On the Home Front

By: Deanna Nagle

If I had a nickel for every time advocacy groups (that I needed help from) encouraged me to “show up” or “speak up and make my voice heard” at one event or another, I’d have had enough silver coins to roll up and pay market rent for a year. No lie.

So when a housing coalition impressed the importance of tenants taking the microphone at the next city council budget meeting to encourage affordable housing funding, I could barely contain the hurl.

Yet ignoring the email proved impossible for my conscience. I decided to include my voice.

Nearly last in line to testify, I identified myself as a member of NLIHC, a mom, and a neurodivergent disabled resident and shared my story.

I arrived to my new community a few years ago following a doctor-ordered flee of 1,000 miles, alone, to save my life as a victim of domestic violence, recovering from multiple head traumas amidst a surging global pandemic.

But what does domestic violence have to do with the city budget, you may ask? With all due respect: EVERYTHING. I reminded them of recent femicide headlines which landed our state in the national spotlight.

That day I testified in support of more funding towards affordable housing and rental assistance. I said that the Mayor’s budget needed to go farther for housing stability and that the city should declare housing insecurity as a human rights crisis because that’s exactly what it is. I also implored the city to approach residents via a trauma-informed lens (quoting the CDC & SAMSHA’s six-pronged guidelines) and to recognize the importance of housing stability – that in the hierarchy of human needs, it’s foundational to healing. In this way, “home” takes on the role of hospital, as essential as a life vest is for an overboard passenger.

When it comes to domestic violence: Some of us live to tell and some don’t. As I said that, tears began falling down my cheeks.

Safe, affordable housing SAVES LIVES. Safe housing makes for lives worth living. For those who do survive, it’s necessary to address problems without retraumatizing or retriggering constituents or targeting their disabilities to breaking points. Adopting a trauma-informed approach requires constant attention and intentional care, awareness, and sensitivity. And that is helpful for everyone’s sake.

My journey to securing affordable housing, however, was lined with landmines of systemic discriminations as relentless and toxic as they remain illegal. Refusing to account for legit medical expenses in rent calculation only makes housing stability very difficult for voucher holders. My conditions couldn’t survive homelessness again, nor have they recovered from previously experiencing it. As we well know with trauma: the body keeps score.

I ended my testimony that day saying that in our city, we boast the second highest number of artists per capita, and I am one. I’m trying, as are many creatives, to rebuild. In solidarity with my peers, we will not be silent. Art speaks. Loudly. Globally. Virally. Being revolutionary is at the heart of our history and residents are at a breaking point. Neighbors are being displaced in droves. Our city is in crisis.

The council took a sudden break, then returned and suggested our meeting was over, but the constituents that had formed behind me during my testimony stayed. All 90 people testified at that mic, ending the meeting just before midnight.

It’s said that intuition is knowing to act without knowing why. I’d learn later, this meeting only happens once a year.

I’m glad I listened to my “gut” and told my truth that day…despite crying through it, voice shaking. For hearing the injustices of peers only emboldened my trembling hands.

I didn’t know if what I said changed a thing, but on that final exhale, one certainty was sure: it’d changed ME.

Boom. I realized in that moment: 

That I was enough reason to have showed up and done any of it.

That I needed that public acknowledgment of loss.

So did the others. And so do you.

It’s the least we deserve.

Call it rebellious mourning or public duty, but I did the damn thing. My only regret was not doing it sooner.