One Homeless Man Seeks More Than Just Survival on Second Street

The man in the tent was undeniably oratorical.

He casually supplied adjectives like “adversarial,” discussed the concept of trickle-down economics with disdain, and held the word “conducive” (often used incorrectly) to its dictionary definition.

Three feet away from an open bucket serving as a makeshift toilet, I was speaking to someone more eloquent than many employed and educated people I encounter every day.

The unhoused man identified himself as Emmanuel; he didn’t reveal his age. From the noble-silver hue of the hair that he had left, it wasn’t hard to estimate. He’s old enough that he could be in an assisted-living home, and certainly too old to be living without a home or assistance.

I had approached the man to ask about his preparations for incoming winter weather, but I walked away with much more to think about.

“Born into poverty” on the East Coast, Emmanuel’s sense of morals compounded his financial struggle. “I wanted more than what I was offered. What was being offered at that time was to go and hurt somebody,” he said, referencing U.S. military service. “And that’s a part of America too, I guess. I just knew that it wasn’t for me.”

Instead, the man found work through temporary staffing agencies like Labor Ready. He’s thankful for the experience – “It’s where I got mostly all my skills from,” he said – but living from one unguaranteed shift to the next could only last so long.

That unstable road eventually led to West Coast destitution. Sipping from a flask, Emmanuel told me he has been homeless in Bend for seven or eight years. Many observations have come to him during that time.

Theft, he said, is a “very serious” factor to worry about on the streets. Choosing somewhere inconspicuous to camp or store belongings is an option, but staying out of the way can make it much harder to reach resources.

Across Oregon, encampments have developed reputations as hotbeds of crime and violence. Emmanuel understands why, but insisted that many criminals who hang around camps aren’t homeless. “People sell drugs, hurt people, and then they have a family to go home to,” he suggested. “Those [criminals] running amok, causing problems… They don’t live out here with us, but the blame goes to homeless people.”

He challenged another stereotype: “Not everybody ends up here by being a [drug] user… That actually comes with the territory when you can’t get your meds, when your meds get stolen.” Emmanuel himself drinks alcohol to ease the pain of a rheumatological condition, Dupuytren’s contracture, for which he has difficulty obtaining medication.

The man claims to have witnessed corruption and rot within institutions meant to combat homelessness. “The money is there, the programs are there, but there’s people misusing the system and abusing people like me,” Emmanuel said. “It’s like a failing business… The government decides whether to bail them out. Except the business is people’s lives.”

He used “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” a Danish folktale, as a comparison. The naked Emperor represents homelessness relief infrastructure, which Emmanuel called ineffective, propped up by advisors and officials who would rather keep their positions safe than point out anything wrong with the status quo.

The village boy who dared to break the spell by calling out the Emperor’s nudity isn’t Emmanuel alone, but a sum of homeless people and their advocates “in the trenches, in the frontline,” he said, impressing the point that many of these folks have been waiting for a long time to speak on their experiences with the system.

“Across the country, you got people with bright ideas, but they’re a paycheck away from being homeless, or they are homeless. These are the people I’m reaching out to. I’m hoping that these words inspire them,” Emmanuel expressed. “I listen to people that’s down here in the mud with me. They do have answers, a lot of them do.”

His own answers center around communication. “The resources are there,” he said, mentioning the Homeless Leadership Coalition, which works across three counties and the Warm Springs Indian Reservation to “oversee and coordinate the available services to people experiencing homelessness in Central Oregon,” its website reads.

But, Emmanuel said, “We don’t hear about that kind of help until someone brings it up. People are withholding badly needed resources and information. Sometimes that’s homeless people who were told to give word to other people, sometimes it’s the people who hold the resources picking and choosing who their favorites are.”

Emmanuel chuckled as he greeted another unhoused man rolling past on a bike. “I talk to the older cats and the younger cats,” he told me. “There’s people coming along that want change, they want this shit to end, and we know how to do that if they just give us what we need.”

Before looking to the future, unhoused people and advocates must contend with the current federal agenda. For example, a July executive order issued by President Trump threatened the federal funding of states and municipalities that fail to enforce restrictions on “urban camping and loitering.”

Oregon is participating in a 20-state lawsuit against the federal government, filed on Nov. 25 and led by Washington Attorney General Nick Brown. It challenges new policies within the Department of Housing and Urban Development that directly affect Continuum of Care – a 38-year-old congressional program that funds Central Oregon’s own Homeless Leadership Coalition. Brown argues that, by abandoning “Housing First” philosophy and penalizing jurisdictions “that do not enforce certain policies this Administration favors, like bans on public camping, …the Trump Administration has embraced policies that risk trapping people in poverty and punishing them for being poor.”

Emmanuel agrees with Trump that something needs to change. But he said the President’s punitive approach won’t fix the issue that he experiences, and that he sees others succumb to: “A homeless person, already a victim, getting victimized again and again and again.”

In another timeline, perhaps Emmanuel’s words could have stirred a rally crowd or Senate floor. “The country is at a crossroads right now, and it can no longer be Americans versus Americans. That’s not gonna help with nothing at all when it comes to what America can do for her struggling citizens,” he said, his voice rising. “How can we change anything with an attitude of indifference?”

But in this timeline, December gets colder by the day, with life-threatening temperatures overnight. “I’m hunkering down, getting the supplies that I need,” Emmanuel said. “I prioritize, I see what has to be done to create a foundation.”

He spoke about “foundation” more than just figuratively – his “goals and aspirations” include nonprofit work to combat homelessness. “If I can get my foundation established, that will be my springboard for other ideas, to help others who do have the answers for how to end homelessness. I’d be able to help them have a platform and foundations as well,” the man envisioned.

As I stood outside his tent and shivered off the wind chill, I wondered if a homeless-led social movement could find any success in today’s United States. I figured, however, that with access to shelter, food, medical treatment, and free information, Emmanuel could put statesmen to shame with his powers of speech. And he’s far from the only one outside, waiting for a chance.

This article appears in the Source December 4, 2025.