.

The Scale of the Crisis

Murphy’s article begins with a sobering statistic: nearly twice as many women sleep rough than official figures show. A week-long charity census revealed that over 1,000 women had been on the streets in just three months. This number starkly contrasts with the government’s snapshot estimate of 568 women rough sleeping on a single night. The discrepancy stems from differing definitions of homelessness. The census, led by the Single Homeless Project (SHP) and Solace Women’s Aid, adopted a broader definition that includes:

• Sleeping in 24-hour establishments like hospitals or fast-food restaurants.

• Walking all night to avoid danger.

• Performing sex work at night with no place to go during the day.

• Staying in unsafe or transient accommodations such as “cuckooed” flats or with unknown people.

These findings resonate deeply with the work I do in Eugene, where women experiencing homelessness often remain hidden for safety reasons.

Vulnerabilities Unique to Women

The article highlights the harrowing vulnerabilities faced by homeless women. The average age of death for homeless women in England and Wales is just 43 years—two years younger than men. Women on the streets are more likely to have endured domestic abuse, trauma, mental ill-health, and self-harm. Additionally, they face higher risks of physical and sexual violence, particularly in mixed-gender hostels. As Murphy writes, “Women who are homeless due to domestic or other abuse continue to be at risk of harm on the street or in public places; they are more likely to flee homelessness accommodation that doesn’t feel safe.”

This reality is mirrored in Oregon. Statewide, women represent a significant portion of the homeless population, and many have fled domestic violence or unsafe environments. According to the Oregon Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence, nearly 50% of homeless women cite intimate partner violence as the direct cause of their homelessness. This issue is compounded by the lack of women-specific resources in shelters and transitional housing, forcing many to navigate unsafe conditions or avoid seeking help altogether.

The Hidden Nature of Women’s Homelessness

One of the most critical takeaways from Murphy’s investigation is the invisibility of women’s homelessness. Current definitions and outreach methods often fail to capture the transient and hidden nature of their experiences. Women are less likely to “bed down” in visible locations and more likely to seek inconspicuous indoor spots or rely on couchsurfing. As the article explains, “Women are less likely to 'bed down' compared to men, often only if they have a male companion. They often transition rapidly between rough sleeping and sofa surfing, and this more transient lifestyle makes it difficult for outreach teams to locate or verify women who are sleeping rough.”

In Eugene, this challenge is compounded by the city’s lack of comprehensive data on women’s homelessness. Anecdotally, I’ve encountered women who avoid shelters due to safety concerns or the fear of being separated from their children, while on the flip side — others who are too traumatized from years on the street to even be a qualified candidate for a low-barrier shelter. Many instead endure precarious living situations, relying on networks of friends or acquaintances for short-term stays—a reality that remains invisible to traditional homelessness counts.

Bridging the Gap: Advocacy and Action

Murphy’s article is a call to action, urging society to redefine how we see and address homelessness among women. His work has reinforced my commitment to advocate for better support systems in Eugene and beyond. Some of the critical steps we must take include:

1. Redefining Homelessness: Adopting broader definitions that capture the hidden and transient nature of women’s homelessness.

2. Women-Specific Resources: Expanding access to women-only shelters and services that prioritize safety and trauma-informed care.

3. Targeted Outreach: Training outreach teams to recognize and address the unique needs of unhoused women, including those in less visible locations.

4. Policy Change: Advocating for local and national policies that address the root causes of homelessness, such as domestic violence and the lack of affordable housing.

A Shared Responsibility

The hidden nature of women’s homelessness—both in the UK and the US—is a societal failure that demands immediate attention. As Murphy’s article so powerfully illustrates, women experiencing homelessness are not invisible; they are simply overlooked. Here in Eugene, where the per capita rate of homelessness is among the highest in the nation, we have an opportunity to lead by example. By drawing on the insights from Murphy’s work and our local experiences, we can create a more inclusive and effective approach to ending homelessness for women.

Let us look harder, listen more closely, and act with urgency—because no woman should ever have to endure the dangers of homelessness alone.

British Sunday Mirror article: Exclusive: Hidden homeless scandal as nearly double number of women sleep rough than official stats

Everyday I show up to work at Lane Transit District (LTD), I’m reminded of the powerful ways public transportation can transform lives. It’s not just about getting people from point A to point B—it’s about supporting our community in ways that truly matter. As we gear up for National Human Trafficking Prevention Month this January, I’ve been reflecting on one of the coolest programs we have to support our local youth: mobile Safe Places.

Here’s something you might not know: every single LTD bus—112 in total—is a designated Safe Place for youth in crisis. That means kids who are scared, lost, or in danger have access to help at any of our 1,141 bus stops across the region. No matter where they are, hope isn’t just nearby—we’re bringing it straight to their door.

How it works: if a youth aged 11 to 17 finds themselves in a tough spot, all they need to do is board an LTD bus and tell the driver, “I need a Safe Place.” From that moment, the wheels are literally and figuratively set in motion. The driver immediately contacts Looking Glass Community Services, the nonprofit partner that runs the Safe Place program here in Lane County. A supervisor or public safety officer then ensures the youth is taken to Looking Glass’s Station 7, where they’ll be met with care, resources, and a safe environment.

What I love about this partnership is how simple and low barrier it is. For a kid in crisis, just knowing there’s somewhere to go—a place where they’ll be listened to, believed, and helped—is life-changing. And it’s not just buses. Across Lane County, more than 68 sites display the bright yellow and black Safe Place sign, signaling to young people, “you’re safe here.”

(Both our Eugene and Springfield stations are Safe Places as well).

The Role of Looking Glass Community Services

Looking Glass has been serving Lane County since 1971, evolving from a runaway shelter into a comprehensive provider of youth and family services. As the coordinator of the Safe Place program in Lane County, Looking Glass connects local businesses and volunteers to best serve youth in need. They also offer presentations to middle and high school students to expand awareness of the program, hold drop in hours for homeless youth, and even provide alternative schooling for those without a home.

Impact on the Community

The collaboration between LTD and Looking Glass ensures that immediate help is accessible throughout the community. By designating all buses and numerous businesses as Safe Place sites, youth in crisis have multiple avenues to seek assistance, enhancing their safety and well-being.

In 2018, Looking Glass's Safe Place program received the National Safe Place Network's Model Program Award, recognizing the dedication and effectiveness of their efforts in supporting at-risk youth.

Accessing Additional Safe Place Services

Youth can access Safe Place services by approaching any LTD bus or designated Safe Place site displaying the yellow and black sign. Additionally, they can text "SAFE" and their current location (address, city, state) to 44357 to receive information on the nearest Safe Place location and can reply with "2chat" for one-on-one support.

So, the next time you see an LTD bus or spot that yellow Safe Place sign at a local business, take a moment to reflect on what it represents. It’s not just a sticker. (And we’re not just a bus). It’s a lifeline.

In Eugene, recognizing this day carries particular weight.

A Local Perspective on a Global Issue

Eugene consistently ranks among the highest in the nation for homelessness per capita. It's a statistic that’s hard to ignore when you walk through downtown, pass tent camps along the bike paths, or notice individuals seeking shelter under overpasses. But World Homeless Day asks us to go beyond simply noticing; it calls for understanding, compassion, and, ultimately, action.

Homelessness in Eugene is complex, driven by factors such as a lack of affordable housing, economic disparities, and limited access to mental health and addiction services. These challenges aren’t new, but the solutions often feel just out of reach. Still, local organizations and grassroots efforts have been at the forefront of addressing immediate needs. Groups providing meal services, street outreach, and basic necessities for hygiene and health are critical, and they help fill gaps where systemic solutions fall short.

The Human Impact

Statistics can sometimes obscure the real people behind the numbers. In Lane County, over 70% of people experiencing homelessness are unsheltered—living without access to stable housing. For many, this means a daily struggle for safety, health, and dignity. The face of homelessness is diverse, including families, veterans, and youth, each with a unique story that led them to this place.

World Homeless Day reminds us that these stories matter. It asks us to reflect not just on the broader issue but on the human beings who are impacted by it every day. For me, it's a dedicated day of prayer and introspection.

How We Can Respond?

World Homeless Day isn’t about guilt or grand gestures—it’s about awareness and small steps forward. It’s an opportunity for us, as a community, to acknowledge the problem and think about what role we might play in the solution. Whether it’s through donating to local organizations, volunteering your time, or advocating for better policies, every action adds up.

But perhaps the most important thing we can do is simply see the people around us. As we move through our daily lives, there’s a tendency to look away, to walk past without engaging. On this day, I encourage us all to pause and consider what it means to be without shelter, security, or even recognition.

A Moment of Reflection

So, what should World Homeless Day look like here in Eugene? It doesn’t have to be about big events or even big donations (though those help too). It could be as simple as taking a moment to reflect—whether through a moment of silence or just a thought for those who are living without shelter tonight. Sometimes, recognition is the first step toward change.

You are so incredibly loved.

Author’s note: I recently had the privilege of visiting The People’s Depot, one of the key players in Oregon’s bottle redemption program, and I couldn’t be more impressed with the incredible work they’re doing! A huge thank you to Kristopher, their project manager, for being such a welcoming host and sharing insights into how they help Oregon recycle a staggering 90% of its beverage containers.

Why Recycling Matters More Than Ever

Oregon has been a national leader in recycling for decades, and the bottle redemption program plays a crucial role in that success. By recycling beverage containers, the state is saving hundreds of thousands of tons of materials from ending up in landfills each year. For instance:

• Recycling one aluminum can saves enough energy to run a TV for three hours.

• Every ton of recycled plastic saves the equivalent of about 5,774 kilowatt-hours of energy.

• Recycling just one ton of glass prevents about 700 pounds of carbon dioxide from being released into the atmosphere.

In a time when the planet is grappling with climate change and environmental degradation, programs like People’s Depot (and Eugene’s EveryOne Village recycling center) are a vital piece of the solution. They help reduce greenhouse gas emissions, lower energy consumption, and conserve valuable natural resources. But that’s not where the story ends.

The Connection Between Recycling and Homelessness

While visiting the People’s Depot, I was reminded of how deeply intertwined recycling is with community well-being—especially for those experiencing homelessness. Oregon currently has over 13,000 people experiencing homelessness, many of whom rely on collecting cans and bottles to make ends meet. Every redeemed container provides an opportunity for financial support to those facing housing insecurity.

Programs like BottleDrop and the People’s Depot offer a way for people living on the streets to earn money, often giving them the small boost they need to afford food, clothing, or hygiene supplies. For some, this income stream can even be the difference between surviving and thriving in incredibly difficult circumstances.

Why People’s Depot Is So Important

Kristopher and his team at the People’s Depot are doing more than recycling—they’re actively supporting vulnerable populations while protecting the environment. Their work highlights the intersection of social responsibility and environmental sustainability, showing us how the simplest actions—like returning a bottle—can make a huge impact.

Why We Must Act Now

As Oregon continues to lead the way in recycling, we have a collective responsibility to support efforts like those at the People’s Depot and Eugene’s EveryOne Village—not just by returning our bottles and cans, but by recognizing the human element behind these programs. Every container recycled is a step towards a more sustainable planet, and every dollar earned through redemption can be a lifeline for those most vulnerable in our community.

By engaging in these small yet impactful actions, we can combat both the environmental crisis and the social crisis of homelessness. Programs like the People’s Depot remind us that when we come together as a community—supporting innovative solutions to today’s challenges—we can create a future where both people and the planet thrive.

Let’s Now Double Down on Bottle Redemption Nationwide

To build on Oregon’s success, it’s time to advocate for a national bottle bill—one that would create a unified system across the country. A national bottle bill would ensure:

• A standardized deposit system that makes recycling easier and more consistent across state lines.

• Higher redemption rates, as we’ve seen in states with existing bottle bills, helping to significantly reduce waste and litter.

• Economic opportunities for individuals experiencing homelessness or low income, providing a pathway to financial support in every state.

• A reduction in the environmental footprint as more containers are recycled and fewer end up in landfills or oceans.

Imagine if the entire country recycled at the same rate as Oregon, where 90% of beverage containers are redeemed. The environmental impact would be profound, and countless lives would be positively affected. A national bottle bill would not only harmonize efforts but also elevate recycling as a critical part of both environmental policy and social welfare.

Let’s continue to push for this kind of systemic change, because the success of programs like the People’s Depot shows us what’s possible. By advocating for a national bottle bill, we can scale these local successes to a national level, creating both a cleaner environment and stronger communities.

Clean Streets and Public Safety: A Unified Approach

A clean environment is essential to public safety. Littered, neglected spaces often lead to negative perceptions of downtown Eugene and reduced consumer spending. By empowering individuals to take part in maintaining our public spaces, we can create a safer, more welcoming atmosphere for everyone—business owners, customers, and those transitioning out of homelessness alike.

Programs like Portland's Ground Score and other peer-run initiatives have proven that unhoused individuals can be key contributors to solving these problems. For example, Ground Score members have collected over 230,000 pounds of recyclable material since the program's inception.

After a successful tour of their headquarters and observation of their peer-run bottle redemption center, it was clear that peer-run initiatives not only support their employees but also benefit the local unhoused communities being served. Similar models have been used in cities like Seattle, where peer-led teams help collect waste and improve public areas, all while reducing negative interactions between the unhoused and the public.

Economic Efficiency: Protecting the Bottom Line

Local businesses thrive in areas that are clean, safe, and well-maintained. By investing in this kind of workforce development, the business community can directly address one of the key factors influencing foot traffic and customer satisfaction—clean, well-kept public spaces. A clean downtown means more customers, more commerce, and a stronger local economy.

A peer-run program in San Francisco, for example, reported a 66% decrease in cleanup costs for the city while providing employment opportunities to previously unhoused residents. Peer-run models also tend to increase program retention rates because participants value their involvement and feel ownership over the success of the project. Of the ten peer staff employees at Ground Score working at the People's Depot Bottle Redemption Site, eight have already transitioned into housing within a year.

These models show that targeted workforce development creates lasting, tangible benefits, not only for participants but for the wider community.

Workforce Development: A Long-Term Solution

One of the most compelling aspects of this program is its potential to turn short-term work into long-term solutions. By partnering with organizations like Lane County Workforce Partnership, the Downtown Business Association, and the City of Eugene, we could offer more robust training, job-readiness programs, and connections to local employers. This creates a pipeline for unhoused individuals to gain meaningful employment, improve their circumstances, and contribute to the community. This isn't about handouts—it's about helping people help themselves, which aligns with conservative values of personal responsibility and economic empowerment.

During my time working at the 410 Safe Sleep Site, I saw firsthand that once housing stability was maintained—whether in a low-barrier shelter, transitional housing, or traditional home—those previously considered chronically homeless became active and successful members of our local workforce.

The ACT Now Lane County Project: A Perfect Fit

The ACT Now Lane County project is seeking practical, results-driven solutions that benefit the business community. A trash collection and beautification program like this aligns perfectly with its goals. It strengthens downtown, supports local businesses, and addresses ongoing concerns about public safety and sanitation—all while being economically efficient and scalable.

The program also sends a clear message: Eugene is serious about protecting its business district and maintaining a high standard of public safety and cleanliness. With the support of local businesses, the city, and workforce organizations, this initiative has the potential to make a significant, visible impact in a short amount of time.

Eugene’s business leaders have a unique opportunity to take action now, ensuring that our downtown area remains a vibrant, safe, and economically prosperous place. By supporting a workforce development project like peer-run and peer-led trash collection, we can make a tangible difference in the quality of our public spaces, improve public safety, and protect the bottom line for local businesses. It's a win for all. A win for the economy, a win for downtown Eugene. A win for sustainability, and a win for the unhoused.

Let's launch this together.

After the lecture, I was warmly greeted by several young Honors College undergrads adorned with beautiful beads and smiling faces. Although I initially intended to leave directly after the event, I changed my mind after learning more about their vision for the local red dress initiative. As I listened to these young women share their perspectives, it became clear to me how limited my understanding was regarding local tribal relations and the #MMIW crisis.

Despite attending numerous anti-trafficking events, meeting with task force leaders across the state, and developing campaigns for projects both locally and globally, I had never encountered the alarming statistics of tribal assaults and deaths. This realization highlighted a significant gap in my knowledge — and after connecting with these young women, I vowed to address it moving forward.

The Alarming Statistics

Here’s the reality.

In Oregon, Native women face disproportionately high rates of violence, trafficking, and exploitation, yet the lack of accurate data and systemic failures leave these women especially vulnerable. Over 4 in 5 American Indian and Alaska Native women (84.3%) have experienced violence in their lifetime. More than half (56.1%) have faced sexual violence, and 55.5% have endured physical violence by an intimate partner. Stalking affects 48.4%, and 66.4% have suffered psychological aggression from a partner, according to a 2016 National Institute of Justice study.

Murder is the third leading cause of death for Native women. In Oregon, the missing persons database recorded 26 Native women missing in 2017, aged between 14 and 29. Yet, these figures only scratch the surface, as underreporting by both victims and law enforcement obscures the full scale of the crisis. Recording victims' race is often inconsistent, especially in databases from agencies like the Oregon State Police, Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office, and Portland Police Bureau.

The Connection Between #MMIW and Human Trafficking

The numbers paint a stark picture. Trafficking is a significant factor in the violence Indigenous women face, particularly along transportation corridors like Oregon’s I-5. Native women, both from Oregon and other states, are trafficked through this corridor, which serves as a major hub for exploitation. In Madras, outside the Warm Springs Reservation, traffickers have been reported picking up young women and transporting them to Portland, a city known to be an epicenter of sexual deviancy and sex-related crimes.

Unfortunately, human services organizations and law enforcement agencies often do not track the percentage of Native American women among trafficking survivors, even though they collect such data for other ethnicities. This lack of specificity further obscures the full scope of the problem.

Recent Case Highlights Continued Struggles

Just recently, Oregon Public Broadcasting reported on the case of Wilma Acosta, a Pascua Yaqui woman who went missing in Portland in November 2023. Her body was discovered in the Willamette River in January 2024. While Portland Police ruled her death a suicide, Acosta’s family definitively disputed this conclusion, raising concerns about how the case was handled. This situation highlights what so many in tribal regions face every day.

In May 2024, while attending the Oregon Women’s Commission Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women Lunch and Learn, a panelist asked every Indigenous woman present to raise their hand if their family or someone close to them had gone missing or disappeared. Every hand raised in the room. Again, I realized my scope was too narrow. Reading about statistics, attending events, and browsing articles was not enough.

Legal and Jurisdictional Gaps

The history of violence against Indigenous women is deeply tied to legal and jurisdictional challenges. Tribes have historically lacked the ability to prosecute non-Native offenders who commit crimes on tribal lands. Although the 2013 reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act granted tribes more jurisdiction in prosecuting some non-Native crimes, many gaps remain.

In Oregon, state authorities have jurisdiction over crimes committed by non-Natives in most areas, except for a few reservations like Umatilla, Warm Springs, and Burns Paiute. The Umatilla tribe, however, now has federal jurisdiction to prosecute non-Natives for certain crimes. Even so, enforcement can still be inconsistent, leaving Native women vulnerable.

Efforts to Raise Awareness and Seek Justice

There are ongoing efforts to raise awareness about MMIW at both local and national levels.

At the federal level, legislation like Savannah’s Act, introduced in 2017, aimed to improve data collection and law enforcement protocols in MMIW cases and was finally signed into law in 2020. The bill requires the Department of Justice to update federal databases to include tribal affiliation of victims and develop standardized investigative protocols.

This August, the federal government enacted the Missing Indigenous Persons (MEP) Alert System, a critical tool designed to address disparities in how missing Indigenous people are located. The new nationwide alert code, similar to Amber and Silver Alerts, aims to help locate Indigenous individuals who may not meet the criteria for these existing systems.

Finally, the U.S. Senate has designated May 5th as the National Day of Awareness for Missing and Murdered Native Women and Girls. Lawmakers, including Oregon Senator Ron Wyden, continue to push for further recognition and action through ongoing resolutions.

While these advances are crucial, raising public awareness remains essential to drive meaningful change and address the ongoing crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women.

What Can Be Done?

The crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women is multifaceted, requiring collaboration across communities, law enforcement, and policymakers. Improved data collection, better training for law enforcement, and increased resources for Native women are all critical steps in addressing this epidemic.

For transit professionals, there is also a role to play. Public transportation systems, like Lane Transit District (LTD), can be critical in both identifying trafficking and ensuring the safety of vulnerable populations. Transit workers can be trained to recognize signs of trafficking and work with local law enforcement to disrupt these operations.

The first step, however, is raising awareness. The more people who understand the scope of the problem, the harder it becomes for these cases to be ignored. Native women have been waiting for justice for far too long—it’s time to listen, learn, and act.

A Note from the Author:

One of the things I appreciate most about living in Eugene, Oregon, is the wealth of knowledge we gain from our local research university. After publishing my last Substack piece on period poverty and the critical need for increased distribution of feminine hygiene supplies to unhoused menstruators, I received an insightful note from Camille Cioffe, a Research Scientist at the Oregon Research Institute. Camille, an expert in harm reduction and data analysis, shared a link a 2021 article she co-authored. The article provided compelling evidence that hygiene items—such as tampons and pads—are among the top requests from those living on the streets. Her deeply informative findings are linked below, and this article is written and inspired by her work.

Trapped in a Tent with No Supplies

While most of my experience learning about direct needs of the unhoused happened while working at 410 Garfield Safe Sleep, my first encounter with the harsh realities of period poverty came at an unexpected time.

In the aftermath of the 2020 McKenzie Wildfires, I was newly appointed as Chair of the Lane County Community Organizations Active in Disaster (COAD), working alongside dedicated leaders across the region. Together, we worked tirelessly to support the formation of the region's Long Term Recovery Group (LTRG), navigating the complexities of disaster recovery in its extended 5-year form.

As subcommittees developed—focusing on "unmet needs," "mental health," “health care,” “rebuilding," and more—I transitioned from co-developing the infrastructure of the LTRG to chairing the "spiritual needs" subcommittee. My role involved partnering with various organizations to provide spiritual support to affected community members, regardless of their faith or background. It was during this time, almost a year before I began working in homeless services, that I heard a story that profoundly impacted me.

A young woman, looking to escape a troubled home, had relocated to Washington Jefferson Park. While seeking other options of shelter, her attempt to stay under the bridge for a day or two lasted longer than she expected. After rejecting a man's sexual advances, this young woman was subject to a massive theft of belongings. Not only was the crime against her personal, it impacted both her health and well-being as she just began her cycle and was left with no money, purse, tampons, or pads.

Ashamed and afraid, she confined herself to her tent for the duration of nearly four days, with limited access to hygiene products or bathing facilities. After enduring isolation and hardship, and afraid that the man might return, she found someone who let her borrow a cell phone to make a singular emergency call. The call rang a community church leader who was working with me on plans to build prayer boxes up the McKenzie. Understandably, the woman cut our meeting short to drive to the park, where she found the young girl and brought her to a place of safety.

The Harsh Realities of Period Poverty on the Streets

For women experiencing homelessness, the challenges go far beyond finding a safe place to sleep at night. For those like the young woman in Washington Jefferson Park, even basic hygiene becomes an insurmountable obstacle, especially during menstruation. When her belongings were stolen, the emotional toll wasn't just about losing possessions—her dignity, safety, and health were stripped away as well.

Living on the streets while trying to manage menstruation is a harsh reality for many homeless women. The lack of access to menstrual products, clean water, and private facilities means that a normal bodily function often become a source of shame and isolation. This can lead to serious health risks, including infections, and perpetuate a cycle of fear and withdrawal from social services that are supposed to help.

The humiliation of bleeding through clothing, the inability to stay clean, and the lack of access to basic necessities are compounded by the constant fear of violence or exploitation, especially in situations like the one this young woman faced. After rejecting a man’s advances, she not only lost her belongings but was also left to manage her period with nothing—trapped in a tent for days. This should not be.

Rising to the Challenge: Local Leaders Confront Period Poverty on the Streets

For far too long, the struggles of menstruating women on the streets have been invisible. Yet, a strong coalition of local women and allies is stepping up to support those who are most vulnerable. Leaders like DeLeesa Meashintubby, Rhonda Busek, and Camille Cioffi have been instrumental in highlighting the critical need for menstrual health resources within our community. Their advocacy, alongside the tireless efforts of street outreach workers and shelter providers—who balance the high demand with limited supplies—is just one part of the solution.

However, funding and donations remain insufficient. Tackling period poverty demands more than short-term aid; it requires systemic change that prioritizes the health and dignity of every woman. We must advocate for lasting support and end the stigma associated with menstruation. Every woman deserves access to basic hygiene. Let’s act not only by donating supplies but also by supporting policies and programs that provide sustained assistance. Together, we can address period poverty and ensure no one faces isolation, fear, or health risks due to a lack of menstrual supplies.

Have your own ideas? Send me a message.

Academic Journal Reference:

Cioffi, C. C., & Seeley, J. R. (2021). Voluntary pregnancy screening at syringe exchanges: A feasibility study. Journal of Prevention and Health Promotion, 2(1), 57-80. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC8528196/

Period poverty is a real and urgent issue that affects millions of people around the world. According to the UN Council for Women, "Period poverty refers to the inability to afford and access menstrual products, sanitation and hygiene facilities, and education and awareness to manage menstrual health. Simply put, period poverty costs women and girls too much, and it doesn’t have to be this way."

While the lack of access to supplies, significant menstrual stigma, and clean water are substantial barriers globally, this critical women’s health issue is also prevalent right here in our own backyard. According to research by the Portland-based nonprofit Period., 1 in 4 teens and 1 in 3 adults struggle to afford period products in the United States alone.

The Silence Surrounding Period Poverty in Homeless Communities

Despite this widespread need, the conversation around period poverty remains minimal, particularly in communities facing homelessness. It wasn’t until 2023—one year after I began working as a Case Manager at the 410 Garfield Safe Sleep Site—that a major research paper highlighted the significant impact of period poverty, supply access, and hygiene within homeless communities.

During my time working in Eugene’s largest homeless shelter, the gap in qualitative research on this issue was evident. Access to menstrual supplies was heavily reliant on community donations to our Highway 99 Service Station, which then trickled down to our direct service sites. When donations did come in, they were often unsuitable—typically light-flow pads or panty liners, items that many women couldn’t use due to their heavy menstrual flow.

The Struggles of Women Experiencing Homelessness

Life on the street is incredibly challenging, and many women I encountered bled heavily, often due to environmental stress and underlying health conditions like fibroids. Some women required up to 10-12 “ultra-absorbent” tampons and 4-5 “Heavy XL” pads daily to manage their periods and avoid the embarrassment and discomfort of bleeding through their clothes.

We were fortunate at our shelter site to have our own shower station, allowing individuals a 20-minute shower session once a day. For our shelter residents, this was a blessing. However, for menstruators on the street, life was very different. Many relied on the rations of outreach workers, while those who made it to nonprofits such as White Bird, received only two tampons and two pads a day.

Limited Resources and the First Encounter with Period Poverty

My first encounter with period poverty came a few days into my role as a case manager at 410 Garfield Safe Sleep when a 6’2” man with a ponytail, wearing a tie-dye shirt and gray Crocs, approached me for supplies. He explained that his girlfriend, also a shelter resident, was confined to their 8’ x 8’ tent due to severe cramps. When I checked our small drawer of donated goods, all I could find were a couple of panty liners and small tampons—far from adequate. Searching for other options, I offered him some adult Depends that I found in the back room, but he said he would head out to collect enough bottles and cans to buy “what his gal needed.” “I’m used to it,” he said.

After our interaction, I searched for nonprofits in our town that provided period care packs. I found one, a University of Oregon women’s group called “Eugene Bleeds,” which collected supplies for distribution on campus. Unfortunately, they were closed for the summer. I then turned to my Instagram, asking friends to donate wipes, tampons, and pads. While they responded generously, I noticed that most donations were small sizes, which were not sufficient for the needs of the women at the shelter.

Addressing the Growing Demand for Menstrual Supplies

As weeks passed and women’s cycles began to sync up again, the demand for supplies grew. Small tampons lasted less than an hour before needing to be changed. Realizing the severity of the need, I ramped up my efforts, asking friends to adopt hygiene kits that included heavy-flow tampons, large overnight pads, feminine wipes, hand wipes, and menstrual cups, if requested.

My friends rose to the challenge, and soon, gift bags containing these essential items, along with shampoo, conditioner, and even adult coloring books (our most requested shelter item), started arriving regularly.

Then it happened. My interaction with “Megan.”

Six months into my tenure, I met a 19-year-old woman with a strong lisp and short brown hair who had just made it to the top of our ever-growing 300+ waiting list. She arrived at the shelter with a pink backpack with a broken strap and a longboard, which she rode all the way to our front door before flipping it into her hand as she passed through the reception area.

Megan seemed shy and didn’t speak much, so I waited a few days to connect with her. Finally, I caught her on her way back from using the bathroom (a set of five unisex portapotties located outside near our covered smoking area).

A Turning Point in My Understanding of Period Poverty

As the month progressed, I knew requests for period supplies would start coming in again. I was eager to present this new resident with a hand-picked gift bag of supplies. By then, I had learned to tailor supply distribution to each individual’s diverse needs. When I gave out supplies, I would now ask each woman if they preferred “tampons, pads, or both.” When I approached Megan, I did the same.

“Neither,” she replied.

“Are you sure?” I responded. “I have plenty of each and I’m happy to share.”

“No thank you,” she said politely. She accepted the gift bag and headed back to her tent. Curious why she wasn’t interested in the supplies, I approached her the next day and asked what she thought of the gift bag.

“I really like the coloring book,” she said. “It helps me clear my mind. It’s the first time in a while that things have slowed down.”

“I still have tampons and pads if you need them,” I offered again.

“I’m good,” she replied.

At that point, my inquisitive nature got the best of me. “Why don’t you want any?”

Her response surprised and deeply saddened me.

“Sarah, I don’t have any underwear. I can’t afford it.”

It turned out that Megan truly carried all her belongings in that broken pink backpack and lacked significant essential supplies. Because of her, we partnered with other agencies and started offering access to new women’s and men’s undergarments alongside our already successful laundry program. She opened up later that she spent six months without any bra or panties before arriving at the shelter. Truly unimaginable.

The Larger Issue at Hand: Period Poverty’s Impact on Dignity and Well-being

In the U.S., two-thirds of low-income women have had to choose between menstrual products and food. Furthermore, studies have shown that women experiencing homelessness are particularly vulnerable to infections, mental health issues, and social isolation due to inadequate menstrual care. It’s time to reduce the stigma and support our local community shelters and women’s health programs at a greater rate.

Megan’s story is one of countless others at the 410 Garfield Safe Sleep Site who struggle not only with access to menstrual products but with basic hygiene essentials like underwear. Period poverty doesn’t just impact physical health; it affects dignity, mental well-being, and the ability to participate fully in life. Let's work together to break this stigma within our lifetime. Our daughters, sisters, neighbors, and friends depend on it.

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Their unexpected gesture of kindness was directed to old man John, who nearly nodded in their direction but kept his reserve. A tear welled up in his eye.

It was the first time I had ever seen him express emotion.

I met John in 2021 while doing outreach work. Amidst the myriad personalities on the street, John stood out. He always wore dark blue walking sneakers, a dark T-shirt, and shorts that suited the weather. But the thing about John was that he never spoke a word. Every morning like clockwork, he would wake up and ride the bus into town. Every night, at the same hour and on the same route, he would return. He appeared to be over seventy years old, kept clean-cut with a trimmed beard, and always carried with him a half-full white trash bag with supplies—the contents of which still remain a mystery.

I tried several times that year to befriend John and get him to speak, only receiving a wave of "I've got this on my own." For a while, I wondered if words ever came out of his mouth until one day I saw him downtown. The elderly man's plastic “day pack” became the object of a middle-aged woman's focus after she noticed some bottles and cans protruding from his bag. Instead of responding in fear or anger, John simply replied, "I don't want to take part in what you have to say," and silently walked away.

Lately, however, John seems deeply downcast. He rides the same bus on his journey home, but now grass and branches are stuck to his socks. His signature over-the-ear headphones are gone, and while still silent, his quiet disposition now speaks the language of sadness. Despite seeing him daily, I continue to feel a strong love for him at every glance. Sometimes I try to catch his eye, but his nomadic lifestyle has perfected the art of looking straight past the soul. And while I sit two rows away from him every night, I often wonder how a man so quiet and serene thinks.

“I hope it gets better, sir.”

As we celebrate the Fourth of July, we are reminded of the ideals that our nation was founded upon: “We the People,” “unalienable rights,” and the belief that “all men are created equal.” Yet, the reality for many of our fellow citizens tells a different story. Last year's federal point-in-time survey found more than 653,000 people experiencing homelessness nationwide — a 12% increase from 2022, and a record high.

This data underscores the growing urgency for effective solutions as cities and towns nationwide grapple with the challenge of balancing compassion for those in need with the imperative to maintain safe and sanitary public spaces. On this day, when we commemorate the freedoms and rights enshrined in our nation's founding documents, it is crucial to reflect on those who are our most vulnerable to persuasive hate, bias, and far-reaching injustice — our nation’s poor and the unhoused.

The sight of thousands living without shelter starkly contrasts with the principles of liberty and justice that we hold dear. As we light fireworks and celebrate our nation's independence, let us not forget that true freedom can only be achieved when every individual has the opportunity for a safe and stable life.

Recently, the U.S. Supreme Court issued a ruling on a case from Grants Pass, Oregon, which could significantly alter how cities respond to homelessness nationwide. In Johnson v. Grants Pass, the court ruled in favor of the city, deciding that penalizing people for camping outside does not violate the Constitution. This decision potentially empowers cities and counties across nine states and two territories in the western U.S. to enforce stricter rules against homeless people sleeping on public property, including arrests, fines, and jail time.

This ruling builds on precedents set by similar cases and intersects with Oregon's House Bill 3115, passed in 2021. The law allows local governments to impose time, place, and manner restrictions on sleeping on public property, provided these regulations are "objectively reasonable." The law was a factor in the failure of Portland's last attempt to ban daytime homeless camps, as a Multnomah County judge blocked it, deeming it unreasonable. Unless the legislature decides to revisit the law that HB 3115 enacted, sweeping policy changes in Portland following the Supreme Court ruling are unlikely.

Instead, cities will still need to be attentive to the text of Oregon's law, which hinges on those "time, place, and manner" restrictions. This means that cities can still ban camping entirely, for instance, in fire-prone areas during the summer (time), in front of schools or on sidewalks (place), or with hazards like cooking stoves and bonfires (manner).

Oregon, known for its progressive values and policies, faces unique challenges and opportunities in addressing homelessness. The state's homeless population is among the highest in the nation, with significant numbers in urban centers like Portland and Eugene. Despite efforts to provide support and resources, the gap between the needs of the homeless and the available services remains wide.

We, the people of Eugene, Oregon, need to choose that despite rulings and court cases, despite the never-ending sweeps and displacement of shelters, and despite the negativity and injustices that surround our local unhoused, we fight for freedom and justice for all. We must stand united in our commitment to uphold the principles of our nation by advocating for policies and actions that reflect our shared humanity. It is not enough to celebrate liberty and justice in words; we must embody these ideals in our actions.

As a community, we can push for more affordable housing, expand mental and behavioral health services, and create sustainable support systems that offer real, long-term solutions. By fostering a culture of empathy and understanding, we can work towards a future where every individual, regardless of their circumstances, has the opportunity to thrive.

Let this Fourth of July be a call to action. Let us pledge to transform our patriotic spirit into meaningful change. By addressing the root causes of homelessness and supporting comprehensive solutions, we can ensure that the promise of “We the People” and the belief that “all men are created equal” are not just historical ideals, but lived realities. In doing so, we honor the true spirit of our nation and create a community where liberty and justice truly prevail for all.