invisible than in big cities, so social programs are often scarce. And those that exist might be hard to access because of long distances and the lack of public transportation.
Joey Perrins-Lane experienced first- hand what it means to be homeless in a smaller city. He was 15 when he found himself on the streets in Eugene, Oregon. His mother kicked him out after discovering he used drugs. With no place to go, he slept on the streets— his first night was in an alley next to an all-night donut shop—and in parks, with a pocket knife to keep safe. In the morning, he hid his few belongings in the bushes and went to school, where he kept silent about his situation for fear of being kicked out.
In August 2012, in search of a new start, he hitchhiked to Columbus, Ohio, and dropped out of school. Addicted to cocaine and Oxycontin, he slept in abandoned buildings, beg- ging for money during the day. But in Columbus—a city five times as big as Eugene—he also found public transpor- tation, soup kitchens where he could get hot meals instead of dumpster div- ing, and, eventually, a youth program that helped him get off drugs.
“Here in Columbus, Ohio, the home- less don’t go hungry,” says Perrins-Lane,
who’s now 18. “I feel more alive now than I did when I was 15 in Eugene.”
The U.S. has been struggling with homelessness for a long time. In the 1930s, during the Great Depression, more than 250,000 homeless
kids—known as “boxcar chil- dren”—rode freight trains across America in search of work. The situation improved as the economy recovered in the 1940s with President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal and World War II.
Today, homeless advocates say that not enough resourc- es are devoted to rescue young Americans from homeless- ness. (Nationwide, there are only 4,000 beds for unaccom- panied homeless youth who don’t live with their families.) Too much money, they say, is spent criminalizing home- lessness with laws that ban sleeping in public spaces and
even in cars, instead of investing in affordable housing.
But the tide may be turning. In 2010, the Obama administration issued a plan to end youth homelessness by 2020, pledging to invest $5 billion in 2014 alone. Federal agencies that address homelessness are starting to collabo- rate better, and legislation was recently introduced in Congress to require col- leges to help homeless students find housing during breaks.
In Maine, Brianna DeMaio found transitional housing at a shelter for a couple of months in the summer. But she eventually left and is on the streets again.
She’s working on getting a copy of her birth certificate and applying for jobs. In the meantime, she’s slowly reconnecting with her mother, chatting with her online every now and then.
“What motivates me every day is thinking about my past and trying to achieve more and succeed,” DeMaio says. “I know that I can do better.”
invisible than in big cities, so social programs are often scarce. And those that exist might be hard to access because of long distances and the lack of public transportation.
Joey Perrins-Lane experienced first- hand what it means to be homeless in a smaller city. He was 15 when he found himself on the streets in Eugene, Oregon. His mother kicked him out after discovering he used drugs. With no place to go, he slept on the streets— his first night was in an alley next to an all-night donut shop—and in parks, with a pocket knife to keep safe. In the morning, he hid his few belongings in the bushes and went to school, where he kept silent about his situation for fear of being kicked out.
In August 2012, in search of a new start, he hitchhiked to Columbus, Ohio, and dropped out of school. Addicted to cocaine and Oxycontin, he slept in abandoned buildings, beg- ging for money during the day. But in Columbus—a city five times as big as Eugene—he also found public transpor- tation, soup kitchens where he could get hot meals instead of dumpster div- ing, and, eventually, a youth program that helped him get off drugs.
“Here in Columbus, Ohio, the home- less don’t go hungry,” says Perrins-Lane,
who’s now 18. “I feel more alive now than I did when I was 15 in Eugene.”
The U.S. has been struggling with homelessness for a long time. In the 1930s, during the Great Depression, more than 250,000 homeless
kids—known as “boxcar chil- dren”—rode freight trains across America in search of work. The situation improved as the economy recovered in the 1940s with President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal and World War II.
Today, homeless advocates say that not enough resourc- es are devoted to rescue young Americans from homeless- ness. (Nationwide, there are only 4,000 beds for unaccom- panied homeless youth who don’t live with their families.) Too much money, they say, is spent criminalizing home- lessness with laws that ban sleeping in public spaces and
even in cars, instead of investing in affordable housing.
But the tide may be turning. In 2010, the Obama administration issued a plan to end youth homelessness by 2020, pledging to invest $5 billion in 2014 alone. Federal agencies that address homelessness are starting to collabo- rate better, and legislation was recently introduced in Congress to require col- leges to help homeless students find housing during breaks.
In Maine, Brianna DeMaio found transitional housing at a shelter for a couple of months in the summer. But she eventually left and is on the streets again.
She’s working on getting a copy of her birth certificate and applying for jobs. In the meantime, she’s slowly reconnecting with her mother, chatting with her online every now and then.
“What motivates me every day is thinking about my past and trying to achieve more and succeed,” DeMaio says. “I know that I can do better.”
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