Beyond the Byline: The Heartbreak of Reporting on Homelessness in Colusa

 

By Susan Wagenaar

​

​

 

For years, my compass as a citizen journalist pointed resolutely towards objectivity. When I first turned my lens on homelessness and housing needs in Colusa, my mission was clear: to lay bare the facts, allowing the evidence itself to speak. But a profound shift has occurred within me, a quiet tremor that now challenges my very ability to maintain a purely detached stance.

​

My own path, having navigated a short period of homelessness and found stability in 2019, offered a foundation of understanding. Yet, understanding from afar is a world apart from direct engagement. It's one thing to dissect abstract concepts with stakeholders on a committee; it’s another entirely to sit among the directly impacted. To engage with those living rough, to hear their raw stories of survival, to witness grown men tear up as they recount the profound trauma homelessness has inflicted, or hear women shyly ask where to find free basic hygiene products – these moments cut deeper than any report.

​

But the most gut-wrenching revelations came from hearing firsthand accounts of life stripped bare of basic human dignities. Imagine a daily existence with zero access to a shower, left to bathe in a river, or with no safe, county-funded shelter for rest. This wasn't mere oversight; it was an accusation whispered repeatedly: it was intentional.

​

So, what was I to do with such a damning claim? Could such deliberate inhumanity exist? Every fiber of my being screamed that I had stumbled upon a national story – a tale of deep systemic neglect we typically associate with sprawling urban centers, not a town that looks like a Norman Rockwell painting.

​

As weeks bled into months, each whispered story, every unshed tear, ripped away the veil of statistics, revealing a real person grappling with the unimaginable hardship of living homeless. It was disturbing to learn of a shared conviction among our unhoused: Colusa stands as Northern California’s least supportive county for those without a home. This grim assessment came as no surprise as many had been routinely dismissed by local housing specialists with a blunt reply for assistance: 'NO FUNDING AVAILABLE.'

​

Witnessing the raw, frail, and stripped-bare humanity of homelessness in Colusa during this investigative series has been so gut-wrenching that sometimes I just wanted to wrap my arms around a person and comfort them, like a mother would a child, and tell them everything would be okay. But I couldn't, for I know the harsh, unyielding truth: some of the sweet souls I've met will, indeed, die homeless and alone. They will become mere statistics, providing another justification for privileged bureaucrats in high places to demand more funding to solve a problem that, tragically, too often remains stubbornly, infuriatingly unchanged—like no shower access for the homeless in Colusa, which is cruel and inhumane, yet nothing changes.

​

This heartbreaking reality compels us to ask difficult questions: If this level of neglect can exist in Colusa, where else are communities effectively 'hiding' their homeless populations by denying basic services, rather than addressing the problem head-on? What does it truly say about our collective values when such fundamental dignities are withheld from vulnerable people, even when solutions might be within reach?

​

My commitment to documenting the relentless challenges of homelessness and advocating for change in Colusa County remains unwavering. Yet, it's vital for those who follow my work to understand: this endeavor has transcended mere reporting. The humanity resonating from every single story has not just influenced; it has profoundly reshaped my objectivity. To honor the voices I've heard, to stay true to the authentic spirit of citizen journalism, I may increasingly shift my focus. My words may move from traditional articles to more pointed commentaries, offering an advocacy perspective that allows the raw, unfiltered truth of these human experiences to finally resonate as fully as they deserve.

​

My final word: Stop turning a blind eye. Give the homeless showers, they don't want cake.