For city's homeless, will it take a village?

In a nation that's struggled to find answers to the problem of homelessness, a group of people in rainy Portland have taken their welfare into their own hands.

What began three years ago with a handful of stubborn squatters has grown into a full community of more than 70 homeless people trying to improve their lot.

On a recent bone-chilling night, 25 of them convene under cool fluorescent lights in a community shack to hear the minutes from last week's meeting.

"I move that we approve the minutes as read," says a long-haired man warming himself by a wood-burning stove. A woman questions whether this is the right procedure according to Robert's Rules of Order. It is, another woman assures her.

Democracy is at work in "Dignity Village," one of the nation's few government-sanctioned tent cities. On a remote patch of city-owned asphalt, residents have cobbled one-room shacks out of plywood, plastic, tarps, and other scavenged materials. If they have their way, they will create a permanent haven where people who fall on hard times can find a warm bed and a sense of community.

Several Portland officials oppose public support of Dignity Village, arguing that the use of city funds would equal an institutionalization of homelessness. They are suggesting that the city refuse to extend the community's lease, which is up for review this Saturday.

Even the community's supporters admit that a tent city is not an ideal arrangement. But without better options, like more shelters and low-income housing, it may be necessary.

The community's very existence represents the awkward position in which many US cities find themselves as they attempt to cope with their poorest residents.

"[It is an indication] of what's wrong with the alternatives we have now," says Nancy Chapman, professor of urban studies and planning at Portland State University. "The notion of having a place of your own and having control is very important to people. In shelters they don't have that."

The community, which is designated as a non-profit corporation, is run by a governing council of 13 members. The group can expel residents if they use drugs or alcohol, or commit violence.

In a makeshift office inside a trailer residents write résumés, follow job postings, and send and receive e-mail. There are organic gardens, a library in a converted airport shuttle, and showers with propane-powered heaters. Committees provide 24-hour security, construction help, and garbage cleanup.

The 70 residents represent a cross-section of US homelessness. Some are out-of-work professionals with masters degrees. Some just recently lost their jobs, while others haven't had a permanent bed for decades. Many struggle with physical disabilities or mental illness. At least 10 are veterans.

Nationwide, homelessness has risen 14 percent the past two years. About 3.5 million people are now classified as homeless, according to the National Coalition for the Homeless.

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