In Minneapolis, leaders struggle with a sudden homeless camp

MINNEAPOLIS – When a disturbed woman pulled a knife on Denise Deer earlier this month, she quickly took her children to their tent. A close man intervened and the woman was arrested. A few minutes later, 8-year-old Shilo and 4-year-old Koda were back on the sidewalk, playing with a train and swallowing treats delivered by volunteers.

The sprawling homeless camp just south of downtown Minneapolis is not the place where Deer wanted his family to be six, but did not suspect his mother-in-law: "This is a in law. "

City leaders have been reluctant to break what is believed to be the largest homeless camp ever seen in Minneapolis, where the climate that prohibits them has generally discouraged large settlements seen elsewhere. However, two deaths in recent weeks and concerns about the disease, drugs and the coming winter have increased the pressure to find a solution.

"Housing is a right," said Mayor Jacob Frey. "We will continue to work as hard as we can to ensure that the people of our city have this right."

Up to 300 people gathered in the camp that took root this summer next to an urban expressway. When the Associated Press visited at the beginning of the month, colorful tents and a few tepees were lined up in rows, sometimes a few inches apart and deep in three tents. Bicycles, coolers or small toys were close to some tents and some people had put clothes in the air.

Most residents are Native Americans. The camp, called the "Forgotten Natives Wall" because it is against a highway wall, is in a part of the city where many American Indians and organizations that help them are concentrated. . Some noted that the tents were on what was once the land of Dakota.

"They came to an area that has long been identified as part of the aboriginal community, and many camp residents feel at home, they feel safer," said Robert Lilligren, vice president of the Metropolitan Urban Indian. .

The camp illuminates some of the issues facing American Indians in Minneapolis. They represent 1.1% of Hennepin County residents, but 16% of unprotected homeless people, according to an April count. According to data from the state health department, opioids are more affected by opioids, with Amerindians being five times more likely to die of an overdose than whites.

One end of the camp seemed to be family oriented, while the adults, some of whom were visibly tall, were at the other end. In the middle, a group called Natives Against Heroin operated a tent where volunteers distributed bottles of water, food and clothing. The group also gives drug users clean needles and sharps containers, and volunteers carrying naloxone to treat overdoses.

"People are respectful," said group founder James Cross. "But sometimes, an addict will go wild, we have to defuse them, do not hurt them, just escort them, and say," Hey, it's a family environment. It's a community. We have children, elders. We must make it safe. "

With dozens of people living within inches of each other, health officials also fear an epidemic of infectious diseases such as hepatitis A. Health professionals have begun administering vaccines. In recent weeks, a woman died while she had no asthma inhaler and a man died of a drug overdose.

For now, the service agencies have set up zones so that camp residents can receive medical care, antibiotics, hygiene kits or other supplies. There is a station announcing free HIV testing, a place to apply for housing and temporary showers. Portable toilets and hand sanitation stations were also installed.

But city officials know that this is not sustainable, especially as winter approaches. At an emergency meeting on Wednesday, the city council approved a land use plan of land owned primarily by the Red Lake Nation as a site of one. navigation center ", which will include shelters and temporary services.

As the buildings are to be demolished, this site may not be ready until early December, with at least one board member. But Sam Strong, from the Red Lake Nation, said the process could be speeded up. Once the camp residents are safe for the winter, the goal will be to find more stable and long-term housing. Several families have already been moved to shelters.

Bear La Ronge Jr., 47, moved into the camp after gaining full custody of his three children and realized that they could not live along the railroad tracks where he had remained . For several weeks, he saw the city of tents expand and would like drug addicts to be removed.

"This place is so incorporated with drugs, needles are everywhere," said La Ronge. He showed a cardboard box outside his tent that contained toys. "I wake up every morning and I look in my toy box, there are five needles open because people pass and put their needles in my children's toys, so I have to go somewhere else."

Angela Brown, 32, has been homeless for years. She moved into the tent city with her 4-month-old daughter, Raylynn, when it seemed like her last option.

"I would rather have a house, I do not like to be dirty, wake up sweaty," Brown said as she rocked her daughter.

She said that she was doing laundry at the camp and that she was taking showers. But she was worried about her daughter, especially with the arrival of winter.

"If I were alone, it would be good, but not with her," she said.