I remember the joyful smile of a young boy I met at a transitional shelter for families—bright-eyed, full of curiosity, and bursting with love for basketball and photography. We bonded over those things. I helped his mother buy some groceries since she was laid off recently and did not receive her EBT card in time. And without warning, her son ran up to me and wrapped his little arms around my legs. “It’s for helping my mom,” he said.
That hug wasn’t just sweet—it was a heartbreaking reality. In that small gesture, I felt the weight of what families like his carry every day. Struggling to make ends meet. Navigating systems that often feel indifferent. Hoping someone, somewhere, still sees them and cares.
So I find myself asking: Is homelessness a policy choice?
Because it sure looks that way.
We often view homelessness as a tragic but inevitable part of life in America. But it’s not inevitable. It’s the result of decisions—what we fund, what we neglect, and who we choose to protect.
In this same country, 60% of Americans live paycheck to paycheck. One emergency—job loss, illness, rent hike—is all it takes to send a family into crisis. Meanwhile, affordable housing remains out of reach for millions. There are only 37 affordable homes for every 100 extremely low-income renters. That gap didn’t happen by accident. It’s the direct result of decades of disinvestment and political inaction.
And children suffer most. 1 in 5 children in America faces food insecurity. That’s not just a statistic. That’s a child like the one I met—bright, hopeful, and hungry for more than just meals. Hungry for security. For stability. For a future.
I’ve also seen the good. Like the day I watched neighbors—strangers, really—help an elderly man struggling with heavy packages. No one asked who he voted for. No one demanded anything in return. They just helped, because that’s what community is supposed to look like.
Why can’t our policies reflect that same compassion?
Instead, we criminalize homelessness. We aim to cut safety nets like Medicaid and CHIP, which currently cover 79 million Americans, many of them children.
But it doesn’t have to stay this way.
We know what works. We’ve seen it in places like Finland, where a “Housing First” approach has nearly ended chronic homelessness by prioritizing permanent and stable housing. And we’ve seen it right here in the U.S, when policy is aligned with the real needs of the people.
Take a look at Houston, where a coordinated care system and cross-agency collaboration has helped over 25,000 people get housed since 2012. We’ve seen it in Salt Lake City, where a Housing First approach drastically reduced chronic homelessness by 91% from 2005-2015. This Model works because it starts with the most essential human need: shelter. And when it is combined with wraparound services like job training, mental health and physical care, and substance use disorder support–cities, counties and entire states can make real, measurable progress towards ending homelessness.
Real impact like the mother of the little boy who was able to secure a job and was able to move into an apartment through wraparound services. Those moments show us what’s possible when we lead with empathy and strategic implementation.
So again I ask: Is homelessness a policy choice?
Yes—it is.
America should be about putting people first— not just in words, but through real action. Every day, there are families quietly struggling, children going hungry, and elderly folks who don’t get the care they deserve right here in our backyard. If we build communities of care in our neighborhoods, we can create policies of compassion in our government. If we show up for the people next door, we can show up for the millions we’ll never meet.
I pledge to keep showing up with compassion, with action and most importantly, with hope.
Because no one should go without a home in a country full of houses.
Because no child should go hungry in a nation full of food.
Because we are capable of choosing something better—together for everyone.