I’ll be honest. When I first heard about the proposal by Hope Housing Collaborative to let families sleep in cars parked overnight in church parking lots, I had doubts.
And I wasn’t alone.
Many people in our community, myself included, have concerns about safety, about unintended consequences, about who might come into our neighborhoods. Some are asking tough questions that, to others, might seem cold or insensitive.
But I don’t think that’s what they are. I think people are unsure. I know they care — they just don’t know what to do with that care.
This past Thursday, I attended a community meeting about the program. A lot of the folks there were my neighbors. I listened to concerns, and what I heard wasn’t rejection. I heard nervousness. Hesitation. One neighbor of mine spoke up. She’s a single woman living alone, and I completely understand why this would make her uneasy. When someone tells you “don’t worry, it’s only going to be families with kids,” but you’ve lived long enough to know that promises can be stretched — that some people might slip through who aren’t honest, or who have no intention of following the rules — your guard goes up.
There’s a big difference between someone who is living in their car by tragic circumstance and someone who has chosen that lifestyle and doesn’t share our community’s values. And it’s OK to name that.
We’re a tight-knit community. We don’t always trust outside organizations or new ideas. And sometimes, for good reason. There’s history. There’s baggage. There are wounds from efforts in the past that didn’t go as promised.
But here’s the thing I can’t shake, no matter how much I try to rationalize or focus on logistics or worry about what might go wrong: there are kids in this community sleeping in cars.
Right now. Tonight.
Maybe they’re in the back seat, curled up with their coat as a pillow. Maybe they don’t have pajamas. Maybe they’re scared every time a car drives by too fast or someone knocks on the window and tells them to move. Maybe they have a test at school tomorrow and no sleep tonight. Maybe they have no breakfast in the morning.
No matter how they got there — and we can debate that forever — the fact is, they are there. And pretending they aren’t won’t make it untrue.
Church parking lots might not be the best place, and maybe this plan isn’t the best solution. Maybe what the Hope Housing Collaborative is proposing is not the right way to fix the problem. It might not work the way it’s intended. There could be better ideas out there that they haven’t heard yet.
But now that I know — truly know — that kids in our community are going to sleep in the backseats of cars, I can’t support doing nothing.
Something has to happen. If this is what happens first, so we can move kids from cars to beds, then so be it. I’m not saying this without skin in the game — one of the businesses Coralee and I own is next to a proposed parking site. But I’d rather begin by trying something than delay, hoping for a perfect plan while children sleep on cold seats.
Knowing and not acting — that’s not an option anymore.
I understand those who say, “What if something bad happens if we allow this?” It’s a valid question. But I keep coming back to the quiet truth: something bad is already happening.
They can’t guarantee perfection. But they can guarantee action. We can choose to help.
Maybe it won’t work perfectly. Maybe it gets messy. But I would rather try and stumble than stand by while children suffer quietly — not in another city, not on a news clip, but right here in our backyard.
This program won’t solve homelessness. But maybe it can make a night a little safer. A morning a little less cold. Maybe, just maybe, it can show a child that their community sees them.
And to those who are hesitant — I see you, too. It’s OK to have concerns. It’s OK to ask questions. What matters is what we do with the answers. We won’t get them all at once. But we have to start somewhere.
This isn’t about politics or organizations or who’s “right.” This is about a car with fogged-up windows in a church parking lot, and the small face on the other side of the glass, hoping for a little peace, just for the night.
If we try and fail, we’ve still done more than if we looked the other way. And if we try and help just one child, then to me, that’s worth it.
Let’s be the community that didn’t ignore this. Let’s be the people who tried.
Together.
And here’s one way we can start: A new effort called Safe Haven is in the works. It’s a local program that will help fund longer-term accommodations for families with children identified by the Hope Housing Collaborative, giving a real chance to get out of their cars and into something stable.
Yes, this is a handout. But my hope is that it becomes a hand up — a chance for a parent to show their child what strength looks like, even in the hardest moment.
Once they are ready to accept donations, I’m asking you to join Coralee and I and donate whatever you can to Safe Haven.
Here’s my promise to you: I have no idea if this will work. Some of the people we try to help will fail. Some may even disappoint us. But none of that changes this truth: right now, kids in our community are sleeping in cars.
And that is unacceptable.
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Chad Taylor is the publisher of The Chronicle. He can be reached at chad@chronline.com.
