Listen to story on: KQED Perspective

Bay Area Housing Insecurity

By Alexandrea Coe

Bay Area adults struggle mightily with the cost of housing, but housing insecurity has deep effects of young students as well. Alexandrea Coe has this Perspective.

The saying, “home is where the heart is,” resonates in my mind everyday I come home. Home is where you’re supposed to be the most comfortable, the most whole, the most yourself. But for me and the rest of the 15 million kids who have struggled with affordable housing and poverty in their lives, we think otherwise. Affordable housing is a big issue here in Marin County, and an even greater issue around the Bay Area, that is more difficult and complicated to understand.

It wasn’t until my parents got divorced, and my mom as a struggling single mother was not able to pay the rent, that I started to realize the struggle that people face with housing. I never really thought that this would be something I would have to deal with. Where I was born and raised in Berkeley, my family and I used to live in a condo. Even though it was small, it was ours, just ours. I used to have my own room, my own bed, my own stuffed animals and pillows. I would never have thought that one change like moving to Marin could make such a difference.

Four years later, our living conditions haven’t really improved or worsened. We now have a bed, a bathroom and a small closet, encased in the darkness of a friend’s basement. Here, I wish for better, but I also feel fortunate enough to have a roof over my head, even if it’s covered in asbestos. It angers me to know how much money Marin has, and to see it not implementing much change. How come here, a place known for its wealth, we have a rapidly growing population of the homeless who are dumped out on the streets? How come here, the waiting lists for Section 8 housing take years to reach the top? How come here, compassion and love for those not as fortunate as others, is almost impossible to find or see at all?

I never truly thought about not having a home, or a ‘good’ one at that. I never realized how privileged I was, how needy, and wanting. I never re-thought the cost of a lollipop or a piece of candy. Up until now, it has made me realize how ignorant I was. I would’ve never thought that one of those kids without a ‘good’ home, would be me.

Story courtesy of KQED Public Media


Sandra’s Story

Sandra stands in her black rubber rain boots in preparation for rain. She asked to only be identified by her first name.

For 13 years, Alameda County Community Food Bank has hosted a legislative breakfast – now lunch – to engage our community of elected officials, clients, and partners in a conversation around our policy priorities for the upcoming year.

The most powerful voice in the room is, and has always been, the voice of lived experience with hunger. This year, I wanted to ensure that this crucial voice was present from the experience of the eastern portion of Alameda County, known as the Tri-Valley, where hunger and poverty are rapidly increasing.

I want to preface this story from one of our East County communities with a quote from our partners at Open Heart Kitchen in Livermore:

“When people think of homelessness and poverty, they don’t think of this area,” said Clare Gomes of Open Heart Kitchen in Livermore, which in the past five years has doubled the number of schools providing free bagged lunches for children to take home on the weekends. “They think of it as being affluent, but there also is the opposite extreme. It’s more hidden than in Oakland and San Francisco.”

Sandra’s Story

When I met Sandra, the first thing I noticed was her doormat that rested outside her tarp-covered shelter down along the mudded Livermore creek. It wasn’t too far from businesses, restaurants, and a grocery store.

The second thing I noticed was her tall black rubber rain boots.

“I’m worried about this rain,” Sandra said.

She folded her arms tightly and looked concerned at the gray, clouded sky. She exhaled, squeezed her body again, and turned her head away. I introduced myself and Sandra did the same.

I asked her gently, almost sheepishly, how long she and her boyfriend had been living along the creek with more than 50 neighboring community members.

“One year.”

She exhaled with a surrendered tone. Sandra continued to shake her head side to side and back up at the clouds threatening to spill. I paused, noticing that I was holding my breath, and then asked her how it had come to be this way.

“Well, I had been living with my daughter. But she died within one year of being diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and I could not afford to live in our home anymore. The rent went up,” Sandra said.

She choked up, glanced at the darkening clouds, and dug her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie. Water was coming down in at least one way. I reached out and held her hand. Slowly, I felt a gentle squeeze back.

We held hands for longer than I’ve held anyone’s hand in a long time. It had all been said.

Sandra bravely went on to share her own health journey. She’s a cancer survivor. However, her employer used that battle as justification for letter her go from a job that she’d dedicated 13 years to. The Supplemental Security Income grant that Sandra now receives can’t provide any sort of refuge in Livermore – or anywhere else in the state.

Not a single SSI recipient can afford their most basic needs: food, rent, and healthcare in any county in California.

Like more than one million Californians, Sandra is in the red. The cost of living in Alameda County adds up to Sandra being nearly $1,000 short every single month.

What cannot go to rent goes toward paying for propane tanks in order to stay warm in her shelter along the embankment. Sandra also pays for a storage unit so she can preserve what’s left from her home and life with her daughter. What little savings Sandra had paid for a memorial.

However, it is Sandra’s daughter’s passing that reminds her of an older gentleman who regularly brings her food. They’ve connected over both having lost a daughter. Sandra shares with a big smile about how honored she feels to have been given one of his daughter’s sweaters.

“Anything anyone needs, he’s there” she beams. “He understands us.”

I feel deeply honored and humbled to have carried Sandra’s voice into a packed room of people who share our belief that food is a basic human right. Too often, community members living with hunger are excluded from decision-making spaces where critical policy change can happen. However, 2020 presents an immense opportunity for us to change that. From the Census to voting, the Food Bank will continue to serve as a place where we include our many community members’ voices from across the county into action. By strengthening this culture of civic engagement, we can ensure a more just and nourished community.

About the author: As a Bay Area native and member of Alameda County Community Food Bank’s Policy and Partnerships Department, Alex is responsible for promoting strategic collaboration with local government, private institutions and organizations for ending hunger and promoting thriving communities. This includes serving as a Steering Committee Member of the Tri-Valley Anti-Poverty Collaborative – a cross-sector organization dedicated to addressing issues of hidden poverty in East County suburban areas. Prior to joining the Food Bank, Alex served as Senior Legislative Aide to Alameda County Supervisor Wilma Chan covering policy issues related to health and human services as well as community development. She holds a Masters in Social Work and is a proud mama bear of a soon to be 4 year old.