< One camp at a time, a Seattle group is transforming its approach to homelessness

MICHEL MARTIN, HOST:

The coronavirus pandemic put tremendous strain on public health in this country, but it also sparked innovation. To that end, we're going to hear about a program in Seattle that works to get people out of homeless camps and into homes. Reporter Katia Riddle tells us how this strategy that was born in crisis could become a long-term solution.

NICHOLE ALEXANDER: Good morning, outreach.

KATIA RIDDLE, BYLINE: More than 30 people live in this homeless encampment. Nichole Alexander is trying to make friends with all of them.

ALEXANDER: Good morning, biggie.

RIDDLE: It's 9 a.m. Alexander walks through the camp. It's in an industrial area near a highway overpass a few miles south of downtown. Stripped out cars sit among RVs, trailers and tents. She chats with one resident through a partially open trailer window.

ALEXANDER: How are you?

RIDDLE: It's 38 degrees. He's under a pile of blankets.

ALEXANDER: Oh. We can check in the car and see if we have any more hand warmers, OK? Oh, yeah. You want to go dose?

RIDDLE: Dose - his daily methadone.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: I got to go dose.

ALEXANDER: OK. You have a way to get there? You're just going to walk? Oh, you're going to take the bus? OK, then we'll do paperwork tomorrow, OK?

RIDDLE: This program is called JustCARE. Outreach workers like Alexander spend weeks building relationships with people here. Together, they make a plan for getting resources - health care, food, housing. Then staff move everyone out all at once. Alexander is finishing a master's degree. She's starting her doctorate soon, and she has another credential.

ALEXANDER: I have been unhoused, lived in motels. I've lived in cars. I've been a teen mom.

RIDDLE: A half hour later, she's huddling in a sliver of sunlight with camp resident Shaun Lynn, filling out his paperwork.

ALEXANDER: Are you currently using opioids, meth, weed, cocaine, alcohol, all the above, it's a party?

SHAUN LYNN: I mean, pretty much it's a party.

ALEXANDER: It's a party. If it's there, it's whatever. OK. Are you on methadone or Suboxone or interested in methadone?

RIDDLE: Treatment or not is up to him. People don't have to be clean to get help here. Alexander also asks Lynn about his mental health.

LYNN: It runs in my family, schizophrenia does. But it's like, I've never been treated for it.

ALEXANDER: OK. No diagnosis?

LYNN: No, no diagnosis.

ALEXANDER: OK.

LYNN: My mother and my uncle were both schizophrenic.

RIDDLE: Lynn has been living at this camp for three years. He's fearful about leaving the people he's met here.

LYNN: You know what I mean? These guys are basically family. I mean, it's my street family.

RIDDLE: Could you see some benefit, though, to being housed?

LYNN: Yes and no. I've been housed before and been miserable, so I don't know.

LISA DAUGAARD: Whatever is going on for this person is my problem.

RIDDLE: Lisa Daugaard is the executive director of the Public Defender Association based in Seattle. She's the architect of JustCARE.

DAUGAARD: We are stepping in all the way.

RIDDLE: When COVID hit, Daugaard and her staff were already working with people living on the streets. The public health crisis around homelessness escalated. Daugaard had an epiphany. The best approach would be to get an entire camp off the streets all at once and into shelter. The only way would be to do it themselves.

DAUGAARD: No. 1, you start to hold yourself accountable for the outcome in a very different way. And No. 2, if we don't have a good answer, we have to keep - like, we have to find one.

RIDDLE: Since starting in September of 2020, JustCARE has cleared 19 camps. They've housed hundreds of people, leaning heavily at first on federal pandemic relief. Getting each person into housing and keeping them there cost tens of thousands of dollars per year. Daugaard acknowledges it's a lot. She asks, what's the alternative?

DAUGAARD: If we don't do this and there's no other plan, we're all kind of dead in the water.

RIDDLE: In Washington state, it's not just Seattle proper experiencing this crisis. Officials estimate more than 40,000 unhoused people live in King County - at least 20,000 unsheltered, on the streets. Back at the camp, a block away from the tents and RVs, Tim Krevlin gestures to the parking lot of his wholesale gift business.

TIM KREVLIN: I mean, you can see this giant fence that goes all the way around.

RIDDLE: He and other business owners paid thousands of dollars to fence off the parking lot. They're trying to prevent people from setting up camp there.

KREVLIN: It's a total hassle, and it's unsightly.

RIDDLE: Krevlin points to the nearly 2,500 businesses that have closed in Seattle in the last few years.

KREVLIN: Downtown Seattle, people have just left because there was the homeless that were, like, living in their entryways and on their sidewalks.

RIDDLE: Krevlin is hopeful JustCARE will help protect his business from that fate. The results across Seattle are promising. A recent evaluation showed that 70% of participants have stayed off the streets six months into the program. But federal pandemic aid has dried up. Staff are making their case to city, state and county funders to keep the money coming.

ALEXANDER: It's going to be good.

RIDDLE: After weeks of prep, it's moving day at the Seattle camp near the highway overpass.

ALEXANDER: When you get there, you're going to like it. I promise, OK?

STARR DRAPER: No, I do, I believe.

RIDDLE: Nichole Alexander is helping 42-year-old Starr Draper. Draper has been living in this camp for a year and a half. She's carrying a couple of trash bags of clothes, and she's nervous.

DRAPER: I believe it's going to be the best thing. I just have to get through the first couple days.

ALEXANDER: Yep. Yep. You get there, take a hot shower.

DRAPER: Yeah.

ALEXANDER: Clean clothes.

DRAPER: Put the TV on.

ALEXANDER: Yep. You got a TV in your room.

DRAPER: Wow.

RIDDLE: On the streets, men outnumber women. Draper says that's especially hard.

DRAPER: You know, you kind of get bullied and don't really have your own choice. Most guys want sex. And if you don't have your own place to go home, you kind of have to give it up.

RIDDLE: Right. They want that for payment.

DRAPER: Probably.

RIDDLE: So it's easy to trade sex for what?

DRAPER: Just giving up a little 'cause I get a little bit given.

RIDDLE: Like what? What do you mean by that?

DRAPER: Food, somewhere safe, somewhere that's warm and safe.

RIDDLE: The plan is to eventually move Draper into long-term housing. But today she's going to a temporary home.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Have a good day.

RIDDLE: Bye, thank you.

DRAPER: You too.

RIDDLE: An Uber driver drops her off before a JustCARE staffer greets her.

MARILYN: Hello there. Welcome to the Civics. My name is Marilyn. Come on in.

RIDDLE: Draper's room is on the third floor. She's relieved but unsettled. Unlike the street, there are rules - no smoking inside, masks mandatory, no guests.

It's a little bit lonely.

DRAPER: It is a little bit, and there's not really that much personal stuff in here. I'm excited to take a shower.

RIDDLE: Clean, dry and safe, but more alone than she's been in years. For Starr Draper, that's a trade worth making.

For NPR News, I'm Katia Riddle in Seattle.

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