Lorain, Ohio – Five years ago, a Bay Village resident was picking up his daughter from preschool when he noticed a man huddled in blankets and sleeping on a park bench. He called 911.
He told the dispatcher that he called police to “call in a homeless person” because the situation “doesn’t look good.”
But he was referring to “Homeless Jesus,” a bronze statue of a shrouded man with his bare feet exposed and scarred by crucifixion wounds. It was designed to provoke us — to make us pause, look closer, and confront our natural tendency to turn away. And it worked. The 911 call arrived within 20 minutes of the statue’s installation. And the story went viral because it revealed something ugly that we’d rather hide: when confronted with visible poverty, too many of us instinctively seek exile rather than compassion.
Five years later, that reflex is about to be made law in Lorain and Rocky River.
Both cities are considering ordinances that would make sleeping in public places a misdemeanor, including sidewalks, parks, alleys, and even inside a parked car. Police could issue citations, order people to move along, and take repeat offenders to court.
Never mind that someone sleeping in public is generally at their most vulnerable — unprotected, exposed, and more likely to become a victim than a victimizer. Nevertheless, leaders justify these laws as necessary to protect the public and maintain order. They claim they don’t want to lock anyone up; instead, they’re providing officers with “tools” to connect people with services.
Set aside all of those talking points, and you’ll be left with your own common sense, which will tell you the following: poverty is the offense.
With its 2024 Grants Pass v. Johnson decision, the United States Supreme Court paved the way for cities to punish people for sleeping in public, even when there are no shelter beds available. Since then, some Northeast Ohio cities, such as Brunswick, Mentor, and Ashtabula, have rushed to take the punitive approach, removing people from doorways and park benches without considering the forces that brought them there in the first place.
The cities pushing these bans are aligned with the Trump administration’s new national crackdown, which guts the most effective housing policies, rewards cities that prohibit camping, and funnels people into jails or forced treatment. In Washington, D.C., Trump has deployed the National Guard to clear encampments, leaving people with the option of a shelter cot, forced treatment, or jail.
His order undermines tried-and-true housing-first strategies, reviving the failed logic of punishment and institutionalization. Social service organizations across the country have condemned the policies as cruel, warning that they deprive people of dignity while accomplishing nothing.
And that is a fact: these laws do nothing to reduce homelessness, only to obscure it, punishing people for social conditions we have failed to address while saddled with criminal records, court dates, and fines that only worsen their downward spiral.
If Lorain, Rocky River, and the cities that came before them on this ill-advised path had read the research on these types of punitive policies before implementing them in their own communities, they would have realized how destructive they are.
A Johns Hopkins review of national studies discovered that criminalizing homelessness shortens lives, disrupts care, and harms health. People without housing die at a young age — on average, 51 years old. This was the average American life expectancy in 1910. When researchers looked at 100 cities with anti-camping, anti-panhandling, and anti-sleeping laws, they discovered no evidence that the ordinances reduced homelessness. In some cities, the crisis worsened.
Cleveland is proving that there is another way. Mayor Justin Bibb’s “A Home for Every Neighbor” program has already housed over 150 people, closed nearly 50 encampments by collaborating directly with residents and landlords rather than conducting police sweeps, and provided case managers, groceries, furniture, and even pet services.
This strategy reduces the number of police calls, emergency room visits, and court appearances while making neighborhoods safer. Only 2% of those approached on the street declined assistance. It turns out that when people are treated with dignity rather than handcuffs, they prefer stability.
The city of Houston, which Cleveland studied when launching its own program, has reduced homelessness by nearly half using this model. Bibb’s initiative draws directly on Houston’s success, demonstrating that scaling housing-first strategies works not only in sprawling Sunbelt cities, but also in Northeast Ohio.
I won’t deny that neighborhood frustrations exist. So is the fear people feel when they come across something they don’t quite understand, such as a fellow human being who is so marginalized, forced to the outskirts of society, that a park bench is the only option for a night of rest. However, city leaders in places such as Lorain and Rocky River are capitalizing on the very strong emotional responses to homelessness to justify laws that punish people simply for existing.
This brings me back to the provocative statue in Bay Village. “Homeless Jesus” was intended to challenge that visceral, emotional response, forcing us to look at the man on the bench as a human being rather than a nuisance.
That 911 call, which was later parodied on Saturday Night Live’s Weekend Update, exposed in the harshest light how visible poverty unsettles us, and it widely embarrassed us with our own instincts to avoid the marginalized.
Perhaps we’ve entered a chilling new era in which we’re told from the highest levels of power that it’s not only acceptable to look away from the most vulnerable, but also to erase them entirely, echoing some of the darkest chapters in human history.
Before Lorain and Rocky River implement their draconian proposals, they should examine themselves. Let’s hope they follow Cleveland’s lead and invest in housing, services, and outreach that uphold the dignity of every person who is homeless.
