Pam Zubeck’s column in this week’s edition (“If the PIT count shows progress, why isn’t downtown feeling it?”) raises good questions about the true scope of homelessness in Downtown Colorado Springs. And it reminds me of an eye-opening experience I had about a year ago.
Before coming to the Bulletin, I worked downtown at a nonprofit dedicated to child welfare. It was a regular part of my morning routine to put on disposable gloves and pick up the trash, the cigarette butts and occasional piles of human feces from the front of the building.
Sometimes the leavers of trash, cigarette butts and poop would be on the property. Most of them were understanding when I asked them to leave during business hours, and they politely would. Some were friendly, and we’d chat a little as they gathered their things. Others were agitated, more than one was in the throes of psychosis, and a few were aggressive and scary – one man ran at my coworker as she was walking to the back door, causing her to flee back to her car, lock herself in it and drive away.
There was one man in a wheelchair, a partially amputated foot in a dirty bandage protruding from his pant leg, who kept being sexually inappropriate in our parking lot. I called 911 every time this happened, but the police came many hours later or not at all. Once, waiting for cops to arrive, a co-worker and I stood on the sidewalk in front of the building to make sure no one, especially no children, came by and were exposed to what he was doing. We waved our arms to alert approaching pedestrians and yelled, “Don’t come over here! There is a man who is being extremely inappropriate! Please be safe and don’t come this way!” He was right there, he could totally hear us, but he didn’t stop until he was done, and then he wheeled away with an awful grin on his face.
I was so angry that day. Angry at this man for committing indecent exposure at a nonprofit serving kids. Angry that I was put on hold when I called emergency services. Angry at the officers who never came, just as they hadn’t come every other time. (One did show up eventually, and he was great, just way too late, which I do not think was his fault – understaffing has been a chronic issue at the CSPD). I was so furious that my coworkers and I had to put ourselves at risk to protect the children we served. This was not part of the job description, this was not fair, this was not right.
I saw the sexually inappropriate man in the wheelchair one morning when the temperature was in the single digits. He was in his same dirty pants and light jacket that I always saw him wearing. His partial foot was sticking out with its dirt-blackened bandage into the bitter cold. It was killing cold outside.
There was no unseeing this and no walking by. I had a pair of wool socks on my feet, so I took them off and went over to him. He awkwardly fitted one over his swollen, stumpy, filth-covered foot. I asked his name, and he told me. I told him mine. I asked him about himself, and listened to him ramble a semi-coherent story about being an airplane pilot and how he could make a car out of just about anything, like sheet metal and chewing gum. I noticed how dirty he was. I wondered how he was able to relieve himself, given his mobility issues, and if he ever had the chance to bathe. I wondered if he had bedsores from sitting in that chair so much. I wondered where his family was, and if they knew where he was, or if they cared.
I had thought of him until then as a pervert, a criminal, a problem. But I saw then, with nauseating clarity, that in truth he was a very unwell man who had been abandoned by society, and who was now suffering on the sidewalks of Colorado Springs. He wasn’t living on the streets; he was dying on them.
I called around trying to get services for him but ultimately failed. No one was equipped to deal with his issues, especially since he wasn’t well enough to know he needed help. And I wasn’t equipped to help him, either. Not in the way he needed.
People who have lived through homelessness, or who are still living through it, have insight on what solutions will be most effective, and that is part of why we cover the Colorado Springs Homeless Union so frequently, along with community agencies and other leaders who are creating change.
One thing I’ve heard during Homeless Union meetings and trail cleanups is something Pam’s column touches on: that the Point-in-Time count uses a flawed system and probably doesn’t give an accurate picture of homelessness in the Colorado Springs area.
The Point-in-Time count is a nationwide program to count the number of people experiencing homelessness on a single night in January – this year, it will happen here on Tuesday, Jan. 28.
Here are just a few issues with how the count is done: People in hospitals and jails are not counted. It takes place in the winter, when more people are likely to be in motels or couch surfing. Colorado winter weather can add extra difficulty for volunteers to find people who are sleeping outside. People who are unhoused must know about the count and report themselves or be reached by a volunteer and then choose to self-report their homeless status – a process that will inevitably lead to undercounting and dubious accuracy.
This count matters because it is a big piece of how policy makers understand the issue of homelessness and housing security, and it can impact what projects are undertaken and to what level of funding.
So, what would be a more sensible and accurate way to count the number of unhoused? What can we do to best help our fellow humans with housing? These are issues we’ll continue to explore in future stories, so stay tuned. And as we consider these complex, difficult issues, we will do it while keeping the humanity of all front and center, exactly where it should be.
