U.S. count of rural homeless is 'a seemingly simple task that isn't that simple,' but it determines local aid allotments

The rural homeless live in autos, abandoned buildings and friends'
couches. (Photo by Michael S. Williamson, The Washington Post)

Rural America has homelss people, but they are further apart and harder to find, reports Justin Wm. Moyer of The Washinton Post. Moyer points to Beth Kempf, executive director of the homeless services nonprofit Community Cares, in Cumberland County, Pennsylvania: "Kemp was among about two dozen advocates and volunteers seeking out the unhoused in a recent 'point-in-time' count — a nationwide census of homeless people conducted each January that helps advocates track demographic data, which the federal government can use to decide where funds meant to combat homelessness should be spent."

The sheer area that rural advocates had to cover compared to urban counters made the task daunting. "In Washington, D.C., for example, advocates must search a jurisdiction of about 68 square miles to find thousands of homeless people. Homelessness is visible," Moyer writes. "Cumberland County is a 555-square-mile region about 120 miles west of Philadelphia. Here, a much smaller number of homeless people — fewer than 100 in 2022 — are dotted across a great swath of land in locations unlike urban underpasses and encampments. Small towns. Woodlands. State parks. Farms. Truck stops. Abandoned motels. . . . If unhoused people aren’t counted, they won’t count."

The rural homeless have often been ignored. "Biden’s December plan said homeless people living outside cities are 'historically undercounted," Moyer reports. "On Thursday, the Department of Housing and Urban Development announced $315 million in grants to address homelessness among people in unsheltered and rural settings in 46 communities." HUD Secretary Marcia L. Fudge said in a statement, "For the first time the federal government is deploying targeted resources to meet the needs of people experiencing homelessness in unsheltered settings or in rural areas."

For advocates like Kempf that meant "Counting people — a seemingly simple task that wasn’t that simple," Moyer reports. Regional homeless-systems manager Chris Kapp explained that the point-in-time count was not just a census, but also a search: “You’re not going to see people with a neon light that says, ‘I’m homeless.’”

Point-in-time counters had to identify possible homeless individuals and approach them. "Some people didn’t want to be found. Those who refused to talk or wouldn’t acknowledge that they were homeless became 'observational' counts — counters would record why they suspected a person was unhoused along with the person’s location and estimated age, then move on," Moyer reports. "Those who did consent to an interview would be peppered with, depending on their patience, dozens of questions," and and the counters faced risks: "They were reaching out to those who had been exiled or exiled themselves to society’s fringes. The vast majority were harmless. Some weren’t."

Moyer writes, "Advocates counted about 80 homeless people, including about 10 children, in Cumberland County that night — about 10 percent higher than the number last year — and everyone in the tally had the same problem:" poverty. Kempf said, “Poverty is poverty.”