99% Invisible - Chapter 2: The Hotline

Episode Date: December 4, 2020

Katie Mingle heard a lot about 211 doing this reporting. Not just from Tulicia Lee who called a bunch of times, but from everyone—from homeless people and service providers and advocates. In her mind, it was the 911 of homelessness. Only, more often than not, it seemed like when people called 211, the metaphorical ambulance never came. That was true for Tulicia, and it was true for lots of other people she met. If everyone starts at 211, why is it a dead-end for so many people? What is happening at 211? At the beginning of March, right before everything shut down for the pandemic, Katie spent a day in the 211 call center. The Hotline

In the previous episode of this series, we spent some time with Tilecia Lee, a mom who was drifting between living in her car and sometimes staying with friends or family. In that story, when Tilecia finally started trying to get some help getting into housing or shelter, she began by calling 211. Thank you so much for hoping. How can I assist you today? Yes, me and my 11-year-old son is homeless. Okay. I heard a lot about 211 doing this reporting, not just from Tilecia who called a bunch of times,

but from everyone, from homeless people and service providers and advocates. It seemed like 211 was almost always the starting place for people who were looking for help. But mostly when people talked about calling, they were frustrated. They'd say, I called, but it didn't work, or I called, but I didn't get anything. That's how Tileisha felt. In her mind, 2-1-1 and the system were the same thing, and they hadn't come through for her. So what was 2-1-1's role in the system that helps people out of homelessness? And why did it seem like a dead end for so many people? Hi, good morning.

Hi, I'm Katie Mingone. I'm a reporter that's here to... Oh, that's right, Katie. Yeah, are you doing Katie? Good. At the beginning of March, right before everything shut down for the pandemic, I paid a visit That's here to... Oh, that's right, Peter. Are you joking? Good. At the beginning of March, right before everything shut down for the pandemic, I paid a visit to the 211 call center.

I found answers to those questions, but I also found a whole fascinating world, where the boundaries that separate collar and operator are blurrier than I imagined. This is according to Need, chapter two. In Alameda County, 211 is run by a nonprofit called Eden-Ion-R and is located in the city of Hayward, southeast of Oakland. The main call center room is about the size of an elementary school classroom. It has brown carpet, fluorescent lighting, and nonprofit energy. There's a little coffee station and a mini fridge, and seven operators at desks,

all wearing headsets. As the day goes on, there will be moments when they are all talking at once. You need to call them between 7pm. I need to Friday. Not all of the people who call 2 and 1 are homeless but most of them are low income. It could be just having a crisis going on. You know the ends are not meeting for this month. The ends are not going to meet for the next few months or someone's had an injury on the job. That's an operator named Roshana Robinson and she says people call 2-1-1

looking for help paying their electric bill and helping rent, help doing all kinds of things that money can solve if you've got it. Only me the county is someone I can help here. Just a note here, any collars you hear in this episode have given us their explicit permission to play their call. Although, in some cases, we've taken out their names. I would like to know what you all know in about it and give a wash and see. I'm 93 years old. One 93-year-old woman who called while I was there

said last time she walked to the laundromat, she nearly fainted from exhaustion. She calls Roshana baby and sometimes sir, which Roshana is completely unfazed by. I'm a washer, hodle and moment. Okay baby, that's right. One moment. Okay, thank you, sir. Oh, you're welcome.

Roshana couldn't find any organizations that looked like they helped people get appliances, but she gave this woman some phone numbers to try just in case. The vast web of government services and non-profits can be hard to navigate, especially for people who may not have the internet at home. 2-1-1 operators are trying to point callers toward resources that might benefit them, which is why they're officially called phone resource specialists. But with their blessing, I'm going to stick with the less jargonny term operator. Can I just record a little bit while you do the shelter calls? term operator. Early in the day, Hata Gonzales, one of the operators, starts calling shelters in Alameda County to see if they have space available. Thank you very much. Thank you very much.

One, how can I help you? Okay. One by say. They don't have anything available. How does been an operator at 2-1-1 for 7 years? And she's done these calls so many times that the words come out quick and tonal, almost divorced from meaning. Good morning.

My name is Adam. I'm calling from Alameda County to 1-1. You're checking on shelter space. Okay, thank you. Love it. Okay, thank you. Nothing. A lot of people who call 211 are looking for shelter. And if there are spaces available,

the operators can help preserve them a bed. But keeping track of an inventory of shelter beds is more challenging than you might imagine. The number of open beds is always in flux. There are shelters that have 80 beds in the winter and 60 in the summer, and beds that just suddenly pop up in some random church basement. There are separate shelters reserved for victims of domestic violence. There are shelters that take moms with their kids if the kids are under 10, but not over

10. There are currently no shelters in the county that accept fathers with their kids, but there might be one opening soon. How to cause a few more shelters with the same results? Nothing, no space available. So far today, all they have to offer callers is one spot for a mother and two children.

It's hard. It's frustrating. Roshanna told me she got a call recently from a mother who needed shelter for that night and she had nothing to give her. It was on the phone me and I can hear her by straight. She's like, so, huh, what are I going to do? It's nothing. It's nowhere.

She's like, so me and my child are literally about to be on the streets tonight. to do is nothing, is nowhere. Like, so me and my child literally about to be on the streets tonight. I wanted to go by her hotel room. I was on the phone with her for 33 minutes, and she was, I know she was staying on the phone with me to think I was gonna give her like her light of hope, and I was hopeless there. Already I was starting to understand why people were always saying I called to one one

and I didn't get anything. They weren't getting anything because there was nothing to give. Thank you for calling Almina County to one one. How can I help you? Almost colors who want help with something other than shelter, like housing, for example. We'll have to get into the county's coordinated entry system. And this, this was the same system Tileisha had entered. 2-1-1, it turns out, is sort of like a door man for this system.

Opening the door for some people to enter, but not for others. OK, and you're looking for housing? Around 10 a.m., I get to see one of these calls. An operator named Grapri Minhas gets a call from a 24-year-old mother who wants help with housing. First and last name? To get that help, she'll need to go into the coordinated entry system. But whether she makes it in at all depends essentially on how she

answers one question. And where did you guys sleep or stay last night? Capri is screening this caller to determine if she meets the definition of literal homelessness according to the Department of Housing and Urban Development and by extension Alameda County. That's the actual term they use, literal homelessness. You are literally homeless if last night you slept in a shelter or in a place not meant for human habitation, like a tent or a car

or a broken-down RV. If this is the case, then you get the rubber stamp of literal homelessness, and the operators can pass you along to do a longer interview. In which you'll be asked a bunch more questions about your particular situation and then entered into the system. But here's the kind of maddening thing. Say you used to stay in the car for three months, and then one day you sleep at a friend's

house. But that's the day you happen to call 2-1-1. In that case, you're not literally homeless, according to their definition. And if you're not literally homeless, you can't get into the system at all, which means you can't get help with housing. And this caller, the Capri, is talking to. She seems to realize this. We don't have permission from her to play the recording, so I'll paraphrase what's happening on her end. In response to Caprice's question about where she slept last night, the caller says,

someone told me that I should tell you I've been sleeping in my car. It's not what somebody told you, it's just where did you sleep last night? To this, the caller says, well, my kids don't sleep in the car, but I do. So last night, where did you sleep? Did you sleep in the car? Did you sleep on the street? Did you sleep in someone's home? Where did you sleep?

I'm couch surfing, she says. But when there's no room, I go to my car. Okay, so question again, where were you last night? Where did you sleep last night? In my car, in my car. Okay. How long have you been sleeping in your car? Now the color size. Finally, she says, I feel like you guys want a straightforward answer, but I can't give you one. It's pretty

simple questions, ma'am, and this color situation is complicated and influx, but GrapriPri needs to check a box. Give me one second. I'm going to put you on on hold and I'll see if I can get them on the other line, okay? Gopreat does forward her on, even though it feels unclear to her whether the woman fulfills the criteria or not. The longer interview might reveal that she doesn't need the definition of literal homelessness after all.

She wants to say she's literally homeless, but I think she's actually been staying at a friend's house, where she's going to end up saying that, and then what they're trying to help with this program is individuals who don't have any other resources. I mean, it seems like part of what she was getting hung up on is that the questions sort of didn't account for like nuance. And I understand we need to be more, you know, more patient, but sometimes it's just so difficult because there's just like constantly, like attacking you and you're just asking simple questions, but it's just, so it's like a struggle.

When Tileisha Lee called 2-1-1 in the last episode, she could truthfully say she was sleeping in her car at the time, which meant she was ultimately allowed to enter the system. But hers was a similarly influx situation. She was often drifting between sleeping in the car and sleeping on someone's floor or couch. Staying with other people like that in a temporary, unstable way drifting between sleeping in the car and sleeping on someone's floor or couch. Staying with other people like that in a temporary, unstable way is often referred to as being doubled up.

The Department of Education reported that there were about 220,000 students in California who were living doubled up in 2018. That's 220,000 kids plus their parents or guardians that HUD may not be counting as homeless who do not in fact have homes. And when those people call to you on one, they're told they're not literally homeless. People are really good frustrated when you tell them they're not literally homeless and they're like, I am homeless. What do you mean? I'm sleeping on the effing couch and I'm sleeping in my effing car. And I just got let in last night.

But even when people do make it into the coordinated entry system, they don't always get help. I mean, Tilecia had gotten into the system, and she hadn't gotten anything. Roshana seemed unclear on what exactly happens to people after they get in. So I tell them it's a case by case? And so they basically end up on a list.

Is that your understanding? Basically, yeah. Roshana doesn't get to find out what happens to people after they get on the list. But what she does know is that they don't always get housing. And that's because those same people end up calling 2-1-1 again And they're like I already got that I'm already on that list and people for like they're getting sent in a circle There aren't many parts of a bureaucracy that you can actually talk to But you can always talk to someone at 2-1-1 24 hours a day, which means the operators become the target of a lot of frustration

Yeah, the yell, cuss you out. Yeah. You're worth punching bags. All of us have been. When people call 2-1-1, they're often already having a really hard day. They might be in the midst of a crisis or a moment of true desperation. And even though colors have to give information like their name and phone number, there's also a certain kind of anonymity. It's fine if the operator hears you in your most vulnerable moment

because your name doesn't mean anything to them. You're just two voices in the dark. Except for sometimes all of a sudden you aren't. Good morning, thank you for calling out to me to county 211. How can I help you? I'm homeless at Alameda County with the two-year-old son. Not the day I was there, but earlier this year when Roshana was still pretty new on the job. She answered a call from someone who sounded familiar. The caller said she and her son were homeless and looking for help.

I even like, I sheltered after vibes, from type of like housing, afterwards, I'm like, dad, I get me some resources. But I'm willing to move anywhere that I can get help. Okay, can I? Roshana starts asking her usual questions. Have you called to 111 before? What's your phone number?

What's your name? My first name is Bill. BEEP. And my last name is BEEP. Now, Urshana knows why the voice sounds familiar. And you can hear her take it in. The person she was talking to was her cousin. The two hadn't seen each other in a long time. And her cousin didn't seem to realize

she was talking to Urshana. Okay, one moment. She puts her cousin on hold and turns to her co-workers. Oh my God, she tells them. This is my cousin. When she gets back on the call, she seems not to know what to say at all. Like she's lost the script completely. Okay. Okay, so let me um finally she recovers a bit and makes her way through her usual screening questions, trying to determine if her cousin meets the definition of

literal homelessness. Where did you sleep last night, et cetera? usual screening questions, trying to determine if her cousin meets the definition of literal homelessness. Where did you sleep last night, etc.? And... The only friend there family could stay with. Yeah. This is the point, Roshanna wants to tell her cousin it's her, but she can't figure out how to say it. It's now nine minutes into the call, and she's finished with the screening interview. Okay, so you have been determined to be literally homeless by the Alvamina County guidelines.

You have been determined to be literally homeless. Rjana tells her cousin there's one space available in a shelter in Oakland that she could go to right away. And she can also go and do an assessment, get into the system, which might open up other resources. And that's your first potential steps to getting housed. Okay, so you have busy traveling for I could start taking the first step to the popular get house and maybe open it.

Yeah, will you talk to, will you, it's nothing's immediate, it's gonna take a minute. Okay, so, um, do this shelter, how long can I stay in the shelter for? Just a foot. It just depends. It just depends. You can either. Finally, Roshana finds the words. This is tiny. Tiny is Roshana's nickname. This is why I sent her.

Disconvibrating right now. You're messing me up right now. Oh, yeah, I'm dead serious. That's crazy. I feel so bad. This is not supposed to happen. We all... We're sure that tells her cousin that while she waits to get something through coordinated entry, she should also call the shelter in Oakland that has available space. I guess I'll take the number two to the one in Oakland. And then...

All right. Well, hi, tiny. I know. Yeah, man, I've been hard like, yeah. I know, I know. I was talking to the audience guys the other day. For the next few minutes, the two cousins catch up a little, both eluding in vague ways to difficult and complicated family history.

Well, it'll get better for you. It definitely, you know, you're, you're seeming still to be a go-getter and this is the way to do it. I mean, you know, At the end of the call, Rishanna transfers her cousin to the place where she can go do the longer interview to get into the coordinated entry system. I'm going to connect you. I got you connected, okay? Okay. I think I'm going to have to get a number down. I'm going to text you, mind, okay? Okay.

Okay. Okay, I love you. I love you too. All right. Okay. Okay, I love you. I love you too. All right. When I talked to Rishana about that call, I wanted to ask her if she had thought about offering her cousin a place to stay. And I was struggling with how to do it in a way that didn't sound judgmental,

but then she brought it up on her own. And I didn't really want to fully, at that point, extend my hand as a place to stay because, I didn't feel like I was in the position to do that. Roshana said she was relieved that her cousin hadn't asked to stay. I just didn't want to be faced with that because in my heart I would have had the heart that you like, no you can't come here.

Roshana had been in this situation before, not with this cousin, but with other people. And she knew, once you invite someone in, you have to be willing to let them stay until they find another situation. And she knew better than anyone, how long that can take in the Bay Area. When Roshana took that call, it was also back when she first started at 211. Back when she still believed there was a good chance

that the coordinated entry system could help people like her cousin. These days, she understands better that a lot of people who go into that system don't end up getting anything. And that's what Roshana's cousin told me happened to her. She and her son stayed in hotels for a while over the summer, but she recently managed to get them back into a place of their own. Roshana isn't the only operator at 2-1-1 with second or even first-hand experience with

homelessness. One operator named Gwen told me she'd been homeless herself for about five years, not that long ago. She slept in cars and hotels when she could. Another Michelle told me she thinks her mother could become homeless soon. It's probably not a coincidence that all the operators who told me they had some kind of experience with homelessness were black. When rents began to release spike, low-income African Americans who were already putting

roughly half of their paycheck toward rent were extremely susceptible to becoming homeless and many did. In Oakland, African Americans currently make up 70% of the homeless population and only 24% of the general population. How many people? And the crew? 3554 countries. No, for the crew.

The crew ship was about 3500 people, give it to me. Wow, they were on the cruise ship. On the cruise ship. In the afternoon, Lars Erichholm, the disaster preparedness coordinator at 2-1-1, comes up to check in with the operators. It was March 10, and the day before I was in the call center, the Grand Princess cruise ship had docked in Oakland to carefully unload several passengers who were sick with COVID-19.

Lars Erich had just sent around a memo with links and information for callers who might have questions about the virus. In a couple weeks, the 2-1-1 operators would have to field calls not only about homelessness and poverty, but about the virus and the associated shutdown. In a month, there would be a major coronavirus outbreak in a homeless shelter in the Bay Area. And some shelters would start operating at a reduced capacity.

And soon when people talked about the crisis, they wouldn't be talking about homelessness or housing anymore. They'd be talking about the pandemic. But at that moment, we didn't really get it yet. I realize this is a lot. And it is, that's why I opened it up close. But it's... You know this?

Wow, five male beds? Five? First time. You probably remember that earlier Hata Gonzales had not been able to find more than one space for a mother and child in a shelter, but she's just gotten an update from a shelter in Oakland. Wait, can you say what happened? We have five male beds.

And that's kind of like rare to have that many. We only have like a Sunday's nothing. So we have one or two on it. In general, over the last 15 years or so, federal funding has shifted away from things like shelters and toward more permanent solutions like housing. Five open shelter beds in a county that estimates there are at least 8,000 homeless people, and probably many more is not ideal.

Still, five open shelter beds is five chances for the operators to actually help their callers, and everyone's excited. Hi, Mr. Reese. Um, are you done with your dialysis for the day? At the very end of the day, around 5 p.m., Roshanna gets a color who needs one of those five beds. She's ready. She actually has something to offer because there are still a couple left.

Only, there's a problem. The client is a cross-town at kidney dialysis center. And he needs to be at the shelter by 6 p.m. No, no, no, no, six, six, yeah, six tonight. It's currently around 10 minutes after five. Is there anyone there? No, calm down. Calm down. It's okay. Is there anyone there? That would be willing to give you a ride? This caller, his name is James Reese, was panicking. If he couldn't get into the shelter, he worried he'd have to sleep outside that night. No one here, there's no one here. Help me. At all.

You can't say he can't. My ability is just in that, isn't it? I'm stuck. Um... Um, let me, let me place you on a quick hold to see what I can do about transportation, okay? The 211 operators don't really have a budget to help callers with transportation. But there is this very small fund, Rishanna tells me, for lift rides. It's only supposed to be for rides to the grocery store and doctor's appointments though. I know that that funding is very strict and they tell us to be very strict with it. You don't have a way to even take the bus home mysteries? No, I really do that as a help trying to help me and I appreciate you so much.

Okay, one moment. And I'm just preaching so much. OK, I'll win on that. Roshanna puts Mr. Reese back on hold and opens the app for lift on her computer. Her brow is furrowed. Her cursor is hovering over the request ride button. She says to me, so this is where the humanity comes into it.

Which I don't really understand at first, but then I get it. Most of the day, it's, do you fit the criteria or not? Call the number, read the script, go through the protocols. But right now she gets to be a human instead of a bureaucrat. Okay um, Mr. Reese, gonna get you a lift, right? Okay. Okay. Mr. Reece has 40 minutes to get to the shelter.

It's a 30 minute ride with traffic. You'll be getting picked up in three minutes by a Ricardo. He's driving a white Honda Accord. Okay. Okay. I'll come in again. I'll be seeing you in a while. Have a good night.

Bye-bye. Okay, okay. I'll be seeing you in a little while. Have a good night. Bye-bye. Roshanna hangs up the phone. But on her computer screen, we can see that Ricardo, the driver, has pulled up to the address Mr. Ries gave. But he's just sitting there. Why would Ricardo just be sitting there? Maybe Mr. Ries wasn't actually in the car.

He's waiting. He's going to leave. Hello? Hi, Mr. Ries. He's waiting. He's going to leave. Hello? Hi, Mr. Rees. He's there. Okay. Hey, I'm coming out. I'm coming out right here. Okay, you may want to hurry. Okay. Okay. You're the car. Thank you. Mr. Rees, he's now left and the ride was canceled.

Huh? No, no, I'm right here. Hold on one second, Mr. Lee. She puts him back on hold. I'm not sure if she's going to get him another lift or if that was his one chance. It's 5.30. He'd already be late, but maybe not too late. Roshanna this again. Robelle and a grain Toyota Prius will be picking you up in six minutes.

Oh gosh, hello. I'm still here in Mysteries. Oh, okay, okay. And just stay on with you until you get in that car. We wait on the phone while Robella makes his way there. Five more minutes. It's not gonna make it. It's still be late.

Mr. Ries whistles nervously as time passes. Come on, car. Oh, he's there. he's waiting for you green Toyota Prius. Okay Mr. Reese you may have to walk around and look for green Toyota Prius. Come on let's look for the vehicle. Yes so you can get in there. We can see the driver's blue dot hovering on the screen circling the block. Mr. Reese is running out of time, but they don't seem to be finding each other. Okay, let me try to call the driver. Hold on one second. Please answer Robelle. Hello.

Hi, Robelle. There are four more agonizing minutes of back and forth on a conference call between Roshana and Mr. Ries and Robelle the lift driver. Mr. Ries is describing landmarks, describing himself. Finally, they find each other. You're in the car? Perfect. You're going to be a few minutes late, but just calmly explain that you were told to come. He thinks she hangs up and we both lean back and exhale. So good. He's on his way. Hello. Yeah. Good. That's on his way.

Well, yeah. Good. That's a good thing. I guess that's what keeps you going. Even if it's one person that gets a place inside tonight, it's like, good. And I'm done for the day. I'm out. I'm out.

No lunch. Getting Mr. Reese to that shelter was one tangible thing before the day's end. One person who was shana knew for sure wouldn't sleep outside that night, at least partly because of her. It doesn't always go like that. A lot of the time, these operators have to be the voice that tells people there isn't help. The thing they need doesn't exist, and there's nothing they can do to change that. I hadn't thought about it that much before this reporting, but bureaucracies aren't just

frustrating for the people trying to navigate them. They're frustrating for the people working inside of them too. No one really has any agency, no power to make a decision that could really help someone. All the operators told me that the best calls, the best days, or when you feel like you actually had something to offer. A lot of the time you don't. A lot of the time you feel like all you're doing is passing people off to be put on a list. And yes, there is actually one big master list of homeless people in Alameda County,

but you only get help with housing if you get to the top of it. I learned all about how this list works and why Tuleisha never got any help with housing. But first, how did we even arrive at the idea that if someone is homeless, what they need is a house. Because it might sound obvious now, but it wasn't always that way. That's next time on According to Need.

After the break of preview. Next time on According to Need. I slept all over the place. I slept in a cardboard box under the FDR drive. I think that was right under the bridge. There was like an awareness that whatever this is, whatever we're trying to do with this population, it's not working. Oh yeah, I used to fight a lot.

I do got a short tempo when it comes to a bunch of bocrap. Our applicants repeatedly failed the housing interviews. We could not persuade housing providers to take anybody. We were failing miserably. I felt really bad. I wish I could get off these drugs. If people are on the street, you're never going to be able to have those conversations, because it's all about, where am I going to sleep, and what am I going to eat, and you know, like am I safe.

Sland told us that the apartment says I was the sooner we get the leases. They loved the idea that they could have their own place in a regular building and not be identified as living in a program. It was a great seller. He was a great seller. It was a dream. So, you know, we just went with it. A few decades ago, an experiment in New York City flipped the script completely on how to help people out of homelessness.

That's coming up on according to need. coming up on According to Need. This chapter of According to Need was produced by me, Katie Mingle, with associate producer Abby Madan and managing editor Whitney Henry Lester. Roman Mars was the executive producer. In valuable editing from Lisa Pollock, Emmett Fitzgerald, Delaney Hall, Christopher Johnson, Joe Rosenberg, and Roman Mars. Brendan Baker was our sound engineer, fact checking by Amy Gaines, beautiful music by the beautiful Sean Raell, branding and design by muchmore.io. Kurt Colstead was our digital director, additional support from Sofia Klatsker, Vivian Leigh and Chris Baroube.

Special thanks to all the people who spoke to me for this series, as well as Marisol Medina Carina, Alison De Young, Johanna Zorn, and Chelsea Miller. According to Need is a project of 99% invisible, which is a founding proud member of Radio Topia from PRX, a network of independent listener-supported, artist-owned podcasts.