Originally made by a team tasked to raise money from the streets for the shelter, the Homeless Voice was born from the knowledge that freedom of press was a way to raise awareness. We started as a flyer, then a 4-page newsprint, then finally becoming the voice of the homeless with the Homeless Voice newspaper and website in 1999.
The Homeless Voice is owned by the COSAC Foundation, a multi-faceted non-profit agency that feeds, shelters, and arranges access to social and medical services to every homeless person that enters its shelters. We aim to enable them to return to a self-reliant lifestyle, but for the small percentage of people incapable, we provide a caring and supportive environment for long-term residency. Contributers
In this newspaper we hope to present the problems that the homeless population faces day-to-day, the problems these people personally face, and the ways that laws can help and hinder them.
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Many of our vendors are clients of our shelters, brought to different major cities to vend this paper in return for a donation. Based out of Lake City — where our Veterans Inn shelter and Motel 8 is located — or Davie, they are always brought out in groups of four to help each other stay motivated and keep each other company. They’re given plenty of food and water for the day and don bright shirts to distinguish them as our vendors.
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When Funding Gets Political
By Mary Rasura
Panhandling
By Mary Stewart
Hula Hoops With The Homeless System
By Mary Stewart
By Mary Stewart
Photo illustration by Andrew Fraieli
Aggressive Panhandling
The ethics, legal status and experience of aggressive panhandler from someone on the streets for 20 years.
By Mary Stewart
I've been panhandling on and off for the past 20 years and have never felt shame over peacefully holding a cardboard sign on medians and highway off ramps. I never run up to cars. I simply smile and wave while hoping for a response.
Once in a while, I've had no choice but to sit on the side of a store's entranceway and greet customers as they come in, but even then, I tried to only ask for spare change as they were exiting and heading back to their cars to avoid complaints.
Over the years, I've had a total of 13 citations and arrests for peaceful panhandling. But I still keep doing it as I never personally saw anything wrong with it and didn't have much of a choice in my situation.
Aggressive panhandling is a totally different story, though.
I never liked aggressive panhandlers as I felt as though they made it bad for the rest of us. Many times, I've confronted friends who panhandled aggressively as motorists began refusing to roll down their windows and stores started to chase off homeless people. I blamed this all on aggressive panhandlers. But at the same time, I understand the desperation. I've been in situations where I was broke, hungry, and desperate enough to run up to people in parking lots and at gas pumps. I just tried to not make a habit of it. I always felt it was wrong to approach people in that manner, and I thought it was against the law.
For a long time, aggressive panhandling was indeed illegal, but the laws have started to change.
The U.S. District Court Southern Division ruled in the 2021 case of Williams vs. West Palm Beach that the city's aggressive panhandling ban violated the 1st Amendment and could not stand up to federal precedent.
The parties reached a settlement agreement and the West Palm Beach aggressive panhandling ordinance was repealed. But it still doesn't give homeless people the green light to panhandle aggressively. At the end of the day, even though it's no longer illegal, it's still wrong. Approaching people in an aggressive manner may occasionally get your needs met quicker, but it can also get the cops called. You can still be “no trespassed” from stores and some people you run up to may be afraid and misunderstand your intentions.
If nothing else, try to put yourself in the shoes of those you are running up to — especially if it's late at night or you're panhandling at a bank or ATM. What would you think if you were them? How would you feel? Even if you're street smart and tough as nails, I can almost guarantee that you'd be uncomfortable in that situation. But what exactly what is aggressive panhandling?
According to West Palm Beach City Code, aggressive
I blamed this all on aggressive panhandlers. But at the same time, I understand the desperation.
panhandling includes making physical contact without the consent of the person being solicited, following them, and continuing to solicit within five feet after the person gave a negative response. Solicitation at bus stops, ATMs and banks was also prohibited. But why would you want to do those things anyway? As the old saying goes, you get more bees with honey than you do with vinegar. I've never had much luck when I was drunk, blatant, demanding, or desperate. However, I was often well blessed whenever I smiled and spoke politely and respectfully.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard for some people. One unnamed friend of mine had his picture posted on social media with the caption, “Watch out for this guy.” He's notorious for aggressive panhandling and actually does make good money. But he also gets a lot of complaints and arrests. It's just not worth it.
My friend Charlie tries to consider the feelings of others and stays seated when asking for money at businesses to show that he's not a threat. His needs are always met, and he's never been arrested for panhandling. However, he has been occasionally banned from stores.
I still hold my cardboard sign on the roadways but have begun trying to make what I need on the sidewalk again. One officer warned me that panhandling in the median can still be charged as a traffic violation. He advised me to not go in the road and start panhandling on the sidewalk. I've taken his advice, but sometimes still have to go in the median to meet my needs.
I've considered the possibility of panhandling at stores again but remaining seated like Charlie does. I just don't want to be banned from businesses, but then again, I don't want to be ticketed or arrested for being in the roadway either. I feel like I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Aggressive panhandlers often move from parking lot to parking lot approaching people and asking for money, food, or other items. That gives them an upper hand. They don't need to stand in the middle of the road or post up at a particular business for long. But it still makes some people very uncomfortable.
I definitely don't want to go that route, so until I find a job and housing, I'll probably just stick to holding a sign and taking advantage of community resources whenever I can. It's not as though homeless people have many options to scrape up a few dollars here and there.
A few friends of mine donate plasma, and one friend does odd jobs and participates in studies. Day labor and gig work may also be options to consider. But you may need to have a phone, proper shoes, transportation, and good hygiene. Those are all common barriers to employment.
Even though community resources are often limited in the ways they can help, they are still invaluable resources for homeless people. If you can at least get free lunch, a shower, a clean outfit, a daily bus pass, etc. that's a start. It means that you don't need to come up with as much money that day.
I'm personally still a firm believer in asking rather than stealing, but still don't condone aggressive panhandling. Even though the aggressive panhandling laws have been repealed in some jurisdictions, it may remain illegal in other areas. And even if something isn't illegal, it still doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do.
Playing Hula Hoops With The Homeless System
A cycle of not sick enough, not enough money, and not enough resources.
By Mary Stewart
I've come to regard the word “help” as being distasteful and often respond to suggestions of seeking help with defiance. The year 2025 marks a total of 20 years of on and off homelessness for me. I've begun to believe that the help simply isn't out there for people like myself.
Don't get me wrong. Over the years, I've had several friends who have successfully accessed homeless services and changed their lives. I've always held onto hope from hearing their testimonies, only so far that hope has been futile.
Most of my formerly homeless friends have gotten off the streets by a mix of relocating and receiving help from friends and family or private non-profit outreach programs, not through the Palm Beach County homeless system. Others have died before help ever arrived for them.
Last year, I gave the homeless system another shot after finally ending my abusive marriage and returning home to Florida. I went to a halfway house and was actively attending 12-step meetings and applying for 25 jobs per week online. I landed a few interviews, but was never hired and couldn't afford to pay my rent at the halfway house.
I felt like a total failure. I was doing everything right, but simply had trouble finding a job. I told this to a counselor and she replied that maybe I need to add keywords to my resume. That only increased my belief that it was my own fault that I was homeless. No matter
I was crazy, but not the right kind of crazy for funding.
how much I do right, I'm still lacking in some area. I hated myself and turned right back to alcohol for comfort. I still had some fight left in me, though, so I applied for job services through vocational rehabilitation. I was then referred for a psych evaluation prior to job placement. The psychologist determined that I needed substance abuse treatment and therapy before I could receive employment services.
I've spent most of my life in group and individual therapy and have sought substance abuse treatment only to be repeatedly denied services through Medicaid. I'm sick of spending my life talking about my feelings and find it pointless for people to insist on a service that I simply can't afford. There had to be another way — or so I thought.
Finally, I had enough and reached out to the county commissioner who sent out a homeless caseworker the following day. She also recommended substance abuse and mental health treatment prior to housing and insisted that I had to go to detox in order for Medicaid to pay for treatment.
I wasn't drinking enough to qualify for detox, so I tried the Lord's Place instead. I felt comfortable with the environment and had nothing but good things to say. However, I didn't qualify for supportive housing through their PATH program because I didn't have a certain mental health diagnosis.
I was crazy, but not the right kind of crazy for funding. As a last resort, I started to increase my alcohol consumption on purpose over the holidays just to qualify for help. I tried to have myself admitted to a psych ward for detox and stabilization but my blood alcohol level still wasn't high enough. So, once again, I upped my game and switched to vodka and returned to cocaine use just so I could get help.
I was finally accepted into a Medicaid detox. I hoped that I'd be able to stay for treatment and obtain housing and employment after discharge, but that's not how it works. I still didn't qualify for treatment. After I was kicked out of the detox facility, my entire life went to hell as I was fed up with misfortunes and the lack of compassion.
In the past, I've been told that I need to help myself. I tried that, too. I graduated college cum laude while homeless only to end up with over $40,000 in debt that I can't afford to pay. People have told me to get a job. I've done that, too. But since I receive government assistance, part time employment just places me in a worse predicament. I feel trapped in poverty.
I essentially feel like I'm playing a never ending game of hula hoops with the homeless system. I apply for help with one issue only to be referred for more services that I didn't even request and sometimes don't even need. But unless I comply with recommendations, I can't get the help with the one thing I asked for help with in the beginning. I'm getting dizzy from the constant runaround.
My friend Russ is going through a similar situation. He waited 7 months for a bed at the Lewis Center only to be kicked out after losing two telemarketing jobs and not having income for transitional living. Russ has started feeling depressed and hopeless. He still donates plasma and job hunts online at the library, but beyond that he's also given up.
Gerry works hard every day only to return to a bench in a shopping Plaza to sleep at night. He had a caseworker who was helping him find housing, but had no success. He kept getting his hopes up and was even about to pick up keys to an apartment once before he
learned that he still doesn't earn enough money and has been repeatedly told that he's not a qualified rental applicant.
My friend Charlie also tried to get help and had negative experiences with the Lewis Center. He told me that “shelters aren't safe places” and that ever since he's stopped trying to get help people have left him alone and he's more at peace. However, he refuses to give up and recently decided that he wants to give sobriety and a halfway house another shot.
I plan on doing the same thing. I have a place that's willing to take me, but have some things to get in order beforehand. I learned a long time ago to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. I'm done living in guilt, shame, and regret. I'm starting to finally love and accept myself — regardless of the opinions of others or where I sleep.
Some people assume that those who are still homeless are out here by choice but that isn't always the case. Not all of us qualify for jobs and housing or funding for needed services. It's not necessarily our choice to be out here. At this point, I'm sick and tired of much more than just homelessness.
I'm tired of being held back by misdiagnoses, stigmas, and assumptions. I'm tired of people telling me to get jobs and housing while employers and landlords say I don't qualify. And I'm definitely tired of asking for help only to end up feeling like a hamster running around a wheel that goes absolutely nowhere.
WHEN FUNDING GETS POLITICAL,
LGBTQ+ HOMELESS SERVICES
FEEL THE SQUEEZE
BY MARY RASURA
Federal funding cuts are squeezing queer-focused health and housing programs across South Florida.
Agencies are renewing grants at lower levels, stripping “LGBTQ” from program titles, and redirecting core HIV and homelessness dollars to county administrators. When prevention, testing, and shortterm housing wobble, people on the edge fall. And the danger is local, not just national.
Earlier this year, a federal court ordered the Trump administration to restore $6.2 million to nine LGBTQ and HIV nonprofits after judges blocked executive orders that sought to cut equity and genderaffirming programs.
Even with that ruling, restrictions continue in South Florida. Compass Community Center in Lake Worth Beach lost nearly $225,000 a year in state funding for HIV testing and prevention, money they had relied on for almost three decades. Executive Director Julie Seaver says politics is bleeding into paperwork.
Palm Beach County reviewers scored Compass near the top in the county’s three-year youth and family cycle. Yet grand advisors urged Compass to remove “LGBTQ” from program titles to improve their funding chances. Seaver says they complied strategically, not philosophically.
“We’re going to keep on providing the services. We know what our mission is, you all know who we serve,” Seaver said.
Seaver said removing the name did allow them to secure the funding. The program focuses on LGBTQ youth mental health, but Seaver says the description remains accurate because services are open to all.
“We don’t turn heterosexual-identifying youth away,” she said. “We have kids coming in for mental health services or social support who might have queer siblings, or two moms or two dads.”
Housing access is also shifting. Compass once administered limited emergency housing tied to HIV care through the Ryan White HIV/ AIDS Program. Now they refer clients to the county’s Lewis center,
“LGBTQ is one of the banned words, how the hell am I supposed to write grants for the LGBTQ community if I can’t even use the word?
Executive Director Julie Seaver of the Compass Community Center in Lake Worth Beach. | Photo courtesy of Wes Blackman
a homeless resource center. Seaver explained that the housing is temporary, but it stabilizes clients long enough to take medication and attend appointments.
These resource systems run on a chain of intermediaries: federal dollars flow to the state, then to managing entities such as Broward Behavior Health Coalition or United Way, which distribute grants.
Nicholas Makris, an associate clinical director with experience navigating these systems, says there is intentional confusion in this flow of funds.
“It’s never typically explicit,” Makris said. “They’re gonna reduce the funding in a couple different buckets.”
Funding that threatens harm reduction and basic tools that keep people alive affect the homeless community that relies on these services.
“Narcan, condoms, lubes for safe sex to reduce STIs, that’s all that funding that starts to get threatened,” Makris said.
At Transpire and Inspire Recovery, a nonprofit that supports LGBTQ+ individuals in substance abuse recovery, case manager Sarah Needleman says the strain has intensified.
“It’s gotten even harder,” Needleman said. “The grants that we do have become a lot more restrictive.”
Private dollars help, but they are thinner too. Some pressures are linguistic, according to Needleman. She points to how grant language can discourage naming the community at the center of the work.
“LGBTQ is one of the banned words, how the hell am I supposed to write grants for the LGBTQ community if I can’t even use the word?” Needleman said.
As grant terms tighten, services fall through the cracks. Geographic boundaries block funding for clients who live a few miles outside a service area. Rejections force
staff to write more grants to compensate for shrinking awards. Needleman says she has faced grant rejections which means she needs to apply for more to make up for the lack of funding.
“We have to apply for more grants because they’re much smaller amounts or they don’t cover as many services,” Needleman said. On the ground, survival depends on partnerships. Transpire connects clients to The Lord’s Place for disability applications through the SOAR program. Rebel Recovery provides harm reduction with Compass. But, Makris warns that cuts don’t reduce need, they push it into public view.
“Where do people go? They have nowhere else to go,” he said.
“More people experiencing psychosis at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday while you’re walking your child to school because there’s not proper services.”
Seaver says the public-health stakes are clear.
“Florida is Ground Zero for HIV, “ she said. “Cutting funding here is a public health disaster waiting to happen.”
After losing the state prevention grant, Compass plans to “scrape the money together” to keep HIV testing and condom distribution alive.
“I don’t know how to work at a Compass that doesn’t have HIV testing,” Seaver said. “I just don’t.”
Needleman says survival requires unsentimental persistence: keep applying, widen partnerships, and protect staff capacity so someone is still there to pick up the phone.
“We do what we gotta do to make our day-to-day a bit easier,” she said.
“In the face of rising hostility and funding instability with growing community needs, nonprofits have been picking up the slack for years. We’ve always been asked to do more with less.”
Nicholas Makris, an associate clinical director with experience in LGBT non-profits. | Photo courtesy of Nicholas Makris
Sarah Needleman (far left), a case manager with Transpire and Inspire Recovery. Photo courtesy of Transpire Facebook page.
toRelocating and from Palm Beach
Sometimes familiarity can be more advantageous while homeless
By Mary Stewart
I've always had a love/hate relationship with my hometown of Palm Beach County, Florida. Well, technically, I was born in New Jersey, but I've lived here since the age of four, so I consider myself to be a native Floridian.
But homelessness led me on a long journey looking for somewhere else to settle down. I learned the hard way that relocation isn't always the solution to homelessness. There are benefits and drawbacks wherever you go, and no matter how far you travel, you can't run from your problems.
After I became homeless, I realized how hard it is for people to get help here. It was one thing when I was growing up in a beautiful home in North Palm Beach and wearing name brand clothes. It also wasn't that bad when I was a struggling young college student working at Denny's and living in a trailer park. But being strictly homeless in Palm Beach was a whole new ball game.
Back then, the Lewis Center didn't exist. The only option was to get placed in a halfway house for 90 days through the Homeless Outreach Team, but that was only if you were willing and able to work. Since I have a disability, my options were assisted living, the floor of Westgate Tabernacle Church, or the streets.
Then, I had a rebound fling with a drifter from Georgia who shared his fascinating adventures with me. He would hitchhike rides from long haul truck drivers and travel across the country. I'm still not sure how he ended up in West Palm Beach, but the day eventually came when he took off back to a truck stop and hit the road again.
I began to wonder what my life would be like outside of the only county that I ever knew. Maybe, just maybe, the grass would be greener on the other side of the county line. I had always complained about the terrible bus system, the lack of social services, and the high cost of living here. But my brief relationship gave me the courage to buy a Greyhound ticket to somewhere I'd never been.
First, I tried a program in Michigan. I wasn't thrilled about going that far north in the dead of winter, but I had already been turned down for all the rehab programs in Palm Beach County. I was also aching for a taste of adventure.
Michigan wasn't for me. It was a faith-based program where I couldn't smoke, listen to country music, or read Mary Higgins Clark novels. Plus, it was bitter cold, and they actually offered me deer meat for lunch. Sorry, but in Palm Beach, we don't eat Bambi.
I then panhandled my way from bus station to bus station until I made it to Louisville, Kentucky. I heard there were shelters there and that rent was cheap. I was baffled when the lady at the mission told me that all I had to do for a bed was sign my name on a piece of paper. No assessment, no intake process, no waiting list. Just my John Hancock.
For the most part, Louisville was a great place to start over. There were shelters, a drug rehab for homeless people, and every few blocks you'd find places that you fed well. Also, the day labor van would drive around to the homeless shelters and take people to work. I couldn't ask for more.
But places to start over come with a cost. Many criminals, especially sex offenders, are drawn to areas with day labor, shelters, and free resources. I was repeatedly victimized in Louisville and developed PTSD as a result. That's also where I met my husband. After unsuccessfully trying to build our lives in the small South Carolina town where he's from, my husband
and I returned to Florida only to lose custody of our son and become homeless. Nothing much had changed since I left besides the Lewis Center being built, and many other resources dwindling, including the closures of Jerome Golden, Carp, Panda, and Gratitude House. I researched other Florida towns, and we decided to try Lakeland. It worked fairly well for my husband, but not for me. The food at the soup kitchen was disgusting, and you had to surrender your belongings before being allowed into the homeless shelter at night.
Sure, rent was a little cheaper, but the landlords still weren't approving my rental applications, and there were few job opportunities. We gave up and came back to Palm Beach County.
Years later, the pandemic struck, and we headed back to the tiny town of Campobello, South Caralina. You can't possibly get more socially distant than that. But the marital problems continued, and I gave Sarasota,
Florida a shot.
There, I learned that I couldn't stash my belongings in public, and the shelters were full and wouldn't help me because I'm from the East Coast. Also, a cop threatened to give me a $300 citation for panhandling on the sidewalk. Then, I found out about the looming statewide camping ban.
Once again, I returned to the Carolinas and legally pitched a tent on my in-laws property. My issue was the bears and coyotes. I bought bear spray, but that didn't make me feel safer. I ended up sleeping on my husband's porch.
We didn't have running water, so we had to fill up jugs at the gas station. I felt like we were Jack and Jill traveling up the hills of Caroline for jugs of water. We also didn't have transportation besides one friend who constantly needed $20 for gas. Oh, how I longed for that Palm Tran bus. There's a saying, you don't know what you have until you lose it.
I still counted my blessings. I was allowed to go in the house to cook and charge my phone as long as I helped pay the bills, and the cops couldn't run me off the property. But after my husband left me, I thought I was going to die in the middle of nowhere. The breaker box went out, and there was no electricity. I was then going up the hill to charge my phone and living off Spam sandwiches.
Finally, I sought help and ended up in North Carolina in an outrageously expensive program with a roommate who bullied me and a house manager who tried to force her beliefs on me. I left and spent three days on the streets of Charlotte.
Maybe, just maybe, the grass would be greener on the other side of the county line.
I'm now back where my journey started: Palm Beach County, Florida. Changing Lives of Boca got me back into a halfway house. I'm looking for a job and no longer complain about anything. I'm grateful to be back home. I write all this because in light of Florida's new camping ban, many homeless people will also likely try to relocate. I can say from experience that the grass isn't greener on the other side. If you don't like the grass where you're at, it's better to just water it. Life is what you make of it regardless of where your feet are planted.
The shelters are also full in Sarasota, Atlanta, and both North and South Carolina. Homelessness has become a nationwide crisis, and there's waiting lists and intake processes almost anywhere now. Gone are the days where you can just sign your name for a shelter bed. Even in Kentucky, anti-homeless laws have become strict: you now face 90 days in jail for sleeping outside. I met a guy on the Greyhound bus who told me that it's even worse in Nashville where public lodging is a felony.
Also, if you think the cost of living is high in Florida, it's far more expensive in other states. I was shocked at how much it costs to live in Charlotte. But there are still some affordable states, such as Arkansas and Kentucky. Occasionally, you can even find a cheap place in South Carolina, but you need a car there.
If you do decide to relocate, thoroughly research the town and read reviews before entering a program. Make sure you have housing lined up before buying the bus ticket. It's also helpful to make phone calls in advance to find out about the bus system and any services offered in the area.
Palm Beach County is indeed expensive, and it's hard to get homeless services. Mental health services have even declined here, and the bus system isn't dependable. But to me, it will always be home. Count your blessings and make the best of life no matter which town it leads you to.
