THE RECENT NEWS that the U.S. homeless population jumped 18% in the last year, with California having a quarter of all homeless in the country, was startling and stark. Overshadowed was the fact that homelessness has steadily risen for the Latinx population in San Francisco, from 19% in 2019, to 30% in 2022, and 34% in 2024.
Women make up 40% of the people experiencing homelessness in San Francisco and 52% of them report also being survivors of domestic violence. Abuse rates for immigrant women alone are staggering, with nearly 50% of them experiencing violence at the hands of intimate partners. Taken in isolation these numbers are significant, but in real life immigrant survivors of domestic violence check off several boxes and are experiencing compounded impacts.
Every day I see the unfulfilled need of these survivors, like the young woman who recently sat across from me with a baby in her lap and another in grandma’s lap. I was struck by how young she was. Hair in a messy ponytail. She had a baby face herself. I knew I only had mere minutes to get an understanding of their situation, conduct an assessment and inform them of what if anything was available. It’s like trying to diffuse a bomb while it ticks in your face.
There were at least 50 other people in the waiting area, eager for their turn. Working in gender-based violence and homelessness for over a decade, this scene felt all too familiar. From what I could gather the young mom was a survivor of domestic violence, she had fled abuse back in her home county and left with her young children. She only had her mother for support. It was them against the world, no English, no friends, no other family, not another soul who would shelter this family from the winter cold.
The four of them were sleeping on the floor of a family shelter, every morning packing up all their belongings and their children. I had to deliver a very familiar line. “I’m sorry, you’ve done all the right steps but there is nothing available right now. You’ve been placed on the list and we’ll reach out when something becomes available.” That was it. The young mom looked at me and thanked me. Grandma had a worried expression almost to say without words, what do we do now? And I know that they were at least the second family that day I had talked to in that very situation.
I knew they had an uphill journey ahead filled with service dead ends, because services were not designed with them in mind. Immigrant survivors of violence have needs for culturally relevant and confidential services. And as a 2024 UCSF study found, most survivors — 81% — experiencing homelessness spend most nights unsheltered either in vehicles or other spaces not intended for people to live. Of those who are able to obtain shelter, 42% stayed in a mainstream shelter, and 15% spent at least one night in a domestic violence shelter.
Trading an unstable past for an uncertain future
Many immigrant survivors of domestic violence come to the United States having fled violence in their home countries, perpetuated by unstable governments, by street gangs and by machistas in their own homes. Immigrant survivors of violence should have the services that they need to be safe in San Francisco. But the evidence shows quite the contrary, that the need far outweighs the available supply; for every survivor that is able to obtain shelter there are three who are turned away for lack of availability.
I had to deliver a very familiar line. “I’m sorry, you’ve done all the right steps but there is nothing available right now. You’ve been placed on the list and we’ll reach out when something becomes available.”
Some believe that San Francisco taxpayer dollars should serve San Franciscans, and several Bay Area counties have established residency requirements, restricting services to those who have been in a county for a certain number of days, the reasoning being that without these requirements, it’s an incentive for more people to come here. But we shouldn’t be creating barriers for immigrant DV survivors. As someone who has experienced an abusive relationship myself, I know what it’s like to be in a new city and not know where to go for help and it’s terrifying.
Upon stepping foot on American soil, immigrants are overwhelmed with navigating a different language, unfamiliar surroundings, and the immediate needs to survive. Not to mention for those that are undocumented, the need to stay under the radar and avoid detection. Right now the immigrant community is bracing itself against an onslaught of intimidation and targeting while the city is grappling with what it can or cannot afford on the balance sheet. Survivors’ lives hang in the balance. We cannot afford not to help immigrant women and children survivors of violence. Today we need to fund additional domestic violence shelter beds and housing options because tomorrow may be too late, and a survivor’s life is too high a price to pay.
About the author
Elisabet Avalos is a leader in housing justice, developing programs for survivors of violence experiencing homelessness, and a Public Voices Fellow of The OpEd Project on Domestic Violence and Economic Security.
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