Dignity Village YES Mag

5/11/2019 In a Tiny House Village, Portland's Homeless Find Dignity by Marcus Harrison Green — YES!
Magazine
In a Tiny House Village, Portland's Homeless Find

Dignity
As cities search for solutions to homelessness, Portland’s Dignity Village o ers 60 men
and women community and safety.
Katie Mays, the site's social worker, stands next to villager Rick Proudfoot in front of his house. All photos by Paul Dunn.
posted Jan 28, 2016
On a frigid January morning in Portland, Ore., a tour through Dignity Village follows the same
path its residents are required to travel. All were, or are, homeless.
Newcomers to this homeless refuge huddle in the warming station, a small portable with
photos of smiling former residents and where they are required to stay during a 60-day
probationary period.
https://www.yesmagazine.org/peace-justice/-in-a-tiny-house-village-portlands-homeless-ﬁnd-dignity-20160128 1/11
5/11/2019 In a Tiny House Village, Portland's Homeless Find Dignity by Marcus Harrison Green — YES! Magazine
They hope to graduate to a small makeshift home like Karen, a three-month resident whose
boisterous laugh carries through the village.
Should it become a permanent home, they may nd themselves in the position of Rick
Proudfoot, a longtime resident who works in the site’s main o ce, keeping track of nances.
If they’re really lucky, they may end up like Lisa Larson, Dignity Village’s CEO.
“There’s a real sense of A peppy forty-something, she’s lived at Dignity Village the
last six years after falling into homelessness to escape an
pride here, a real sense
abusive husband. She initially thought she’d stay no more
of community that you
than a few months. Today, Larson, who has been in her
don’t find elsewhere.” position for a year, can’t imagine living anywhere else.
“There’s a real sense of pride here, a real sense of community that you don’t nd elsewhere,”
she says.
Called an “intentional community” by its members and a homeless encampment by outsiders,

Dignity Village is a step toward curbing Portland’s skyrocketing homeless population.
Located in northeast Portland, Dignity Village is a self-governed gated community, which

currently serves 60 people on any given night—the city limits the number—and provides
shelter in the form of tiny houses built mainly from donated and recycled materials.
Dignity Village housing structures built mainly from recycled material by residents.
The village emerged in the winter of 2000 as a tent city called Camp Dignity. Stationed in
downtown Portland, it served as an act of protest against Portland’s then-existing ban on
homeless encampments.
But it moved. After more than a year of public controversy, the city sanctioned a permanent
campsite on Sunderland Yard, city-owned land six miles west of the Portland International
Airport.
The village has resided on this site since 2004, when advocates and o cials reached a
compromise on a location after contentious negotiations, but there are no more tents.
Now o cially a nonpro t, Dignity Village is governed by a democratically elected council of

nine residents, who are responsible for day-to-day decisions; all residents can vote on big
decisions, like whether to remove a resident or enter into contracts with service providers, in
town-hall-style meetings. On a typical night, it provides food, housing, bathrooms, and a
mailing address for nearly 60 adults, who pay $35 a month in rent and would otherwise be
taking their chances alone sleeping on park benches or city streets.
This is why community may be Dignity Village’s most essential o ering.
“It’s really what sets people apart from other homeless shelters and encampments, above all
else,” says Katie Mays, who works as a social worker at Dignity Village three days a week.
Dignity Village CEO Lisa Larson with village newbies in the warming station.
The village’s ve rules help cultivate that sense of community: no violence, no theft, no
alcohol or drugs within a one-block radius, no constant disruptive behavior, and all residents
must contribute at least 10 hours per week of work for village upkeep.
No children are allowed at the village because background checks are not a requirement to stay
there. Larson says this allows the village to avoid any problems that could arise if any resident,
also known as a “villager,” were a registered sex o ender or had a violent criminal history.
Seattle, which in November declared a state of emergency to tackle its own homeless crisis,
recently moved to expand micro-housing communities for the chronically homeless; The
Seattle Times cited Dignity Village as a huge in uence on the city’s decision.
The city has its own problems with pervasive homelessness. The issue prompted Mayor Ed
Murray to deliver a rare televised address on Tuesday. Moments before he went on air, two
people were killed and three others wounded in a shooting at a homeless encampment in the
city’s Sodo district.
Murray recently met with Portland Mayor Charlie Hales to discuss how their cities are
grappling with homelessness. On Tuesday, he called on the city council to provide an
additional $49 million to increase services for Seattle’s roughly 3,000 homeless, which would
include additional campsites. The city already spent $50 million on homelessness last year, the
most in its history.
It is one of the best Elsewhere, cities are trying out the model of Dignity
Village. In Eugene, Oregon, Opportunity Village has lifted
(and cheapest) bets to
the concept wholesale. Like Dignity Village, it is mostly
curb homelessness, at
self-governed, its residents are required to adhere to the
least for now. same ve rules, and tiny homes dot its landscape.
“We didn’t feel it was necessary to reinvent the wheel,” says Andrew Heben, project director
for Square One Villages, which partially funds the Eugene development.
Heben, whose book Tent City Urbanism frequently cites Dignity Village as a model for
sustainable housing for the homeless, says there are a few key di erences between the two,
pointing to one in particular: Dignity Village allows its residents to be members of their
nonpro t entity, which can lead to logistical challenges.
“Since many residents eventually transition out of there, that means new people can
completely undo rules that others have put in place,” says Heben.
In contrast, Opportunity Village is overseen by a separate board consisting of residents, clergy,

and other community members.
Dignity Village’s in uence also has spread to Nashville, where a micro-housing

community called Sanctuary has cropped up. In a recent Al-Jazeera report, residents said
Sanctuary provides them with “dignity, security, and a place to plot their futures.”
What the residents of these communities hold in common are the bonds forged from shared
experience—of nally nding a welcome environment after being discarded and stigmatized
by larger society.
From abusive home to nurturing community: Lisa Larson

Lisa Larson can easily recall the day she rst became homeless. The event shares an anniversary
with her decision to nally leave an abusive husband after years of emotional and physical
turmoil.
Larson spent two years camping out on concrete sidewalks and inside abandoned buildings.
She and her current husband, Scott Larson, discovered Dignity Village while serving time in a
Milwaukie, Oregon, jail for chronically violating the city’s ban against homeless camping.
Another homeless person there spoke about a place where people not only were treated with
respect, but were instilled with a sense of pride and community.
With curiosity sparked, Larson arrived at the village six years ago, thinking she’d stay no more
than six months. Today, she is the village’s chief executive o cer, functioning as its o cial
spokesperson.
“When I rst came here, I felt like a nobody. With my new husband and Dignity Village, I am
somebody. I am a domestic violence survivor. Without this place, I don’t know where or what I’d
be,” she says.
Now certain of both, Larson has found not just shelter but peace and purpose that until six years
ago eluded her.
The homeless population in Portland has steadily increased since 2007 even while national
rates have dropped by 11 percent during the same period. The Oregonian has characterized it as
a problem “spinning out of control.”
The city estimates that 4,000 men, women, and children are without shelter most nights in
Multnomah County. The image of people emerging from tents and napping on benches is often
the rst one to greet visitors outside the city’s train station.
Although city and county o cials have recently pledged more than $30 million to combat
homelessness, the situation persists.
“We’re victims of our own success,” says Josh Alpert, chief of sta to Hales.
Alpert says Portland’s problems stem from three major issues: housing demand that exceeds
supply; rising rent prices in response to an in ux of new residents; and a lack of nancial
resources to dedicate to the homeless population.
The city has at least 17 dedicated shelters for the homeless. One of its newest, the eight-story
Bud Clark Commons, was built by the city in June 2011 and houses about 150 people. It cost
taxpayers $47 million, a price tag that continues to anger some residents and business owners.
Portland’s city council recently approved $1 million for a new shelter.
The dilemma has forced city o cials to consider new approaches and revisit old ones that have
proved successful.
Residents walk through the village on a cold day.
One has been its partnership with Dignity Village, which began three years after the village
o cially became a nonpro t in December 2001. Today the collaboration is all the more
attractive to a cash-strapped city budget: The village’s annual operations amount to just
$27,750.
Besides granting public land, the city provides funding for a dedicated social worker, Mays, to
help members with job searches, resume writing, and transportation to medical and
counseling appointments. Mays also functions as a liaison to the city.
Dealings between Dignity Village and the city haven’t always been smooth.
“We’ve been in a constant state of anxiety with the city,” says Proudfoot.
The city has imposed rules, such as the two-year limit on how long a resident can stay, for
example. And, Proudfoot says, there’s always the possibility that the city could reclaim the
village's land.
Many Dignity Village members would prefer no interaction with the city, Proudfoot says,
because they nd its system too bureaucratic and hard to navigate, which they blame for
leaving many of them to sleep on the pavement prior to become villagers.
But they view the city’s involvement as necessary to reach their goal of owning land where
members can build permanent settlements, not just tents and make-do tiny homes.
O cials, meanwhile, view the village as transitional housing, wanting people to stay there
only as long as it takes them to nd permanent residences. The city instituted its two-year
maximum stay as part of the partnership (Larson estimates the average member’s stay is
between 24 and 36 months), something the city has been unable to enforce.
“The problem is there’s no housing for people to go to, and the city doesn’t have another
plan,” says Proudfoot.
Portland’s current a ordable housing shortage is estimated at about 42,720 units. When
subsidized units do become available, people most often are required to compete in a lottery
for them. The shortage also extends to rental units, prices for which have risen at the sixth
fastest rate in the nation. When rentals do come on the market, they’re often snatched up by
the highest bidder, a predicament that has sent much of the city’s working poor scurrying for
places to live.
Alpert says the city is attempting to try some innovative ideas, including replicating the
village, because it is one of the best (and cheapest) bets to curb homelessness, at least for now.
One of Dignity Village’s tiny housing structures.
“Dignity Village sits well with what the city is attempting to do. We’ve had 15 years to study
it,” says Alpert.
As other cities look to Dignity Village, Alpert has some advice: Be mindful of location.
“A lot of infrastructure goes with being homeless,” he points out. He notes a problem with
creating another Dignity Village is trying to nd land close to social services and public
transportation for its population.
From unemployment to CEO: Rick Proudfoot
Rick Proudfoot’s road to Dignity Village is a familiar one for many people who fell into
homelessness during the nation’s 2008 nancial crisis.
Proudfoot, an electrician, became a casualty of an economic collapse that saw millions lose
homes, jobs, and accumulated wealth.
Unable to nd work in the midst of it all, he fell into poverty after burning through his savings.
He couldn’t a ord the rent on his apartment across the Columbia River in Vancouver,
Washington, so he took to sleeping in city parks, where getting caught meant a ne of $300 or a
30-day stint in jail.
Arriving in Dignity Village in 2008, he quickly established himself as a person who wouldn’t
spare his fellow villagers his un ltered opinion. But his personality was endearing enough that
he served as Dignity Village’s CEO for two years and now works as an administrator keeping
track of its nances.
While he has left and returned to the village several times, he will always feel an attachment to
it, which is why he wants to be the architect of its future.
One day, he says, the village will be a truly intentional community: completely self-governed,
self-managed, and self-funded by and for its residents.
Proudfoot, for one, hopes that in time the village will become known for more than just its tiny
homes.
“We built [the tiny homes] in hopes of being able to put them on a atbed one day and move
them to land of our own,” he says.
Meanwhile, the village continues to save money—about $2,000 so far—to build larger and
more permanent structures on a site not owned by the city. And members look forward to the
day when a tour of Dignity Village will take place on land collectively owned by its residents.
They’d have another word for it.
Home.
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Marcus Harrison Green wrote this article for YES!

Magazine. Marcus is a YES! Reporting Fellow. He is the founder of
the South Seattle Emerald. Follow him on Twitter@mhgreen3000.
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5/11/2019 In a Tiny House Village, Portland's Homeless Find Dignity by Marcus Harrison Green — YES!

In a Tiny House Village, Portland's Homeless Find

posted Jan 28, 2016

Called an “intentional community” by its members and a homeless encampment by outsiders,

Located in northeast Portland, Dignity Village is a self-governed gated community, which

Now o cially a nonpro t, Dignity Village is governed by a democratically elected council of

This is why community may be Dignity Village’s most essential o ering.

In contrast, Opportunity Village is overseen by a separate board consisting of residents, clergy,

Dignity Village’s in uence also has spread to Nashville, where a micro-housing

From abusive home to nurturing community: Lisa Larson

Portland’s city council recently approved $1 million for a new shelter.

Residents walk through the village on a cold day.

One of Dignity Village’s tiny housing structures.

From unemployment to CEO: Rick Proudfoot

No Paywall. No Ads. Just Readers Like You.

Inspiration in Your Inbox

Get the best YES! stories by email.

Marcus Harrison Green wrote this article for YES!

Why Are Bathrooms the Place to Air Our Politics?

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