This story aired in the July 22, 2024 episode of Crosscurrents
Every two years cities and counties across the country send out volunteers for the Point-In-Time — or PIT — Count. It’s a surprisingly simple process. Volunteers go out and try to count, how many unhoused people there are. Data from Alameda County’s PIT Count came out earlier this Summer, and according to the data, homelessness is actually decreasing in Alameda County.
Counties are required to complete the count to qualify for federal funding for homelessness. But with the recent supreme court ruling allowing cities to enforce anti-camping bans, even when there is not enough shelter beds for those displaced, we ask how is this funding used? And, are the programs it supports actually helping to end homelessness?
In January, KALW’s emergency and disaster preparedness reporter Wren Farrell went out with PIT Count teams in Alameda County to get a better sense of how the count works and what actually happens with the funding.
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“Good morning! Are we ready?” says Sharon Cornu, in front of a cheering crowd.
At the end of January, around 5:00 in the morning, I walk into the auditorium of St. Mary’s Center, a community center in Oakland. It’s full of sleepy volunteers, clutching their cups of coffee, nervously waiting for their assignments.
“Welcome to St. Mary’s. We’re thrilled to be a part of three locations across the city of Oakland. More than a thousand people in Alameda County this morning, going out,” Sharon Cornu says.
It’s the morning of Alameda County’s 2024 Point-in-Time count.
“And what are we gonna do?” Sharon asks the crowd.
“Count!” they respond.
“Count! And what happens after that?”
“Funding!” they say back.
“Funding! We got the plan. We got the plan.”
The Point-in-Time — or PIT — count is the primary way communities across America determine how many unhoused people there are in the region. They do this by disbanding hundreds of volunteers to literally count people, one by one, on the street. I tagged along with volunteers Kawal Ulande, and Braz Shabrell.
“You wanna count this car?” Kawal asks Braz as we drive up and down the streets of West Oakland.
“Yeah, I do,” Braz responds. “Yeah. I think that's probably someone sleeping there. You can tell, there's blankets on it to keep it insulated.”
The morning of the count we drive up and down the streets of our assigned zone, counting tents, makeshift structures, and cars that look like people were living in them. We then plug those numbers into an app.
“So they want us to do both sides of this street too,” Kawal yells across a busy street.
“Both sides of this street?” asks Braz.
“Yeah, so that side too, so just keep an eye on that side,” Kawal says.
After the PIT count
By early afternoon, volunteers in Alameda County were done. They submitted their data, closed the app, and stumbled back out into their regular lives.
The full report still hasn’t been released. But it’s a big deal when it comes out: there are always headlines about if the numbers have gone up or down and what that says about how a region is addressing homelessness. Some people really rely on the data.
“Like, I'm really interested in the survey and also the demographic data, ” says Dr. Aislinn Bird. She’s a staff psychiatrist with Alameda County Healthcare for the Homeless. She’s been working in street medicine for the last seven years.
“Are the folks that we're serving in terms of race and ethnicity, does it match the Point-in-Time count? Because if it's off, then that means that we're doing something wrong in our service delivery model,” she says.
The data is also important because it's one of a few things that makes cities and counties eligible to receive federal funding for homelessness. On average, Alameda County receives $37 million annually from the Department of Housing and Urban Development, or HUD.
“They're the federal agency responsible for all of the public housing and section eight programs and the other programs to address the housing needs of poor people,” says Paul Boden. He’s the director of the Western Regional Advocacy Project, or WRAP, a multi-state homeless advocacy group. He used to be unhoused, and he also used to be a case manager in a supportive housing program. He’s a true expert on this stuff.
“If you participate in the Point-in-Time headcount, if you have a local homeless coordinating board, like, you get brownie points on the score sheet, and then the cities that get the highest number of brownie points get the most money,” Paul tells me.
But Paul has a lot of issues with the PIT count and how HUD uses it to prioritize funding.
HUD and the history of PIT
His concerns about the count have to do with who it doesn't include. Paul remembers that before cities and counties started doing PIT, they did something called the “gaps analysis.” A process that took stock of what people in communities around the country told HUD they needed the most.
“And they didn't like the results. It was family housing. It was family shelters. It was like, you know, 'Take care of the kids, take care of the families.' Well, that's too expensive. Let's do chronic homeless single adults, because that's the most visible population,” he explains.
“Visible” because they live on sidewalks and in encampments. On the morning of Alameda County’s PIT count, almost everyone Braz and Kawal “counted” fell under this category. We didn’t see any families or children.
But not everyone who’s unhoused is living on the street or in a shelter. Women and children, for example, often stay in motels, or with friends, as a matter of safety. And technically, according to HUD, they aren’t “homeless”.
“Families doubled up living in SROs, youth that are couch surfing — which is what I did for years when I was out there — no longer count as being homeless. They're now deemed to be poorly housed.”
And being “poorly housed” could mean they aren’t eligible for certain services.
“If you're sleeping on your cousin's couch and they find out, you're kicked off the waiting list for a shelter bed,” says Paul.
This isn’t always the case at every shelter, but Paul says that redefining “homelessness” allows HUD to simplify its funding priorities. These days, a lot of its funding goes towards PSH, or Permanent Supportive Housing — which is exactly what it sounds like.
Advocates, case workers, and other officials say that funding from HUD is desperately needed. But it only seems to be going so far.
Inside Permanent Supportive Housing
Derrick Hayes lives in a PSH unit in Oakland called Nova. It’s six-stories, with lots of windows, and a heavy metal door that you need a fob to open.
We take an elevator up to his floor, it dings and an electronic voice greets us: “GOING UP.”
Derrick calls his place “the Penthouse” because he has such a great view.
“You can see San Francisco right here. A good shot of San Francisco. You can see the Port of Oakland. You can see downtown Oakland. Sometimes I just look out here and just cry because I came a long way, brother,” he tells me.
The “permanent” in Permanent Supportive Housing means that Derrick can live there as long as he contributes 30 percent of his income to the rent, and doesn’t violate the terms of his lease by doing things like hoarding, making excessive noise, or having too many guests or friends live with him.
Derrick loves his place, he loves having a door that locks. But Nova, like many Permanent Supportive Housing Units, has its problems.
“This leaks,” he says, then points to his fridge.
“This leaks. That doesn't work.”
“The oven doesn't work?” I ask.
“No, it's not an oven, it’s a microwave. And so we don't even have a serviceman. We don't even have a maintenance man now. I guess he got fired.”
Derrick says he put in service requests for repairs three months ago, but nothing’s gotten fixed. We reached out to Nova’s property management team about these issues and they didn’t respond.
But it’s bigger than just a broken microwave: Derrick thinks Nova could be doing more to support the residents when it comes to mental health and substance use.
“I've been here two years, like 12 people have died,” he tells me.
“Two?” I ask.
“12,” He corrects me.
“12 people have died in the last two years?” I sound surprised.
“And that's right here. Right here. Yeah. Some of drug overdoses, some being in there probably for weeks without nobody knowing it. That’s a large amount of people, man.”
Supportive services at Nova are operated by LifeLong Medical Care. They say they can’t comment on the number of overdose related deaths. But they say staff are trained to use Narcan—the emergency medication that can reverse an opioid overdose. And, they make it available to the residents for free.
They also say they provide referrals to drug treatment programs and — if requested — certain mental health services. But the referral process can be lengthy and bureaucratic.
Derrick doesn’t want to leave Nova. He just wants the county to provide permanent supportive housing.
“I'm frustrated because, uh, for other people. So my frustration with my apartment, I don't really give a damn about that 'cause I lived in worse,” Derrick explains.
The “S” in PSH refers to supportive services like substance use and mental health support. But residents and advocates say that not all PSH programs provide effective support. And if the programs aren’t truly supportive, it creates this cycle that only a select few are successfully escaping from. They say change could start with getting more qualitative data about our unhoused populations — not just numbers.
“The horrible thing is the point in time numbers are being used by the media and by a lot of the national and local homeless groups as an actual number,” says Paul Boden. “It's not even close, and they all still use the number and then say, wow, but we know that's an under count. Then why do we keep using that number?”
Preliminary data from the PIT count was released in May. It says that homelessness dropped in Alameda County. The decrease is small, around 300 people, but officials are saying it’s the result of efforts by the county to build more housing and move people off the street. On top of that, there was a 19 percent increase in the number of people accessing shelters, which shows that when resources are available, people jump at the opportunity to use them.
“I literally get up and look out my window and get teary-eyed because of the blessing that it is. Turning the keys to that lock, opening up my refrigerator, smoking a cigarette on the toilet,” Derrick laughs.
Back to the PIT count
Alameda County did make some changes to the PIT count this year. They didn’t just “count” people. When we came across people who were awake, we asked if they’d be willing to answer some questions about their lives and what they thought they needed, in exchange for a $10 gift card.
“In the past three years, how many times do you think you've been homeless?” Kawal asks a man outside a liquor store in West Oakland.
“Uh, three — Like 3 years,” the man responds.
“Ok… Your first experience of homelessness, how old were you?"
"20 years old."
"Ok, and how long have you been in Alameda County — lived in Alameda County?"
The final data from the survey hasn’t been released yet. But service providers are hopeful it’s a step in the right direction towards ending homelessness.
