Late morning on Halloween at West Pensacola's Alfred Washburn Center, around 150 people gathered in the yard, under sprawling live oaks and gathering clouds. They ate sack lunches, checked their mail and lined up to use the showers.
Rain had just begun to fall, and there was a palpable sense of anxiety — not just because of the holiday or the gloomy weather, but because county officials had, just that morning, begun preparing to evict residents from one of the largest homeless encampments in the region.
"There's a lot of activity on Beggs Lane today," said Michael Kimberl, who runs the center, which serves as a lifeline for those experiencing homelessness. "The county is putting up no trespassing signs I hear, as well as some fencing today. The county will be evicting everyone from that piece of property on Dec. 2."
The impending eviction was just the latest chapter in a series of policies that have intensified struggles for the homeless in Escambia County. A new Florida law, which took effect on Oct. 1, criminalizes activities like sleeping in public spaces. Starting Jan. 1, that law will also allow local governments to be sued if they fail to enforce its provisions. Those who are caught trespassing could face fines and even jail time, penalties imposed on people who have nowhere else to go.
Kimberl said he’s already seen the effects of this policy even before its start. "These laws that have been passed recently have sent chills through this entire community," Kimberl said. "We’ve seen people getting more aggressive because they’re stressed out, lots of depression and just anxiety as to what’s about to happen."
Most Americans respond to laws that affect their lives by voting— making their voices heard at the polls. But for people experiencing homelessness, exercising that right can be much more difficult. Just getting to a polling station, qualifying to vote, and even finding the time to think about voting are daunting obstacles for those on the street.
"I guess when you wake up and ask, 'What am I going to eat today?' and 'Where am going to eat today?' that getting my voter registration card is not ... in the top 10 of the list."Steven Foster
Steven Foster is one of the people impacted by these barriers. He was working as a live-in caretaker for an elderly woman in Navarre when a house fire destroyed both his home and his livelihood.
"I've worked since I was 16 years old. And I've never had to depend necessarily on someone else," Foster said. "Now, I've had people that have helped me in the past when I've gotten a bind. But never anything to where you just wake up in the morning and you literally have nothing to eat unless you go and find it."
After the fire, Foster moved to Georgia and managed to save up $1,100 to try to start over. But then, while he used the restroom at a McDonald’s, someone stole his backpack, which held all his money and ID. He eventually got a new ID at the Washburn Center, but he still hasn't registered to vote.
"I haven't even made an attempt to get the voter's card because, truthfully, It's wake up and survive today," Foster said. "I guess when you wake up and ask 'What am I going to eat today?' and 'Where am going to eat today?' that getting my voter registration card is not ... in the top 10 of the list.""
Official records in Escambia County show only 178 voters registered to known homeless shelters — a small fraction of the thousands experiencing homelessness here. Nationally, only about 10% of unhoused individuals are registered to vote, compared to more than 70% of the general population. The discrepancy reflects the steep barriers unhoused voters face in trying to participate in democracy.
Kimberl described those without housing as being on the front lines of a larger struggle.
"If I were to look at this from a standpoint of there being a class war, they’re on the front lines," Kimberl said. "They are the people who are the most beat up and bruised, and this center works like a medical unit to patch them back up, get them ready to go back out, and try to be successful in this society."
For Melissa Potts, who relies on the Washburn Center, the frustration goes beyond finding stability. It's also about being seen, being heard.
"I am tired of people looking down on us," Potts said, "because we are people. We’re just people who have a freaked-up situation ... Vote for us. Vote for us for a change. Help us."
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