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The Only Winners In California’s Fines and Fees System Are Private Debt Collectors

San Francisco just became the first city in the nation to stop charging court fines and fees, but the rest of the state has a long way to go.

A San Francisco Department of Parking and Traffic officer issues a ticket for an illegally parked car.
Justin Sullivan/Getty Images

The Only Winners In California’s Fines and Fees System Are Private Debt Collectors

San Francisco just became the first city in the nation to stop charging court fines and fees, but the rest of the state has a long way to go.


Kim Lacey couldn’t understand how unpaid traffic tickets had cost her so much. Over the last decade, Lacey has had her wages garnished, her tax returns seized, her credit score ruined, and her driver’s license suspended because of outstanding court fines and fees. She has paid approximately $5,400 to Alameda County, California, where she lives, since she received her first ticket in 2008, she told The Appeal. And she sees no end in sight from the hounding of a system which has emotionally and financially bled her dry.

Fines and fees create a “lose-lose scenario” both for counties and their residents, according to a report released in May by the California Reinvestment Coalition (CRC). The system places a disproportionate burden on the poor, and then fails to recoup most of the money it seeks. For example, over the course of six years, San Francisco was able to collect only 17 percent of the $15 million it demanded in court debt.

But yesterday, the city officially became the first in the nation to stop charging people discretionary criminal justice fines and fees. Some of the charges it is eliminating are for probation, booking, restitution, and costs for alcohol testing and participation in monitoring and home detention programs. These costs, often hundreds or thousands of dollars, historically created an additional stumbling block for anyone coming out of jail or prison.

“These financial burdens frequently hit individuals at the precise moment they are trying to turn their lives around,” San Francisco’s ordinance reads.

But Californians in other parts of the state, like Lacey, are still subjected to 684 criminal justice financial penalties, according to the CRC report. Most of these are fines intended to be punitive, like a speeding ticket. Fifty-seven are fees, user charges tacked on to help fund the courts. These debts can pile up quickly; a $100 ticket for running a red light in California, for example, comes with an additional $390 in fees.

As time passes, interest compounds and late-payment fees get added to delinquent debt, making it even harder for those who fall behind to pay  what they owe.

But if communities and residents aren’t benefiting from the current arrangement, who is? As it stands, said Joanna Weiss, co-director of the Fines and Fees Justice Center, the system is giving incentives for private firms to profit off poor communities. Many California counties contract with private debt collection agencies.

“In California, [debt collection agencies] are getting commissions of 12 to 18 percent, which is on top of debt we don’t even know if people can afford to pay,” Weiss said.

And that’s just for newly delinquent debt. “Commission fees encourage private debt collectors to collect on debt over five years old, and to allow debt to age so that they can collect on it later and receive higher commission fees,” according to the CRC report. Once the delinquent debt has aged over five years, collectors’ commission fees can go up to nearly 26 percent.  

Many private collection agencies are authorized by the state to pay themselves back for operating costs before they distribute money to state and local governments. According to the report, between 2013 and 2014, such costs amounted to $114 million, or 6 percent of the total fine and fee revenue.  

Because debt collection agencies are a third party separate from the courts, people’s records often fall through the cracks. According to her attorney, Lacey ended up receiving a refund of nearly $800 because, with the help of the East Bay Community Law Center, she was able to show the court that Alliance One—the collection agency used by the Alameda County Court—had been asking for payments on tickets Lacey had already paid.

Furthermore, collection agencies are not bound by the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act, which protects consumers from various forms of threat and harassment, because court debts are considered “involuntary.” As a result of this loophole, said Miguel Soto, an attorney at the East Bay Community Law Center, “We’ve had clients tell us that the [debt collector] they’re dealing with is threatening them with violence, imprisonment, or, in some occasions, deportation.”

Because debt collection agencies are allowed to report unpaid debt to credit bureaus, court debt can also ruin a person’s credit score, grievously impacting his or her ability to rent a home or secure a student loan. This is a voluntary action, and, in its report, the CRC strongly advises that counties prevent agencies from taking it.

“How is it that a traffic ticket affects your credit?” asked Lacey. Because of her court debt, she said, “I can’t buy a house, I can’t go nowhere—I’m stuck in the ’hood. I can’t even leave because all the money I get, they take it.”

Said Weiss: “We’re taking something not meant to be punitive and punishing [people] for their poverty.”

“If there were an effective cost-benefit analysis for counties on these fines and fees, the costs would far outweigh the benefits,” said Nancy Fishman, a project director at the Vera Institute of Justice. Most counties, Fishman said, don’t pay close attention to how much money they actually make off of fines and fees. In California, court-ordered debt collected by private agencies makes up only 0.001 to 0.46 percent of a county’s total revenue. In New Orleans, the cost of incarcerating people who could not pay bail, fines, or fees was nearly $2 million more than the amount that court debt brought in. Counties see money coming in, but do not think about the cost of obtaining it—or how much remains uncollected because residents are unable to pay.

According to Weiss, almost every state in the country has increased its fines and fees over the last five years; especially after the 2008 recession, such charges were seen as an ideal way to generate revenue. In California, a $155 charge for a stop violation in 2005 became a $283 charge in 2015. In both years, the base fine was $35.  

“We have an allergy to taxes, and there are few ways municipalities can raise money: taxes, utilities, and fines and fees,” Weiss said. “Fines and fees is the most regressive way, but often happens without a lot of the public weighing in, understanding, or being concerned. ” She pointed out that fines and fees are most frequently handed out to poor communities that don’t have political or monetary clout, and thus have become an ideal way for a county government to raise money without resistance.

“I feel like it affects, mostly—honestly—Black people and Mexicans,” said Lacey, who is Black. “We struggle like crazy and we don’t know nothing about the system, so they keep us in the system.”

According to the CRC report, 64 percent of people arrested and subsequently subjected to fines and fees in California are people of color. San Francisco made note of this point in its ordinance, which states, “Indeed, the burden of these fines and fees falls heaviest on the African-American community, which accounts for less than 6% of the population of San Francisco, but makes up over half the population in the county jail.”

Fishman thinks it is impractical to demand that those who pass through the criminal justice system should be responsible for paying for it. “If a lot of the folks being charged are poor people and don’t have the money,” she said, “charging them all these fines and fees is 1) not going to get you the money you need and 2) is going to pull these people further into the justice system and make it that much harder for them to become contributing members of that community.”  

Though states control most of the fines and fees levied in their courts, counties still hold considerable power to reduce the burden on their residents: Many fines and fees are discretionary, issued at the local level. Weiss is hopeful that San Francisco’s move is indicative of a new wave of reform. Within the last year, both California and Mississippi have stopped suspending driver’s licenses for those who have not paid fines. In 2017, Philadelphia stopped using cost and care fees for juveniles.

Fishman, however, is less optimistic. “We’re generally not in a world where we can say ‘As goes San Francisco so goes the nation,’” she said. “Some of the places that are struggling the most with this, both in terms of how to pay for bloated justice systems and how to deal with the fact that most of the people in the community are too poor to pay, are not San Francisco.”

Instead, said Fishman, in smaller, especially more rural towns, fines and fees “fit in still with their sense of justice, and there’s a sense that there aren’t other resources. If you don’t have a big tax base to support your justice system, you’re going to look for whatever resources you can find—even if they’re not the best ones to try.” Even so, she said, such counties “are trying to get blood from a turnip.”

“If folks could pay the first small fee, they would,” said Soto, the attorney. “Honestly, the majority of folks [passing through the system] are already hand to mouth. Getting hit with another $40 or $50 right now is not something they can plausibly do. And because they can’t pay that, the penalty is they have to pay more … at some point, you’re just trapped.”

In Louisiana, Harsh Prosecutors Are Moving From Parish to Parish

When Caddo voters booted their infamous district attorney, some of his toughest prosecutors found a home in Calcasieu.

Caspar Benson/Getty

In Louisiana, Harsh Prosecutors Are Moving From Parish to Parish

When Caddo voters booted their infamous district attorney, some of his toughest prosecutors found a home in Calcasieu.


In 1983, Isadore Rozeman, a jeweler in Shreveport, Louisiana, was shot once in the back of the head in a robbery gone wrong. In 1984, Glenn Ford was convicted of his murder. Ford continually proclaimed his innocence, but luck was not on his side. Two lawyers were appointed to represent Ford in his death penalty trial, both chosen simply because they were next on an alphabetical list of area attorneys. One worked in oil and gas, the other in insurance defense. Neither had ever tried a jury trial before. All the evidence tying Ford to the murder was circumstantial, there was no murder weapon and no eye witness, but it didn’t matter. Ford, who is Black, was convicted by an all-white jury and sentenced to death by electrocution.

Finally, almost 30 years later, Ford was exonerated in 2014. His attorneys discovered that the state had withheld evidence that implicated other people as the killers.  The sheer injustice of Ford’s conviction led the prosecutor who tried the case, Marty Stroud, to write a public apology to Ford, admitting that he had been “arrogant, narcissistic, caught up in the culture of winning.”

But then-District Attorney Dale Cox in Caddo Parish, which includes Shreveport, believed Ford was owed no apology. “I don’t know what it is [Stroud’s] apologizing for. I think he’s wrong. [T]he system did not fail Mr. Ford. … Because he’s not on death row.”

“Getting out of prison after 30 years is justice?” asked the interviewer.

“Well, it’s better than dying there,” Cox said, “and it’s better than being executed.”

After he was exonerated, Cox fought all efforts to compensate Ford for the state’s misconduct. In 2015, one year after he was released from prison, Ford died from lung cancer.

Most people didn’t know it, but Cox was already one of the most influential  prosecutors in America. Between 2010 and 2014, Caddo, home to about a quarter million people, sentenced more people to death per capita than any other county in America. Between 2011 and 2015, Cox himself secured a third of the death sentences in the state. But it still wasn’t enough for him. “I think we need to kill more people,” he said in 2015. “I think the death penalty should be used more often.”

Cox’s comments made national news, and he decided not to run for re-election. Instead, in 2015, James Stewart, a former appellate judge, became the first Black district attorney of Caddo Parish. Stewart wasn’t radical by any means. But he also wasn’t bloodthirsty. Simply by operating somewhere in the middle of the road, Stewart was a vast improvement on his predecessor.

In the initial days of his tenure, Stewart recognized that any chance at reform faced a major obstacle—the remaining staff. Cox was out, but the Assistant DAs from his era and the era of his predecessor remained. For Stewart to effectively implement a new approach to prosecution, he would need a new staff. Within a few weeks of being sworn in, 11 assistant district attorneys left Stewart’s office. It was a major change in an office that currently employs around 35 prosecutors.

These 11 represent the most notable exodus from the Caddo Parish office in recent history. Some of them went into private practice, becoming personal injury lawyers. Others decided to go into criminal defense. And at least two of them ended up in the office of Calcasieu Parish District Attorney John DeRosier. All told, in the past few years DeRosier has employed at least six former Caddo Parish prosecutors. And, while they don’t all have politics like Cox, there has been a disturbing pattern of DeRosier taking in some of the more controversial former Caddo prosecutors.  “Hiring disgraced lawyers from across the state sends a clear message to prosecutors in Louisiana,” says Ben Cohen, counsel at the Promise of Justice Initiative in New Orleans. “Get caught lying or cheating, there will be a job for you in Calcasieu.”

Why Calcasieu? The parish is a four-hour drive from Caddo, all the way in the far south part of the state, so it’s not for convenience’s sake. Perhaps it’s because DeRosier’s office still reflects an antiquated outlook, where being tough on crime and winning to win is the driving ethos. Until this year, Louisiana incarcerated more people than any other state in the nation. But DeRosier rejected the possibility that prosecutors and law enforcement may be responsible for the crisis. “The proponents of change in the current system will tell you that Louisiana is incarcerating too many people so your sentences must be too harsh, your judges must be too harsh, your prosecutors must be too harsh,” he said. “They will not even consider the suggestion that people simply don’t want to follow the rules and will not follow the rules no matter what.”

DeRosier uses many well-worn tropes to prevent reform in Louisiana. An old campaign ad shows him drumming up fear about immigrants and crime. And, while DeRosier has stated publicly that the death penalty is expensive, tedious, and unpleasant—”Taxpayers are paying a tremendous amount of money for death penalty cases,” he lamented in 2012—he still unfailingly supports it. “We cannot allow the pricing of capital punishment cases out of the market as a way to get rid of it,” DeRosier said in 2015.

DeRosier’s influence goes beyond the parish limits. Local advocates say that he has an outsized presence at the legislature, where he regularly testifies against progressive legislation and has been resistant to many of the reforms that have gained traction in Louisiana and across the country more broadly.

It was in the legislature that DeRosier made headlines in April when he opposed a constitutional amendment that would require a unanimous jury to convict someone of a crime. (Every state besides Louisiana and Oregon requires unanimity.) According to Senator J.P. Morrell, a New Orleans Democrat who sponsored the bill, the current laws stem from the late 1800s, when legislators were trying desperately to preserve white supremacy.

The bill got support from legislators on both sides of the aisle, and even from at least one former prosecutor. “In our lifetime, we will never have as good an opportunity to repeal a 138-year-old law that dates back to Jim Crow days,” said former Grant Parish District Attorney Ed Tarpley. But unanimous jury requirements make it harder for prosecutors to get convictions, and DeRosier was determined to prevent that from happening.

“You hear a lot about this being a vestige of slavery,” he said. “No doubt that is true, but it is what it is, and that was 138 years ago. …The issue here is not about the way something started. Should we not have driven Volkswagens in the ‘60s, if we held to concept that they were ordered, designed, and manufactured by Adolf Hitler? I don’t think so.”

His comments were met with immediate outrage. “I am so utterly offended for you to start your comments and say, ‘I know that this was rooted in slavery, but it is what it is,’” said Representative Ted James, a Democrat from Baton Rouge. “You are elected to represent everybody, and I hope the people that elected you are listening because if they aren’t, I’m going to make sure that they know what you said today.”

DeRosier boasts that Lake Charles is one of the safest places in the country, but it hasn’t stopped him from pushing for more police presence as a way to raise money. Just last week, the Southern Poverty Law Center filed a complaint against Calcasieu and other Parish prosecutor offices, alleging that their traffic ticketing practices violated the state’s Code of Governmental Ethics. DeRosier brought the program at issue, called LACE, or local agency compensated enforcement, to Calcasieu Parish. In theory, it’s a diversion program for people who receive traffic tickets and are given the option to just pay a fine. But in reality, it’s a money-making scheme for the district attorney’s office. “These fines do not go through the court system, which divides revenue among several agencies,” according to the Lens, a local news nonprofit. “Instead, the money goes straight to the district attorney.”

The program depends on overtime officers. Their time and their salaries, as well as the use of their vehicles, are paid for through the tickets they issue, DeRosier said. He has repeatedly made the program sound like a policy response to a safety concern. “We have some bad traffic areas and we need to send a message to the drivers they will be stopped and will pay the price,” he said. What he doesn’t mention, though, is that the program is netting him millions, and residents are paying.

As officers have begun writing LACE tickets, they have drastically reduced the number of traditional traffic tickets they issue. From 2011 to 2012, the number of tickets dropped by 42 percent, according to Louisiana Supreme Court reports. Meanwhile, in just two years, the number of LACE tickets issued in the parish tripled.

That has a major impact on indigent defense funding, which comes from traffic ticket revenue in Louisiana. According to the Lens, Calcasieu Parish began issuing more LACE tickets soon after public defenders were allotted ten more dollars from each traffic ticket, going from $35 to $45.As a result, “public defenders expected to see a 30 percent increase in local revenue. Instead, the number of tickets filed statewide dropped 30 percent over the next few years.” Meanwhile, in 2017 alone, the district attorney’s office made $4.4 million in revenue.

DeRosier is sharp, cunning, and ambitious, qualities that seem reflected in his staff. Take Jason Brown, the very first person Stewart fired. This wasn’t a surprise—Brown had been a vocal supporter of Stewart’s opponent, Dhu Thompson, and had donated $1500 to his campaign. Brown was known for being the epitome of a tough-on-crime prosecutor, and once made national news when he prosecuted a man who was sentenced to life without parole for buying $20 worth of weed. Brown charged him under Louisiana’s Habitual offender laws, which are a significant contributor to Louisiana’s incarceration rate, currently the second-highest in the nation. He later told The Daily Beast he considered the case a successful example of what he calls “pro-active law enforcement.” “It’s a system, he says, that revolves around using lesser crimes to lock up people he suspects to be guilty of other, more violent ones,” the article stated. A 2015 report concluded that Brown struck black jurors from potential jury service at almost five times the rate as white jurors in Caddo Parish.  According to John Settle, a Shreveport blogger, Brown had been on the “criminal defense bar hit list.” DeRosier, however, hired him. Brown made $75,000 last year in Calcasieu, even though he only had a single case.

DeRosier also hired Hugo Holland, one of the most infamous prosecutors in Louisiana. Holland’s infamy in the state’s criminal justice community comes from his influence and his regressive politics. He had a portrait of Nathan Bedford Forrest, a Confederate general and alleged leader of the Ku Klux Klan, on the wall of his Caddo Parish office. He also named his cat after Lee Harvey Oswald, whom he calls “the most maligned man in U.S. history.”  

Holland is a Cox-style prosecutor especially when it comes to the death penalty. “If it weren’t for Caddo Parish, capital punishment would have been largely phased out in Louisiana by now,” a columnist wrote in the Advocate. “And Caddo largely owes its pre-eminence to just two prosecutors, Dale Cox and Hugo Holland.” In fact, over one five-year period, Holland and Cox were responsible for half of the death sentences in the state .

Like Cox, Holland does not wrestle with the implications of the death penalty. “[I]t would not faze me in the least to watch a man executed, and that would include hanging or firing squad,” he told the Advocate. He has secured 10 death sentences during his career, half of which have been overturned for misconduct. Just last month, Corey Williams was released from prison, after it became clear that Holland had withheld evidence indicating he was innocent. Williams had been sentenced to death in 2000, and then resentenced to life without parole after the Supreme Court ruled that people with intellectual disabilities could not be put to death. Williams has an IQ of 68.

His problems go beyond his fixation on the death penalty. In 2011, he and a close colleague, Lea Hall, were fired from the Caddo Parish District Attorney’s office for lying. (These days, Hall also works in Calcasieu Parish.) Holland and Hall requested eight M-16s from a federal program that bestowed military equipment to local law enforcement. In their application for the weapons, Hall and Holland said the automatic rifles were for the office’s Special Investigations Section, which they claimed “routinely participate[s] in high-risk surveillance and arrests activities with the Shreveport Police and Caddo Sheriff” and “handle[s] predominantly high profile and dangerous drug offenders.” But this was news to Sheriff Steve Prator, who denied that prosecutors were working with them in any capacity that would necessitate automatic weapons. Prator stated publicly that he believed the request had been made unlawfully.

Holland, Hall, and Brown were all part of what they called the “Zombie Response Team.” At first, it was a tongue-in-cheek name for a group of prosecutors who hung out, often at the firing range. But eventually it became what Radley Balko, a Washington Post opinion writer, calls “quasi-official.” The “team” designed a logo used to make special patches and license plates, and the group even started “wearing SWAT-type clothing during work hours.” But then it went even further: The prosecutors, “equipped their vehicles with emergency lights and sirens, pulled motorists over, conducted surveillance work and accompanied police officers when warrants were served.” Other staff found it silly and a bit concerning. “I went to law school,” one former prosecutor said later. “I’m supposed to go stand in court. I’m not supposed to be at crime scenes. … I’m thinking about how stupid it is that they want to go out and play cop.”

Holland and Hall encapsulated the sense of untouchability in Caddo Parish law enforcement. But after a whistleblower made public that they had lied to obtain automatic weapons, both men were forced to resign. Holland didn’t stay away from the DA’s office for long, though. He said he was unemployed “for about two days” after he was asked to leave Caddo Parish. Almost immediately, he was contracting with DA’s offices around the state to bring death penalty cases. Holland has worked with as many as 10 parishes at a time. Last year, he netted over $200,000 in salary, more than the governor and the chief justice of the Louisiana Supreme Court. He supposedly works full-time in two parishes, including Calcasieu, where DeRosier pays him over $50,000. Part of the reason prosecutors pay him is because of his influence at the legislature, where he has fought against reform bills and pushed back against efforts to increase public defense and capital defense funding. “Do the math,” said Stroud, the regretful prosecutor in the Ford case. “He’s constantly fighting to cut the budgets of the indigent defender’s capital defense and here he is holding down [multiple] positions around the state at taxpayer expense.”

Holland isn’t the only Calcasieu prosecutor who regularly goes to the legislature to testify, and other local advocates confirmed that DeRosier is extremely focused on having influence at the legislative level. According to Cohen, the Promise of Justice Initiative counsel, “DeRosier is trying to drive the Louisiana District Attorney’s Association by having his first assistant Loren Lambert become the lobbyist for the DA’s association.”DeRosier and his staff continue to build a legislative presence, the potential for outsize influence is significant.

Stewart’s election as district attorney in Caddo proved that it was possible to imagine a different kind of district attorney’s office—one concerned less with wins and more with justice. But prosecutors’ moves from Caddo to Calcasieu means that many of the problems that existed in Caddo risk being repeated elsewhere. DeRosier’s decision to hire prosecutors that so explicitly embody an anti-reform ethos demonstrates just how easily justice reform can be thwarted. “It’s not just that DeRosier has given jobs to prosecutors who disgraced themselves elsewhere,” says Cohen. “But he is trying to retain and elevate their brand of politics in an effort to prevent true criminal justice reform.”  Ultimately, this transition from one office to another is emblematic of a major barrier in criminal justice reform. How much can actually change as long as the troublesome prosecutors just move around?

More in Explainers

The Criminalization of Homelessness: An Explainer

Illustration by Hisashi Okawa

The Criminalization of Homelessness: An Explainer


In our Explainer series, Fair Punishment Project lawyers help unpack some of the most complicated issues in the criminal justice system. We break down the problems behind the headlines — like bail, civil asset forfeiture, or the Brady doctrine — so that everyone can understand them. Wherever possible, we try to utilize the stories of those affected by the criminal justice system to show how these laws and principles should work, and how they often fail. We will update our Explainers quarterly to keep them current.

Most evenings, Aguirre Dick rides his bike about three miles from the streets of Waikiki in Honolulu to the slopes of a volcano, where he sleeps. If he doesn’t make that trek, he could be arrested. A 2014 law made it illegal to sit or lie down on the public sidewalks in Waikiki. As a result of this law, those without homes, like Aguirre, live in constant fear of being pushed into the criminal justice system simply because they are too poor to own or rent lodging.

In San Diego, police arrested a pregnant Alexis Leftridge as she slept in her tent and jailed her for several days. Leftridge became homeless after losing her nursing job in 2014 — without money for rent, she was evicted. To get out of jail, she agreed to an order to stay away from the area, but she now has so many that she does not know where to go. According to pleadings filed in a lawsuit against the city, she is afraid she will be arrested for “walking along the wrong street.” She has subsequently given birth to a baby boy and currently has a room at a shelter. But, because the shelter is within the “stay away” area, she is at risk of re-arrest.

In Houston, Texas, Spencer Stevens became homeless in 2015 after losing his job as a forklift operator. He has congestive heart failure, which prevents him from taking another manual labor job. Living under the highway median, he cooks meals on his griddle. If legal challenges fail, he could be arrested for both living and cooking there. Houston has made it illegal to block a sidewalk, stand on a roadway median, sleep on public property or in a makeshift shelter, or have a heating device in public.

Every day, law enforcement officers across the country issue tickets to those experiencing homelessness as they engage in basic, life-sustaining behaviors, like sleeping on the streets or cooking a meal in public on a griddle. Prosecutors then frequently charge those individuals with crimes. By relying upon law enforcement to address an issue that should more appropriately be considered as falling within the domain of public health, communities are expending a tremendous amount of public money unnecessarily and ineffectively, and exacerbating the underlying causes of homelessness. Below, we discuss the destructive and often devastating human and financial costs of criminalizing homelessness in America.

1. Homelessness is a chronic problem.

Experts believe that as many as two million people in the country experience homelessness at some point in a given year, with about 500,000 living without a home each night. [Alastair Gee, Liz Barney, and Julia O’Malley / The Guardian] About 15 percent of those are chronically homeless, meaning they have been without a home for years. [Alana Semuels / The Atlantic]

Racial minorities comprise a significant percentage of the population experiencing homelessness. While African Americans represent about 12.5 percent of the general population, they represent over 40 percent of the homeless population. [Eddie Kim / The Guardian]

In some communities, there has been a significant increase in the population of Latinos facing homelessness. [Esmeralda Bermudez and Ruben Vives / Los Angeles Times] Many experience acute fear or face unique obstacles as a result of their uncertain legal status. [Leslie Berestein Rojas / scpr.org] Consider Hector, a homeless man in New York who does not utilize shelter services because he is afraid that he will be identified and then deported. He lives near the train tracks along with several others who have refused to enter shelters since President Trump’s immigration crackdown. [Caroline Spivack / Brooklyn Paper]

Military veterans confront homelessness at an alarming rate. More than 10 percent of the adult homeless population has served in the military. [FAQ / National Coalition for Homeless Veterans]

Survivors of domestic violence also experience high rates of homelessness. A recent study in Minnesota showed that 35 percent of homeless women reported domestic abuse as a cause. [Stephanie Nelson-Dusek / Post Bulletin]

A 2017 nationwide survey revealed that, on a given night, almost 41,000 people experiencing homelessness were 24 years old or younger, 12 percent of whom were below age 18. Many of these young people have suffered significant trauma. Youth who identify as LGBTQ, have special needs or disabilities, or are pregnant or parenting are also more likely to become homeless. [Youth and Young Adults / National Alliance to End Homelessness]

Half of those experiencing homelessness have a physical or mental disability, or both. [Gale Holland / Los Angeles Times]

2. The criminalization of homelessness is growing.

Hundreds of jurisdictions across the U.S. have criminalized homelessness, and the trend shows no signs of abating. Laws criminalizing homelessness have multiplied in the last 10 years in 187 studied cities. [National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty / Housing Not Handcuffs] The report calls out several jurisdictions in a “Hall of Shame” section, including Honolulu, Denver, and Dallas. [Dennis Oda / Honolulu Star-Advertiser]

In 2016, Honolulu adopted a spate of laws that target homeless people, and police ramped up enforcement of these “quality of life” ordinances. Why? Pressure from the business and tourism industry, which in the past has funded airfare to the mainland for homeless people who came to Hawaii. [Adam Nagourney / The New York Times]

In Denver, the state’s 76 largest cities have, as a group, passed 351 ordinances that target homeless people, including bans on camping and bans on sharing food outside. [Bryce Covert/ The Appeal]

In Dallas, police issued 11,000 “sleeping in public” citations between 2011 and 2015. Police also stopped people for loitering, panhandling, and for sleeping in public spaces in the city — even though the city lacks sufficient shelter beds. [Stephanie Kuo / KERA]

In late 2017 in Portland, Oregon, the Columbia Sportswear CEO called for more policing of the homeless population after moving his company headquarters downtown. [Tim Boyle / Oregon Live] In response, the head of the Business for a Better Portland urged the city to adopt “holistic and collaborative solutions” to systemically address the underlying causes of homelessness. [Ashley Henry / Oregon Live] Activists also fired back by protesting the city’s “no-sit” laws in front of Columbia Sportswear’s downtown store, forcing the company to close for the day. [Abe Brettman / Oregon Live]

3. Criminalizing homelessness does nothing to address its root causes.

The causes of homelessness vary, but experts largely agree that both structural and individual factors play a role. Structural factors include poverty, inadequate affordable housing, inadequate access to meaningful public assistance, decreased availability of mental health care, and discrimination. [Jonathan Hafetz / Fordham Urban Law Journal]

In Detroit, for example, advocates report that an increasing number of families experience homelessness because the city lacks affordable housing and has a high rate of evictions. About 3,000 children experience homelessness each year in Detroit. [Violet Ikonomova / Detroit MetroTimes]

Similarly, in San Diego, skyrocketing rents, low vacancy rates, and a severe shortage of affordable housing have placed the city at a “tipping point.” Over the past year, there has been a 14 percent increase in people living on the streets in San Diego. This situation is likely to grow worse, as California has cut $200 million from the city’s affordable housing programs over the past six years. [Scott Wilson / The Washington Post]

There are also personal factors that can cause homelessness, including traumatic events, family crises, and the onset of mental or physical problems. [Jonathan Hafetz / Fordham Urban Law Journal]

In an interview with NPR, David Pirtle described why, even when temperatures dropped below freezing, he stayed on the streets. Suffering from schizophrenia, he feared large crowds and experienced paranoia, so he avoided shelters: “All I can say is that my fear of the unknown, of what might be waiting for me at that shelter, was worse than my fear of the known risk, you know, of staying out on the street.” [Jay Evensen / Deseret News] [Talk of the Nation / NPR]

Dorothy Edwards spent eight years on the streets of Pasadena, California, where she slept in alleys and ate food out of Dumpsters, smoking meth to ward off depression. During that time, she was repeatedly sexually assaulted. She checked herself into a psychiatric ward on numerous occasions, but kept returning to the streets. It took eight years for counselors to diagnose her with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Now receiving adequate treatment, she lives in an apartment with her dog and is actively looking for a job. [Rick Jervis / USAToday]

4. These laws criminalize what for many is life-sustaining behavior.

Instead of addressing the root causes of homelessness, states and cities have adopted hundreds of laws making it harder for homeless people to survive.

Camping, sleeping, or lying down in public

According to a 2014 analysis of 187 American cities by the National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty, over half prohibited camping, sitting, or lying down in certain areas, and a third banned these activities citywide. [Robert Rosenberger / The Atlantic] Cities often outlaw these practices without providing additional shelter beds. [Emily Badger / Washington Post].

In Houston, a city ordinance, enacted allegedly for “safety,” makes it illegal to sleep in a tent, box, or other makeshift shelter on public property. A federal district judge issued a temporary restraining order against the ban, writing that those individuals targeted by the ordinance are “involuntarily in public, harmlessly attempting to shelter themselves — an act they cannot realistically forgo, and that is integral to their status as unsheltered homeless individuals.” [Gabrielle Banks / Houston Chronicle] But in December, the judge lifted her order. [Michael Graczyk / Boston Globe]

In Dallas, one individual, Sarge, has been ticketed repeatedly for sleeping in public, something he must do to survive. He estimates that he has received around 75 tickets over the years. [Eric Nicholson / Dallas Observer]

In Austin, a man named Ross reports being “herded like cattle” because of the city’s anti-camping law. “They have a law saying you can’t sit down. So if you don’t have anywhere to live and all the homeless shelters are full, then where do you go? Do you walk in a circle 24 hours a day? You have to sleep and if you slow down to sleep you go to jail for it, which I’ve done, that’s pretty much where you get to sleep.” [Kylie McGivern / KXAN]

Begging in public (panhandling)

According to the 2014 National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty report, there was a 25 percent increase in anti-panhandling laws between 2011 and 2014. [Scott Keyes / Think Progress]

In 2014 in Denver, police arrested 300 people for panhandling. [Scott Keyes / Think Progress] In New York, police arrested a homeless man after he asked a police officer if he had a dollar to spare. [Fernanda Santos / New York Times]

Jason Metts of Fayetteville, North Carolina, reports that he is disabled and can’t work. “To survive,” he told a reporter, he has started panhandling. Police have arrested him seven times. “I’m not stealing, I’m not robbing people, and I’m not approaching anybody. Those that give to me roll down their windows, I’m not scaring them,” Metts stated. [Sheena Elzie / CBS North Carolina]

Encroachment — storing property in public ways

Laws across the country make it illegal for individuals to place property on public ways. For those with no home, there is no other place to store their belongings.

In San Diego, police cited Army veteran Eric Arundel several times after he placed his tarp, bedding, clothing, medication, and toiletries on the sidewalk. He suffers from pneumonia and uses the tarp to stay warm. Also in San Diego, police cited Jeff Hayes for encroachment, even though he had nowhere to store his belongings. Hayes became homeless as a result of suffering from multiple sclerosis, which made it impossible for him to work. He had no criminal record until receiving the encroachment charge. He then missed his court date because he was in the hospital for sepsis. Both Arundel and Hayes are plaintiffs in a federal lawsuit challenging the law. [Lisa Halverstadt / Voice of San Diego]

Living in vehicles

City laws often preclude people from sleeping in their parked cars during certain hours of the night.

Nearly 7,000 people live in their cars in Los Angeles, but the city recently enacted regulations banning parking “for habitation purposes” on residential streets from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. New ordinances also make it illegal to live in a vehicle parked within a block of schools, daycare facilities, and parks. [Bianca Barragan / Curbed Los Angeles] Santa Monica, Malibu, and Culver City have similar bans in place [Dean Kuiper / LA Mag], as does San Diego. [Mike Madriaga / San Diego Reader]

Food sharing

Controversial city ordinances ban organizations from feeding people in public, claiming that doing so constitutes a public health and safety risk.

Police arrested seven people in Tampa, Florida, for distributing food to homeless people without a permit. Members of the Tampa-based organization Food Not Bombs stated that the arrests prove the city is criminalizing compassion. [Kathryn Varn / Tampa Bay Times]

In response to a hepatitis A outbreak in San Diego, the El Cajon City Council passed an emergency ordinance prohibiting food distribution on any city-owned property. In November, activists handed out 100 bagged lunches, calling the ordinance “a punitive measure to dehumanize and criminalize the homeless.” [Deborah Sullivan Brennan / San Diego Union Tribune] The city finally lifted the ban in late January. [Karen Pearlman / San Diego Union-Tribune]

In Atlanta, on the Sunday before Thanksgiving 2017, two Food Not Bombs activists went to a local park to hand out food to the homeless, as they do every Sunday. But on that day, police ticketed them, citing a rarely enforced law requiring organizations to obtain a permit before distributing food. According to a flier distributed by the Atlanta Department of Public Safety (that cites no actual evidence), enforcement is necessary because “many people become dependent on these activities, leading them to stay on the streets instead of seeking the help and support they truly need.” [Zaid Jilani / The Intercept]

5. Laws criminalizing homelessness make the problem worse.

In addition to being unfair and often inhumane, these laws exacerbate the problems they purport to address.

Individuals who are saddled with criminal records for engaging in survival activities like sleeping on the street face steeper challenges finding jobs, housing, or other benefits like food stamps, thus perpetuating the cycle of homelessness. [Jonathan Hafetz / Fordham Urban Law Journal] Under federal law, people who have spent more than 90 days incarcerated lose their “chronic homelessness” status and are no longer a priority for permanent housing. [International Human Rights Clinic / Yale Law School]

Stay-away orders—often issued alongside tickets for sleeping in public—also keep people from accessing social services that they urgently need. In San Diego, for example, most social service providers are downtown. But police regularly issue stay away orders from these locations to those found sleeping on the street. This means they can’t get food stamps or other assistance without risking arrest. [Lisa Halverstadt / Voice of San Diego]

Similarly, stay-away orders cause people to lose touch with service providers who are helping them find housing. According to one such service provider in Baltimore, when homeless people seeking housing  “are forced out of their (outdoor) home bases and seek refuge in other parts of town, people often lose touch with the points of contact we have for them. Thus, they lose their long-term housing opportunity.” [National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty / Criminalizing Crisis]

These charges often carry fines that people cannot pay—and unpaid fines eventually lead to jail time. In Dallas, for example, citations for sleeping in public often carry $150-$300 tickets. Most homeless individuals cannot afford these fines, and may, as a result, skip court dates. Many also miss court because they have no address to receive court notices, or because they lack money for transportation. Missing court can lead to arrest warrants, more charges and jail, thus driving them deeper into the criminal justice system. [Stephanie Kao / KERA]

6. Criminalizing homelessness is expensive.

Studies show that it costs more to jail those who are homeless than to provide them with shelter. On average, one day in jail costs $87, whereas a shelter bed costs $28. [International Human Rights Clinic / Yale Law School]

And that, in turn, diverts money from implementing effective solutions. In San Diego, homelessness is a serious problem. But, while officials focus on ticketing and jailing people, they neglect to address the root causes of homelessness, such as an inadequate supply of affordable housing. This negligence was on full display during the hepatitis A outbreak that killed at least 16 people and caused over 400 to get sick. [Parisa Ijadl-Maghsoodl / HuffPost]

7. Criminalizing homelessness may be unconstitutional.

Aside from being counterproductive, there’s ample evidence that criminalizing homelessness violates the Constitution.

The First Amendment

Freedom of Expression: In 2015, in Reed v. Gilbert, the Supreme Court struck down a ban on the public display of signs for religious services, ruling that laws regulating the content of signs are presumptively unconstitutional. Relying on that case, the Seventh Circuit and other federal district courts have struck down panhandling laws in Colorado, Florida, Illinois, and Massachusetts, finding that they impermissibly regulate expressive conduct. [Joe Palazzolo / Wall Street Journal]

Fundamental Right To Travel: In Florida in 1992, a Federal District Court declared Miami’s sit-sleep-lie laws a violation of the right to travel, writing that, “Preventing homeless individuals from performing activities that are ‘necessities of life,’ such as sleeping, in any public place when they have nowhere else to go, effectively penalizes migration.” [Jeff Weinberger / Miami New Times]

The Eighth Amendment

Cruel and Unusual Punishment: In 2006, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals struck down Los Angeles’s city ordinance prohibiting sleeping, sitting, or lying on the street at any time of the day. The court ruled that the ordinance unconstitutionally criminalized unavoidable conduct. The city had a major housing shortage and an inadequate supply of shelter beds. Homelessness, the court held, is “a chronic state that may have been acquired ‘innocently or involuntarily.” Thus punishing people for sleeping on the streets—an inevitable consequence—violated the Eighth Amendment. [Theresa Walker / OC Register]

The Fourteenth Amendment

Vagueness: Courts have struck down anti-loitering laws as unconstitutionally vague. For example, in a 1972 Supreme Court decision, the court complained that, because of its unspecific language, an ordinance in Jacksonville, Florida, placed “almost unfettered discretion in the hands of the police.” [Aarian Marshall / City Lab]

Attorneys are challenging San Diego’s encroachment laws, originally enacted to force people to remove trash bins from sidewalks. However, police are using the law to force the homeless to leave public places. Attorneys are arguing that the law is unconstitutionally vague because it provides almost no notice for what is criminal —making it potentially illegal to even place a bag on the sidewalk for just a moment. [Lisa Halverstadt / Voice of San Diego]

Equal Protection: In response to an “emergency” homeless street sweep of encampments, the ACLU of Indiana recently filed a lawsuit against the city of Indianapolis. The lawsuit alleges that the city targets homeless people while exempting others, raising due process and equal protection concerns. [Fatima Hussein & Maureen Gilmer / Indianapolis Star]

8. Prosecutors and state legislators can choose to stop criminalizing homelessness.

Prosecutors can refuse to charge for violations of laws that specifically target the homeless population, like bans on camping and panhandling. [Violeta Chapin / The Appeal] In Spokane, Washington, for example, the city and district attorneys have embraced initiatives to dismiss citations for offenses that homeless people incur when engaging in life-sustaining activities in exchange for commitments to utilize housing and social services. [Rachel Alexander / The Spokesman-Review]

Prosecutors can side with those challenging the constitutionality of laws criminalizing homelessness. In 2015, the Department of Justice filed a “statement of interest” arguing that Idaho’s laws criminalizing sleeping in public were unconstitutional. “It should be uncontroversial that punishing conduct that is a universal and unavoidable consequence of being human violates the Eighth Amendment. … If a person literally has nowhere else to go, then enforcement of the anti-camping ordinance against that person criminalizes her for being homeless.” [Harrison Berry / Boise Weekly]

Prosecutors can also champion homeless courts and diversion programs, which allow people to avoid criminal charges after taking life-skills classes or signing up for social services. In Seattle and Santa Fe, officials have implemented a Law Enforcement Assisted Diversion (LEAD) program that places people in treatment programs pre-arrest. [Carlos Andres Lopez / Seattle Times]

Prosecutors can agree to dismiss outstanding warrants for unpaid fines and quality-of-life offenses. In Los Angeles, in 2015, the city attorney agreed to do just that if people accepted social services, job training, and drug and alcohol treatment. His office put together clinics to help the homeless population participate. [Gale Holland / Los Angeles Times]

The most straightforward path to ending the criminalization of homelessness runs through state legislatures. State and local officials should refrain from passing new laws that target homeless individuals, and they should repeal existing laws that criminalize life-sustaining and necessary behaviors. [Yale Law School Allard K. Lowenstein International Human Rights Clinic / “Forced Into Breaking the Law”]

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