A Person With a Face, Unhoused on a Cold Winter Night

As in much of the United States, frigid cold has blanketed itself across the region where I live. Hundreds of individuals experiencing homelessness are fighting for their lives each night to find a warm place to sleep. According to the National Coalition for the Homeless, as many as 700 unhoused people die each year due to cold-related injuries.

As I sit on my toasty couch typing on a high-tech laptop with my painted nails, I recognize my privilege. And it's not fair. With the right circumstances, anyone could find themselves without a place to sleep. Within our current economy, it's not unrealistic for many to be just one or two paychecks away from being unable to cover their rent. In addition, research estimates that 76% of those experiencing homelessness are living with a neuropsychiatric condition like schizophrenia (Gutwinski et al., 2021), which can make it difficult to organize one's thoughts and manage the tasks required for maintaining housing.

A Person With a Face

When I see someone without housing, I react. I see their face. Before you say, "Jen, everyone sees their face, what are you talking about?" Let me try to explain. Up until age 9 or 10, I knew about people I thought of as "homeless," usually those I saw panhandling in the city. I had a vague notion of what it meant. Around that age, I lost touch with someone important in my life for a period of a few months. I learned that during that time, they didn't have housing. (They do now.)

From then on, my eyes opened a bit bigger when I saw someone whom I imagined had no place to call their own. Interacting with clients and others in my life who have experienced homelessness magnified this. I can no longer see a "homeless person" when I drive by someone without housing. I pay a little closer attention. I see someone with a face and a name.

A kind group of volunteers have created overnight warming spaces in my area. While this is a group of people far from having a savior complex, I see them just as much as heroes as I do firefighters. To stay awake through the night so another can sleep safely is an act of true altruism.

Yet, as with other initiatives to support individuals experiencing homelessness in a variety of spaces, there has been a level of backlash from 'concerned citizens.'

I wonder if when others see an unhoused person, they also see a person with a name and a face. How could anyone wish to put spikes on the only available resting place for someone with a name and a face? Or to wish that they be kept outdoors when indoor options could be available?

In social psychology, there is a concept known as "Dunbar's number" or the number of individuals one person can keep in mind based on their cognitive ability (Mac et al., 2016). In popular culture, this has been renamed the "monkey sphere." We know of all kinds of suffering in the world, but it often remains abstract—like a headline in a newspaper—until it affects someone within our number. While there has been skepticism as to the validity of Dunbar's number in humans (as has been demonstrated in non-human primates), issues such as this bring it to my mind.

Not in My Neighborhood Shelter

I understand that there are fears. The "not in my backyard" mentality is real and grounded in more than apathy. Although myths prevail regarding unhoused individuals, the vast majority of people experiencing homelessness are not in any way dangerous. On the contrary, these people are at high risk of being harmed and attacked by others.

Some campaigns have attempted to separate the compounded stigma of mental health from homelessness, yet the reality is that mental health difficulties are a real contributing challenge for this population. Ignoring this turns us away from an important need. People living with mental health conditions are by and large no more a hazard than anyone else. Rather than separating the two, a compassionate approach may best be inclusive.

Rehumanizing the Experience of Homelessness

Several courageous individuals have come forth to share their battles through an experience of homelessness. Through sharing their lived experience, they rehumanize it. In her book, Mind Estranged: My Journey from Schizophrenia and Homelessness to Recovery, mental health advocate Bethany Yeiser shares how she found herself unhoused and moved through this. In her account, Yeiser gives a name, face, and story to the experience of homelessness, ultimately ending with an immensely hopeful ending.

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I hope that in time we will find ourselves in a warmer winter—not necessarily physically, but in how we treat those most affected by the season. I believe that we are capable as a species of concerning ourselves with each other without limits.

In almost every text I've come across on the topic, a division has been drawn between chronic and temporary homelessness. I believe that this can be wrong. In a world that cares enough, almost all homelessness can be temporary.