No Home Here: San Jose Neighborhood Shuts Down Shelter Proposal

The man who sleeps behind my house avoids eye contact with me. Nestled in a sleeping bag just outside our backyard fence, which opens to Noble Park, he usually scrolls through his phone as I unlatch the gate for my morning walk. If I inadvertently awaken the man, he rolls onto his other side. Even my dog has grown accustomed to his presence.

An unexpected neighbor since the start of this year, the man lingered in my mind as I embarked through the Berryessa neighborhood I call home. It was a crisp, peaceful morning. Yet as I passed yard signs reading “NO HOMELESS TINY HOUSES,” frustration mounted. Last month, after raising over $20,000 and organizing in protest, residents convinced the city to abandon plans for a homeless shelter.

 

Opponents of the shelter claim they do not want to attract homeless people. However, as anyone who lives in the area knows, the homeless presence in Berryessa is larger than ever. At the percolation ponds on Noble Avenue, where the city intends to build the tiny houses, people sleep on benches, camp beneath bridges, and fashion shelters along the creek. If you walk upstream along Penetencia Creek, you will find tarps and tents half-hidden amongst the foliage. Someone even lugged cement slabs onto the creek bed, forming a convenient pathway to their dwelling.

 

A few weeks ago, Christina Soto, a local realtor, mailed out advertisements urging residents to “prevent homeless from entering our neighborhood” by signing a petition. Printed on the pamphlet is an image of a typical urban encampment – litter in the streets and tents overtaking the sidewalk. It is designed to scare people. Unfortunately, the thing that Ms. Soto and many residents are getting wrong is that this image portrays what Berryessa will look like without a shelter.

 

Homelessness already entered our neighborhood, yet almost no one I know supports the shelter. People are concerned about the shelter’s placement, and their fears are not unfounded. The proposed location is hardly ideal. Most troubling is its proximity to Noble Elementary School. Do we really want our children exposed to addiction and mental instability? How will it impact the perc ponds? Will those served by the shelter receive sufficient access to local services?

 

These problems have solutions. We should be focused on finding them. Building a homeless shelter is not the harbinger of a neighborhood crisis, but its antidote. Like all good shelters, the one in Berryessa would be carefully designed. It would be run by dedicated staff members. It would address security concerns by hiring guards, installing cameras, and forming relationships with the larger community. Instead of demanding that the proposal be discarded, residents should demand answers about how the shelter will function. They should demand generous allocations of time and money, so we can not only ensure the shelter’s success, but also foster improvements in the community.

 

Last year, while away for my final semester of college, I worked at a homeless shelter in Santa Barbara. When I told my former boss about the pushback in my hometown, she sounded shocked. “Where do you live?” she asked, as if I belonged to a short-sighted, selfish community. Without hesitation, I rushed to San Jose’s defense. I believe my neighbors are sensitive, honest people who want the best for their families.

 

During my walk, I passed a sign in someone’s yard which proclaimed, “No human is illegal.” As my dog stopped to pee, I noticed the sign was dwarfed by an anti-shelter sign, its red lettering determined and angry. I trudged home wondering if anyone appreciated the irony.