alcohol

The following excerpt is from a Christianity Today article written by Marvin Olasky, the magazine’s editor in chief as well as a Discovery Institute Senior Fellow. Olasky makes reference to an article written by our Project Coordinator and Research Fellow Marsha Michaelis, titled “Washington’s Homelessness and Drug Policies Have Created a Culture of Death and Disorder.” Olasky provides further insight on this important topic with compassion and conviction. We encourage our readers to read the full article at Christianity Today.

Addiction is nothing new in our country. Sometimes it’s hidden away and people with abnormal habits can still lead mostly normal lives. But numerous studies over the years have linked substance abuse and homelessness.

One oft-cited study showed that more than four out of five chronically homeless people have had alcohol or drug problems. That’s over a lifetime, but another study tested 400 homeless people on the St. Louis streets and shelters for recent cocaine use: Most had detectable amounts.

Jeremiah is a formerly homeless man whom I met at Eden Village, a refuge for the formerly homeless in Springfield, Missouri. He told me about two vivid memories. The first was a one-time disaster: His home burned when he was a child, and Jeremiah made it out with his grandparents and stepdad. But his mom went back in for his sister and never came out.

After decades of working inside homelessness services, I’ve learned that the greatest lie we tell ourselves is that we don’t know what works. We do. The problem isn’t a lack of data, innovation, or funding. The problem is that real solutions require decisions we are unwilling to make and truths we are afraid to say out loud.

It is easier to expand systems than to fix them. Easier to signal compassion than to practice it in ways that are uncomfortable. Easier to manage homelessness than to end it.

Most people assume homelessness persists because it is too complex to solve. In reality, it persists because solving it would disrupt an entire industry built around its permanence. Over time, the system stopped being accountable to outcomes and became accountable to itself. Programs are judged by how many people they touch, not how many people leave the streets. Success is defined by engagement, not transformation. In this environment, homelessness is no longer a crisis to be resolved, but a condition to be administered.

One of the hardest truths is that housing alone does not stabilize people who are deeply addicted, severely mentally ill, or both. I have watched housing placements fail because we insisted on treating housing as the solution rather than the setting in which recovery might occur. For people actively using fentanyl, methamphetamine, or alcohol at life-threatening levels, housing without treatment can become a slower form of self-destruction. When it collapses, we try again and call it trauma-informed care, quietly accepting failure as inevitable.

Real solutions begin with recovery, not as a moral requirement, but as a practical one. A person cannot stabilize while in the grip of serious addiction. No amount of case management, harm-reduction supplies, or wellness check-ins can substitute for sobriety when the brain itself is hijacked. Cities like Portland and Seattle know this, yet continue to build models that treat recovery as optional. We call this compassion, but too often it looks like abandonment.