WEEK 2: The Shelter System That Pushes People Outside
I'll never forget the first time I toured the Bellevue Intake Shelter in New York City when I began working at City Relief.
Walking toward the former psychiatric hospital—now the primary intake point for single adult men entering the city's shelter system—I immediately felt uneasy. The building looked like something out of a Batman comic, the kind of place designed to contain danger rather than do any good.
Inside, the first things you encounter are armed security and metal detectors. Beyond that are waiting rooms filled with hard-backed chairs…and more security.
Under New York City law, anyone in need of emergency shelter is entitled to a bed, a locker, and meals, but the reality is more complicated. Staff are trained in what is known as "diversion," a process designed to reduce shelter entry by exhausting every possible alternative first. With tens of thousands of people in city-contracted shelters each night, they are treated as a last resort.
That approach is partly driven by cost and capacity. The average stay for a single adult in the city's shelter system is just under 500 days (even longer for adult families and families with children). The cost to house a family of two in the shelter system was around $8,773 per month as of 2022.
For those who make it past diversion, placement is based on availability, not proximity to work, family, or medical care. If the only open bed is across the city or in another borough, that's where you’re assigned. Once placed, transferring is extremely difficult.
I once spoke with a man at one of our outreaches who told me he felt safer imprisoned on Rikers Island than in his shelter. At least there, he said, if someone threatened him, he could request a transfer to another cell block.
Shelters also come with rules that vary widely: curfews, restrictions on belongings, limits on what can be brought in or out, and shared living spaces that require constant vigilance. Some shelters are well-run and safe. Others struggle with overcrowding, understaffing, drug activity, and violence.
A close friend of mine was pressured to transport drugs inside his shelter. When he refused—trying to stay sober himself—he was assaulted while a security guard stood by.
To be clear, this is not what happens in every shelter. But it doesn't have to in order to make an impact. A relatively small number of dangerous or degrading experiences is enough to create a reputation that spreads quickly through the homeless community.
Even the best shelters involve shared rooms, limited storage, strict schedules, and reduced personal autonomy. For people carrying trauma, disabilities, or untreated mental health conditions, those environments can feel intolerable.
That's why I often say: people don't choose to sleep outside; they choose not to sleep in shelters. So when we see someone sleeping on a sidewalk and wonder why they aren't indoors, the real question is: what were their alternatives, if any?
Many people experiencing homelessness are working, disabled, or navigating trauma most of us can barely imagine. If we were faced with choosing between a quiet corner of a subway car or a crowded, unpredictable environment with little control over our own movement, many of us would make the same choice.
Until housing becomes more affordable and available, we will continue to see people on the streets while shelters warehouse thousands who are genuinely stuck with limited paths forward.
Next week, I'll share several creative alternatives I've seen work for the people we serve, along with promising models being piloted across the country.
Thanks for reading,
Josiah Haken
City Relief, CEO
