The first thing people notice under the bridge is how noisy it is. Night and day, cars and trucks rumble overhead on Buckner Boulevard — and they rush past on I-30.
Even on sunny days, it’s gloomy. Clusters of tents surrounded by piles of belongings sit in dirt and gravel. It’s surprisingly tidy. But it doesn’t smell great.
“It’s like you died and went to hell. And you don’t know what you did is so wrong,” Belinda Bonine says as she stands outside her tent on a cool November day. She’s lived here for a few years with her husband Marty and their dog Whiskers. Her nephew Bobby stays in a tent next door.
“It’s terrible," she says. "Rats, scare me to death. People come and steal everything from you when you’re asleep. Or I was going to the bathroom and I got hit upside of the head with a gun and got robbed.”
Like most of the people in the camp, Belinda never imagined she’d end up under a bridge. She and Marty had both lost good jobs — and, before long, their home. Others found themselves here because of financial or medical catastrophes. Some struggled with unmet mental health and addiction issues. Many are parents, some are grandparents.
So when outreach workers showed up with the promise of long-term housing, Belinda says it gave her hope — something she’d hadn’t felt in a long time. Belinda and about two dozen of her neighbors living in this tent city will be helped over the next few months to move into apartments of their own and rebuild their lives.
And for people who’ve lost everything they’ve had — including hope — it offers a new start.
And a few months later, that hope paid off. Belinda and about two dozen of her neighbors who used to live in this tent city were helped to move into apartments of their own and begin rebuilding their lives. The site was cleaned, the fences fixed, and it is now monitored to keep people from staying there.
It’s a process called encampment decommissioning, part of a soup-to-nuts rethink of the systems set up to help people experiencing homelessness in Dallas and Collin c ounties. It’s managed by the nonprofit Housing Forward and the City of Dallas, which together coordinate with several nonprofits and local agencies to mobilize the resources necessary to move people out of homelessness for good.
“Before, I was so depressed that I thought about suicide and a way to do it without hurting, " Belinda says. “But I don’t think about it anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy. My husband’s happy. My dog’s kinda happy.”
“This is game changing,” says Alonzo Grape with the c ity of Dallas Office of Homeless Solutions. Bringing services to the encampment, he says, is so much better than sending people all over the city to search for what they need to get housing.
Making what would be a simple trip for someone with a car — for example, driving a few miles from the encampment to The Stewpot, one of the nonprofit organizations involved in the decommissioning effort — can be an ordeal.
“Sometimes we underestimate how time consuming it can be for an individual,” Grape says. “They have to do five bus transfers, maybe get on a train, and then we tell you ‘I want you to get an ID, get a physical,’ So we want to bring it here. It’s here, it’s where they’re accustomed to, it’s where they’re comfortable.”
Grape and the other outreach workers talk with the encampment’s residents about housing options, emphasizing that they have a say in where they’ll live. Do they need a first-floor unit? Is there an area of town close to family? Hopefully, that’ll help land them in a place that will maximize their chances of staying put for the long-term.
After they move, they’ll keep working with a caseworker as long as they want the help.
“We want to make sure we put you in the right position for you to get the resources that you need in order for you to make this transformation,” Grape says.
Shifting focus
Sarah Kahn, who leads Housing Forward, says that efforts to help the homeless used to focus mostly on crisis response for years — spending millions of dollars on the short-term needs only to see homelessness go up and up. Kahn says this doesn't work for folks who end up in encampments, most of whom have disabilities that add to their challenges.
“Whether that disabling condition is a result of homelessness or occurred before they become homeless, that is the population who has been homeless for a long period of time,” she says. “And they are not going to exit homelessness unless we bring housing assistance and wrap around care to that individual.”
Starting in 2021, this housing-first approach was supercharged with federal COVID relief funds. More recently, the federal government sent even more money because the strategy showed success, including a $22.8 million grant to address unsheltered homelessness, a $9.4 million grant to address youth homelessness, and additional technical support from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development.
Since 2021, Dallas has seen a 24% drop in unsheltered homelessness, even as most large cities across the country saw their numbers rise. So far, 25 encampments have been decommissioned — with 370 people moving into apartments of their own.
Journey to a new world
Earlier approaches to closing down encampments largely focused on clearing and fencing off areas where unhoused people gathered and lived. This often left residents traumatized, worse off, and with nowhere to go but another encampment.
From early November to late February, outreach workers return week after week to move the two dozen residents through the complex process of getting into housing and connected with all the supports to help them stay there. It took more than 20 staffers from at least seven different organizations and agencies.
“It's just barrier after barrier that these people have been facing for years,” says Hannah Sims, who oversees the effort for Housing Forward. “So our question is, how do we bring the entire homeless response system to this encampment?”
The actual move may be measured in miles, but the journey takes people who’ve lived on the streets to a very different world. A world with electricity and running water and a toilet. A roof over their head. A lock on the door. A kitchen with a stove. A clean bed and furniture.
“It’s probably about 30, 40 steps on paper, but by the end of it … they get to sign a lease and kind of start the next phase of their life in permanent housing,” Sims says.
Sims says building relationships are key to this work. As the months grow colder, she and a half dozen others bring water and hand-warmers and bus tickets and dog sweaters. They also enlist members of this ad-hoc community to try to make sure everyone is present on days when essential services are brought in.
A mobile medical clinic shows up at the site. So does a team from the nonprofit The Stewpot helps replace lost documents. And they get referrals for mental health or addiction treatment.
There are interruptions that slow the process. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year 's Day pass. A dangerously cold winter storm diverts the attention of some of the workers for a few days. Everyone under the bridge just hunkered down in their tents to ride out 88 hours of below-freezing temperatures.
Finally, in mid-February, on an unusually warm and sunny day, the big move finally gets underway. Belinda, Marty, Whiskers, nephew Bobby and seven other people from the encampment have been into vans and driven across town to their new apartments.
Sliding open the van door in the parking lot outside, Sims checks in.
“I want you to walk the unit and make sure you’re comfortable with it before we sign a lease today,” she tells them.
Before long, Belinda sees her apartment for the first time. She and Marty struggle with the short walk from the van
“Oh my god this is beautiful…wow….this is gorgeous, it’s so nice,” she said.
After signing their lease, Belinda and Marty are given an air mattress and household essentials, as well as some groceries. In a couple weeks, new furniture will be delivered.
Belinda says the first thing she wants to do is shower. Then, she wants to cook a meal in her own kitchen – something she hasn’t done in years.
Shifting focus
Out with the old
A week later, city work crews bring heavy machinery to clear out tents and everything else left under the bridge, then fence it off so no one can move in.
All but two of the original residents have been moved into housing. One, a cancer patient, has been hospitalized. The other had his apartment fall through at the last minute, and is waiting on a new placement.
A few newcomers have moved into the abandoned tents. Before demolition begins, they’re told they have to leave. The last to leave is a young woman who pushed a cart of her belongings away, sobbing — too late to get the same help that previous residents received.
“This part bothers me, of course,” says John Cox, an outreach worker from Dallas’ Office of Homeless Solutions.
Cox spent the last four months helping people move out, but today, he was tasked with delivering the bad news to the newcomers.
But still, he sees the day as a win — even though more people still need help.
“I think we’re gaining ground, it’s just real slow,” he says. “And there’s a lot of two-stepping. It’s two steps forward, one step back. We’re making progress.”
So far, 25 encampments have been decommissioned — with 370 people moving into apartments of their own.
Got a tip? Christopher Connelly is KERA's One Crisis Away Reporter, exploring life on the financial edge. Email Christopher at cconnelly@kera.org.You can follow Christopher on Twitter @hithisischris.
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