My friend, Walter, stood about five feet and eight inches tall. He had sparkly warm blue eyes, weathered pink skin, and an electric, infectious smile. His wild eyebrows were often furrowed reflecting his deep thought, worries, and sadness. I met Walter after he was discovered living deep in the wild Northern California mountains. His encampment was well camouflaged with tree limbs, leaves and gathered brush. Through the camouflage was a neatly kept campsite with a blue tent, repurposed bucket for trash and another for recycling, a wood fire surrounded by larger rocks gathered from the woods, and two sets of stained jeans, hanging dry on some rope. Near his tent were beautifully stacked smooth and sharp rocks of varying color, creating small art rock columns that I later learned reflected his artistic talents. His camp was meticulous and tidy, organized and logical. This was Walter’s home.  On a hot, dry, late summer day, Walter was vacated from his humble home that he built in the woods and found himself on the dusty and weathered front porch of a Craftsman house that was open to everyone and anyone in need.  My job, at the time, was to help connect people like Walter to housing and other necessary services to help them not just survive, but to thrive.  This type of work came from the heart from me, and when Walter walked in that afternoon his hesitancy reflected through crossed arms, pacing, and nervous body language, but his eyes were soft and met mine.  He smiled and we began a conversation, starting with “How are you?”

As we got to know one another, Walter unfurled in layers, like the rings of a redwood tree that had endured pain, abuse, and loss, but still stood strong and tall. His life before his camp was much different. When his wife Eileen died his grief ate him up whole and held him in the belly of a whale of loss. He slowly lost his home, once filled with children who he fostered before they found their forever families. He slowly lost his emotional regulation, experiencing outbursts of anger, frustration, and fear.  Walter’s previously trusted coping skills seem to have all but disappeared and survival was always at the forefront of his mind.  To survive on the streets at Walter’s age, and any age, really, illicit substances were less of a choice and more of a necessity.  Engaging in substances to keep him awake, to avoid thefts from his encampment, or worse, and silence the encroaching and menacing voices that told him what was real and what wasn’t while on the streets was common practice. Walter lost a lot of himself, but he never lost his kindness or unique spirit. 

He saw faces in the trees, love in the sky; he smelled greed in the air, and had an awareness about people.  He made very astute observations about those who judged his situation and those who saw him for who he was.  He trusted few, but was loyal to those he did trust.  He was sensitive and complex and troubled and beautiful. He was my friend. 

Eventually Walter did find a new home that was indoors. When he moved, the stale apartment walls and one window often made him anxious. The medications used to silence his voices made his anxiety worse. When he felt especially trapped, we would go for walks and talk about the trees and the living energy we all share – the collective energy and human connection that is often missed if you’re distracted. Walter was incredibly intuitive and observant about things that other people could not see. 

When Walter passed, it was sudden and felt like one of the sharpest pains to my heart. He was an incredible man and held wisdom beyond his 70 years on this earth. He was generous with that wisdom and shared it freely, through his stories, curved smile, and warm sparkling blue eyes. I miss him. 

I am telling Walter’s story because he mattered. He was a human being. He gave so much to his community and his friends.  And he was homeless and looked over and discarded until finally, he wasn’t. 

I am giving a voice to Walter and his lived experience because in July of 2024, the Supreme Court established a federal law that homelessness can be considered a crime. When the ruling came down I instantly felt like I was sitting in the belly of the whale of anger and hopelessness. I thought of Walter and how his last years would have been so different had he been treated as a criminal just for not being afforded the privilege of a home. How his deterioration would have been exacerbated, how he would have missed out on making new friends, trusting new people, and building more rock sculptures – how it’s possible I would have never met Walter at all. And it breaks my heart. 

People matter whether they have permanent housing or not. Those experiencing homelessness in our communities are our neighbors, not our enemies, not criminals to be detained, ousted, and then put through the system because of our broken system.  People just like Walter are experiencing homelessness and displacement – a rampant epidemic in our country due to poverty. In 2024, being poor is a crime. To imprison and confine those that need support the most in society is a glaring symptom of a collective loss of humanity to greed and apathy.  I hope as the world continues to oust people like Walter,  that we think of the far-reaching impacts of our choices.  To undo what the Supreme Court has done will take a fight from those with hearts full of compassion, the understanding of autonomy, and the understanding of humanity.