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4 GROUNDCOVER NEWS SHELTER NOVEMBER 15, 2024 From Ann Arbor to New York City: Who protects the right to food, shelter? PEDRO CAMPOS Groundcover vendor No. 652 Five years. That’s how long I had dreamed of New York City — the city that never sleeps, the place where so many lives seem to converge and collide, where ambition meets possibility. Growing up, I’d seen New York in movies, heard it in songs, and felt it in stories of all kinds. It was always larger-than-life, a place where anyone could be someone, where anything could happen. And yet, as I planned and saved, I never imagined I’d be arriving in New York City homeless. For most of my life, I’d managed to keep a roof over my head. I’d made sacrifices and hustled to make things work, and through all of life’s ups and downs, “homeless” was a label I never thought would apply to me. But life has a way of surprising us, especially when we think we know where we’re going. Originally, I had planned to pass through Detroit on my way to New York, but somehow, an unexpected turn brought me to Ann Arbor. It wasn’t on my original itinerary; it was more of a whispered suggestion, almost like an angel’s nudge: “Ann Arbor, University of Michigan.” Something in me said, “Why not?” And so I decided to stay for a while. I couldn’t have known then how much that detour would mean. on bikes, professors with armfuls of books, musicians, artists and people from all walks of life. It had a unique vibrancy, and something in that made me feel like I could breathe a little easier. The energy felt like something I could grow roots in. Within that first week, I was introduced to the harder side of homelessness. I found out quickly that not all parts of Ann Arbor were as welcoming as the sunny campus lawns and bustling cafes. While there were community spaces and meals at places like Saint Andrew’s Church, there were also many closed doors. Getting shelter was a challenge. I learned about the local shelters but felt, in a way, that I was invisible to the system. Other people had been offered intake at Delonis, but somehow, I was always told it wasn’t available for me. They never mentioned an option for a Michigan ID or access to EBT benefits. It was as if the system was set up for everyone but me. Yet, there were people who lifted me up in ways that words can hardly describe. When things felt hard, a ride on my bike would calm me down, remind me of the beauty of this unexpected home. And then there were the little spots around town where I found peace, like the river. Ann Arbor wasn’t always easy — it had its challenges, to say the least — but it also gave me roots. It was there, in my first week, that I met Michael, a man who would become my best friend and a kind of guide to life here in the United States. Born and raised in Brooklyn but with years in Ann Arbor, Mike became more than a friend; he became a brother, someone who looked out for me, helped me find work, and showed me ways to access the benefits I’d need to survive. Some afternoons, I’d find myself sitPedro (pictured left) and his friend and supporter Mike (pictured right) in NYC. The first thing that struck me about Ann Arbor was its warmth — not the weather, necessarily, but the people. There was a small-town friendliness mixed with the intellectual energy of the university community. Everywhere I turned, there were students ting by the water, watching the ripples and feeling like maybe everything was going to work out. Ann Arbor had this way of surprising you, and its kindness kept me there all through spring, summer, and even into fall. Part of me felt like I’d grown roots there, too, and when it was finally time to leave, I knew it wouldn’t be goodbye forever. I made a promise to myself that I’d come back in the spring. It was with those memories and experiences in my heart that I boarded the bus to New York. When the time finally came to move to New York, Mike came along. We rode together on a bus, both of us carrying dreams and burdens, sharing hopes and hardships on the road to the big city. It’s hard to describe the feeling of stepping off the bus in New York. You can imagine it a thousand times, but reality hits you like a wave. The noise, the lights, the people — it was all overwhelming and awe-inspiring all at once. I remember the words of a song by Brazilian poet Renato Russo that captured exactly what I felt: “He was amazed by the city, leaving the bus station, he saw the Christmas lights.” Even though it wasn’t the holiday season yet, the lights, the rush and the energy felt just as magical. Broadway was right there as I stepped out, and I couldn’t help but feel a little stunned. This was the New York I had dreamed of — glittering, chaotic, full of life. And yet, at that moment, I was without a permanent home, arriving with just what I had on my back and a few belongings in a bag. The excitement of the city was tempered by the reality of what I was facing: I was homeless in New York. Still, New York City is a place where dreams and struggles coexist. The first thing I noticed was that, unlike Ann Arbor, the shelter system here seemed prepared. Within days, I had an intake, a New York ID, and even a place to stay — a bed in a shelter on 30th Street and 1st Avenue. I’ll never forget my first night there. Over a thousand people were being sheltered under one roof, each with their own story, each facing their own challenges. And while the reality was sobering, there was also a strange sense of relief. In New York, everyone, whether an American citizen or not, has a right to shelter. It was something I hadn’t expected, but it was a relief all the same. Life in a New York City shelter is something you can’t really prepare for. The scale of it all was astonishing. Pedro's single dormitory where he was placed within days of arrival in New York. For the many months he was homeless in Ann Arbor, he never had access to indoor, overnight shelter. I remember standing in a long line that seemed to stretch forever, surrounded by people from every imaginable background — men, women, young people, the elderly, immigrants and locals. The sheer diversity of lives around me was a reminder that homelessness doesn’t have a single face or a single story. In a city like New York, everyone has a past and a reason for being there. After a week in the Manhattan shelter, I was transferred to an individual room in Brooklyn. It felt like a small victory, having a space to myself, even if it was temporary. In some ways, it made it easier to focus on my next steps. 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