Last month, a man named Hassau Powell died inside the walls of Yale’s health system, after presumably living there for some time. If you read the news about this, you were probably as confused as we were. Vague details made his last moments a mystery.
One thing was consistent, however: Powell was called a “squatter” — a person deemed unbelonging inside of a physical system. The irony will hit you in the face.
It happened again. Another person in Connecticut died homeless, and their life was reported without the courtesy of dignity.
Why not question how and why a man under the age of 40 dies from “natural causes” in a hospital system? Why are there no frank discussions about why a person without housing isn’t able to access what he needs to survive with dignity? Why is Powell characterized as a security problem, and not the human-sized holes in our social safety nets?
Instead, prevailing narratives make him invisible, question his intent, and provoke more fear around people experiencing homelessness. This is shameful.
Every day, people experiencing homelessness are trying to escape death. They do this through growing their survival tactics, attempting to use our communities’ limited public goods to their fullest potential. They are small when they need to be, often hiding in plain sight, and can be larger than life when they must be.
We know this because we have both been homeless, and both of us work daily to more equitably reconstruct the systems that create homelessness. And it happened — again. Someone died homeless, and no one will speak of him with dignity.
Hassau Powell was not invisible, and did not die invisible. But he tried to stay invisible in a system — simply to attempt survival. Advocates and all people need to take note. We need to see the tragedy of his death.
This is a failure of humanity in housing policy, and in our society at large. The “security breach” was not in the Yale Health System, but in our social safety net. Where could Powell get the help he needed? Why did he feel no option but to hide?
When words like “squatter” are used by authorities and the media, the focus shifts to a false “us” versus “them” dichotomy.
“We” have housing. “They” do not.
But “we” are all part of this inequitable system — much closer to homelessness than we choose to believe. And we have the opportunity to change it.
Powell was not a squatter. He was a person.
He did not breach our secure systems, “we” failed to include him — and thousands of people and families in Connecticut like him who live without housing every day.
Do not turn a blind eye, and do not let our systems be inhumane. Be kind to people, but hard on systems. You won’t change what you refuse to see. And you won’t see what you refuse to talk about.
Let Powell’s death be the reason you choose to talk about homelessness in Connecticut. Do not let this leave you unchanged. He was not a “squatter,” a “danger,” or a “security breach.” Do not let him die invisible.
Tonight, more than 5,000 people in Connecticut are experiencing homelessness. Hundreds of them are on waitlists, waiting to be treated with baseline humanity, and trying to survive by any means necessary until then. National reports indicate an 18% increase in homelessness across our nation in the past year.
The problem is not those experiencing homelessness, it’s those of us who enjoy our housing privilege without questioning the inhumane conditions a growing number of our neighbors experience.
This starts with person-centered, accurate reporting on victims of homelessness, changes in resource allocation and policy, and ends with all of us actively championing a more humane world.
Do not let homelessness in Connecticut be invisible to you.
Anderson Curtis is Senior Policy Organizer, ACLU of Connecticut. Jennifer Paradis is Executive Director of the Beth-El Center, Inc.