Bad Affordable Housing Policy Contributes to the High Rate of Homelessness for Black Men
The policy brief, “Make Housing More Affordable,” part of CEPR’s Majority Agenda, points out that “federal housing policy directs too much funding to the wealthy and too little for everyone else.” For instance, most of the benefit of the mortgage interest deduction goes to households with incomes over $200,000, and this policy costs the government more than twice as much as the Low-Income Housing Tax Credit. Also, only a quarter of renters eligible for housing assistance receive it, and less than 10 percent of unhoused people are provided housing by homelessness programs.
Prioritizing the wealthy has contributed to a high rate of homelessness which disproportionately harms Black and Hispanic people.1 Although the Black population makes up 12 percent of the overall population, they made up 30 percent of the homeless population in 2024.2 The Hispanic population makes up 20 percent of the US population but made up 31 percent of the homeless.3
Men were homeless at a higher rate than women (27 versus 18 per 10,000) in 2024.4 Data by race and sex is not provided in the Department of Housing and Urban Development’s Annual Homelessness Assessment Report (AHAR).5 Figure 2 shows a guesstimate made by applying the overall AHAR share of men in the homeless population to the White and Black counts. Applying that share yields a Black male homelessness rate of 71 per 10,000.
But it is not likely that Black men are merely as disadvantaged as men overall. Black men are worse off than White men on many of the predictors for homelessness (e.g., low income, debt, and a history of incarceration). A study of homelessness in California by the University of California San Francisco (UCSF) from 2021 to 2022 found that 75 percent of the Black people experiencing homelessness were male. This is higher than the share of men – 59.6 percentoverall – in the AHAR data. Applying the UCSF share for Black men yields a Black male homelessness rate of 89 per 10,000. This guesstimate is likely to be closer to the real rate.
Policy changes could drastically reduce or even eliminate homelessness. From 2009 to 2022, homelessness among veterans declined by 55 percent. This was accomplished with strategic Housing First investments by the Department of Veterans Affairs in collaboration with the Department of Housing and Urban Development. The National Alliance to End Homelessness observes:
Congress could fund an end to homelessness nationwide. The estimated 9.6 billion dollars required to house everyone living in a shelter during a given year is a small fraction of other federal programs. For example, just over one percent of annual funding for the Department of Defense is enough to house every person experiencing homelessness. But the Administration’s proposed cuts to homeless services along with recent changes to Medicaid, Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), Supplemental Security Income and other supports will hurt response workers’ efforts and make the crisis worse.
The Trump administration also no longer supports the Housing First approach to address homelessness even though it has been proven to be effective. It is important to remember that the safety net cuts in the One Big Beautiful Bill Act were done to help pay for tax cuts to the rich. There would be much more affordable housing if policymakers were to prioritize the needy over the rich.
Notes.
1) This discussion focuses on the rate of homelessness for Black people, but the rates for American Indians and Alaska Natives (95 per 10,000) and for Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders (186 per 10,000) are even higher. One should also note that the Black homeless population is more than eight times the size of the American Indian and Alaska Natives, and Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders homeless populations combined.
2) Author’s calculations based on data from Tanya de Sousa and Meghan Henry, The 2024 Annual Homelessness Assessment Report to Congress (U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, 2024), Exhibit 1-7; and IPUMS USA, University of Minnesota, www.ipums.org.
3) Ibid.
4) Ibid.
First published in CEPR.
When Disabled People Are Priced Out, We
Lose More Than a Home
Photograph by Nathaniel St. Clair
For those in the disability community, it has always taken a village.
When your life is filled with doctor’s appointments, chronic illness symptoms, and navigating a world that isn’t built for accessibility, being surrounded by reliable family, friends, and peers doesn’t just enrich the day-to-day — it makes the day-to-day possible.
Yet the cost of housing is throwing this critical ecosystem out of balance. As home prices climb and renters contend with skyrocketing leases and
Disabled Black women — like myself — are more likely to struggle to pay our rent than our white counterparts. We shoulder the compounding stress of affording where we live while also managing the costs of doctors’ visits, medications, and mobility aids. All of these factors make it harder to find quality, affordable places to live.
That’s where the community around us comes in. Neighbors and peer networks have long filled the gaps left by underinvestment in social programs and safety nets through everyday acts of care. Neighbors exchange rides, share childcare responsibilities, check in on elders, and support one another in ways that make daily life possible.
For many disabled people, these relationships also make our communities more accessible to us, empowering us to navigate and participate in everyday life with greater dignity, autonomy, and connection.
But as housing costs continue to rise and people are displaced, these informal systems of care become harder to sustain. When affordability forces people farther from family, neighbors, and community, it weakens the very relationships that help everyone survive and thrive.
As a Black, disabled woman renting in the metro Atlanta area, I’ve felt the direct impact of policies that prioritize corporate profits over tenants’ livelihoods. Every month, I receive worryingly expensive utility bills from the private water and sewage corporation that contracts with my apartment complex. And every month, as I watch the amount grow for no discernible reason, I wonder if I’ll be able to make my base rent.
The fear isn’t just about losing my home but also losing the friends I’ve made, the doctors I rely on, and the community that sustains me as a disabled woman.
Housing is supposed to provide stability and peace of mind. But for people with disabilities and anyone struggling to make it under this economy, it often feels like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Finding affordable housing can mean moving away from the support networks that make independence and living a socially enriching life possible.
What’s missing from today’s housing debate is a recognition that accessibility isn’t just about ramps, elevators, or widened doorways, but whether disabled people can afford to remain in the communities that enable us to thrive.
Any future housing bill must embed accessibility into its core design, which means regulating predatory utility billing practices, enforcing maintenance standards so tenants aren’t forced to advocate for basic repairs, and ensuring that affordability measures account for the additional costs disabled people shoulder every month.
Accessibility also means protecting the social infrastructure that makes independence possible. When disabled people are pushed out of neighborhoods, they often lose transit access, nearby doctors, trusted neighbors, and the informal care networks that fill the gaps our healthcare system leaves behind.
Accessibility is a policy choice. And right now, policymakers are choosing to leave disabled people behind.
There is a future where everyone can have what they need to meet their needs while still leaving space for joyful connection. It’s a future where people with disabilities are surrounded by neighbors who want to help and build community. It’s a future where instead of just scrolling on our phones, we actually talk to each other. It’s a future built for people with disabilities, but it’s also one where everyone works to enrich the community they live in.
That’s a future that we all deserve access to.
