A Balancing Act: Three Students’ Experiences with Housing Insecurity

Rose remembers shoving their laptop, a change of clothing, and $6 cash into their small worn backpack. Get out. Storming out the front door, down the driveway into their friend’s car. You are dead to me, their brother said, a cold edge to his voice. You won’t survive without us, their parents intoned. You are dead to me.

“Go.”

The two friends rumbled down the freeway in silence. They didn’t have a plan. They didn’t have a place to live. All their finances were tied inextricably to their incredibly controlling parents, who until that night, had restricted every move Rose made, down to the future that they could envision for themselves – a future that to their conservative Jewish parents, had not included their queer identity, had not included their even leaving the family home – after they finished their degree in criminology, Rose was expected to come back to the family and continue as a dependent in their parents’ household, well into their thirties. Rose had never been completely alone in their life.

Rose crashed at their friend’s house that night, on a couch in the living room. It was May 2018. They stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to fall asleep for the guilt that was settling in. They didn’t belong here, anywhere. In the next few months, as Rose searched for housing and employment, they would struggle to find what it meant for them to belong, to have a home, and most of all, to be independent.

Rose found themselves thrown, like many homeless college students into University of California, Irvine’s process to declare financial independence. First, Rose was required to obtain what the university called “letters of trauma,” letters from therapists, social workers and witnesses to the trauma that took place, proving that the incident which caused Rose’s independence was significant enough to merit aid. They were able to get these forms in order after writing and meeting with campus therapists and social workers, in addition to filing proof of financial troubles that contributed to the need for independence. However, as long as Rose remained homeless, they wouldn’t be able to finish the paperwork. They couldn’t get financial assistance without signing on to a lease, but couldn’t get the funds for that lease without aid.

At the time, the apartment that folks at the LGBTQ Resource Center helped her secure had nine people in it, either sleeping on the floor or on couches. All residents had their own issues of housing insecurity. This made Rose’s claim to the lease more complicated - Rose was told four of the roommates would be moving out in Fall, so they could sign on to the lease in August. However, one of the roommates was away at the time of the lease because of external housing issues while abroad, and so, per the housing policy of the apartments across from UCI, Rose was forced to wait for the roommate to return before signing the lease. Their most unstable was in the period between June and August, when they were waiting for the roommate to return to Irvine. They attempted to make themselves useful in any way they could - cleaning, cooking and doing other miscellaneous chores around the apartment - so as not to be merely taking up space, for that was what it felt like – Rose was occupying their space, like they were a parasite. This was when their mental health took a turn for the worst – and they didn’t know where to turn. They were still living out of the one backpack they had brought with them the day they ran away.

Rose didn’t get on the lease until the end of August, and the financial aid office didn’t approve their independence until September. During that time, Rose was constantly hoping someone would deem them worthy of assistance, so they would be able to continue living. They longed for someone to find them helpful and useful, like a balancing act; but Rose knew if they fell, they would never be able to get back up again.

Rose was accustomed to asking for help, either because of the way their parents had controlled every need, or because of their headstrong personality that refused to recognize something was wrong. But once they had landed in the hospital and found themselves saddled with these expenses for medical and pills on top of the pending rental agreement, Rose knew they needed to tell someone. The elevator crawled up to the third floor of UCI’s Student Center to the LGBTQ Resource Center. It was claustrophobic, staring silver walls and a bland wooden floor, spitting the out onto grey carpet with whitewashed walls, and an endless walk down a long hallway. When they turned right, following the printed yellow signs, they were greeted with a hand drawn multi-colored welcome sign, and once inside, they were guided to a warm couch where they told the staff what had happened. Tears began to flow over the first item that landed in their hands - a brand new travel-sized deodorant – and Rose continued to sob as they were handed t-shirts, undergarments, a sweater off someone’s back. In the following weeks, the folks at the LGBTQ Resource Center provided Rose with everything they needed. It didn’t matter whether they were on the streets or not, that didn’t change the fact that Rose didn’t have secure housing, and while it could have happened to anyone, it happened to them. Once again Rose felt that balancing act, who were they, that they could end up in a situation like this?

Now, the apartment has five people in a two-bedroom two bath. While still crowded, Rose figured it was better than 9 people. It’s ridiculously overpriced for where we are living right now but it’s better than nothing. The living conditions are such that the apartment gets cockroaches in the summer, and the appliances constantly break, so that they can expect that once a month the garbage disposal will die and the air conditioning won’t work or it isn’t used because of the cost of leaving it running.

In June 2017, just before the start of her senior year of high school, Bri was at her friends’ house when she got a call from one of her brothers – things had gotten bad at home, and the police were here to conduct her into Child Protective Services – where was she? Instead of going back to her family’s Oceanside house, Bri asked if she could stay over for that night. Bri remembered thinking that running was better than being forced into a succession of homes that would force her to start over. She knew she would have a better shot at her goals were she to run than if she were to follow her siblings into foster care, where she would not gain independence until she was 18, when she would be forced to move schools and neighborhoods. Better to run than to derail her dreams of finishing high school and after that, going to university. When she’d left her house that night, she hadn’t anticipated she would never be returning; she only had a small backpack with her. Bri would run, and she wouldn’t stop until she had reached UCI. Now, lying in her Mesa Court dorm room on move-in day, Bri wondered when the next upheaval would force her into an impermanent state once again.

Now at UCI, she faces fears of future financial troubles. As part of the FYRE program, a retention and resource program for foster students at UCI, Bri receives guaranteed and subsidized on-campus housing, which includes the dorms she currently lives in and the student apartments on the far side of campus, where she will be moving for her second year. Throughout her first year, that feeling that “a bomb is going to drop” has never left her. She is constantly afraid of receiving phone calls or emails evicting her or notifying her of problems with her financial aid. The apartments owned by the Irvine Company, across the street from the University and closer to the hub of campus life and classes, are not an option for Bri; because they are not owned by American Campus Communities, the company in charge of building and maintaining UCI’s dorm housing, the apartments are not considered off campus housing, and therefore, are off limits to students receiving FYRE’s aid.

Problems like Rose’s and Bri’s are not unique to students. Rose knew multiple people who chose to sleep in their cars and shower at the Anteater Recreation Center, UCI’s gym in order to save money. Students who voluntarily accept homelessness aren’t bought by the suburban allure of the off-campus houses. Each cookie-cutter brown, beige and grey apartment building looks as if it is dropped right out of a movie – every townhouse sports the same triangle shingled roofs with the same square of lawn on the right side, the same quaint porch inviting students into living rooms that could, if you tried, squeeze in maybe twenty people and kitchens that can barely fit two, let alone five or six roommates that typically share a two bedroom. Many living rooms are not common spaces at all, but instead offer space to additional students who have signed on to a lease agreement but aren’t able to fit comfortably in one of two or three bedrooms that typically house two to three students each.

What at first seems bright, clean, cheery and perfect quickly fades into a bleak existence for students, one that is full of anxiety and fear about financial well-being. A typical off-campus two-bedroom apartment within a three-mile radius of the main campus is $3,100 - $3,300 per month. Affordable housing is classified as housing that costs less than 30% of a household income, according to a report done by the ASUCI Housing Commission and graduate student Izzak Mireles. If every student is counted as an individual household, then at $12 per hour, that student, working one job at minimum wage of $12 per hour approximately eight months to pay what is owed for one month on a two-bedroom apartment. If that student works for $40 hours every week, one full time job, then it would take almost half of the income of that student. For many students, paying that off-campus apartment. Consequently, students stay in mentally and physically taxing situations like staying in abusive relationships to have a place to stay, or dealing with frequent uprooting.

For George, a graduating senior at the time this article was written, the struggles described in the report manifested themselves in an overcrowded living situation in one of the UTC apartments. There were six people crowded into the tight two-bedroom apartment - one person on the couch, two students per bedroom and someone in the living room. This forced George to move to an apartment in Newport for his last year at UCI, another two bedroom that was not only less crowded but was more within a reasonable price range of $700 a month. George and the friend he was looking to live with couldn’t find any other spaces available, and if George found something close to campus on one of the Facebook pages that posts available leases, it wasn’t reasonably priced.

George felt the most strain was put on his physical and mental health, especially when he was living in the overcrowded UTC apartment, where one of his roommates got mad at him for trying to fit his desk in the living room. The room became so crowded at first that he was unable to leave things on his desk for fear of it knocking over, and he couldn’t have some of the larger study-essential materials. Eventually, by moving the furniture around, all the roommates were able to use George’s desk to study on alternating cycles. Compromise became a precedent over the study needs of himself and his roommates, which is something he has become even more familiar with now that he has to commute from Newport.

George has to foot his own parking bill, which turns out to be around $200 a quarter, or every three months. George works 20 hours a week and he has to get food stamps to make costs stretch for his rent, even at the lower price of $700 a month. As a low-income student, George needs almost his entire financial aid package to pay rent, so it’s a choice between food and being homeless or housing insecure. He has less time to study because of the extracurriculars, classes, and errands that keep him in the Irvine area until he must make the 30 minute commute back to Newport. It’s difficult for him to get homework done and he has to plan everything he does down to the second, otherwise he will miss an assignment, class, or errand, whether he has to bring an extra pair of clothing to shower after work or whether he has to meal prep the night before; if he forgets something, he can’t go back to his apartment, like other students who live closer to campus.

Recently, the departments of housing and food insecurity at UCI were given $300,000 for three years to use in response to UC Irvine’s growing housing crisis. Heads from departments of housing, emergency housing, food insecurity, financial aid and the Student Success Initiative (SSI) program addressing low income and foster youth needs, met to discuss where to allocate funds and how to implement them, especially given the struggles of students of protected categories like Rose as they try and navigate housing insecurity.

Much of the meeting was spent trying to decide to whom the funds should be allocated – the members had a list of protected classes they would be targeting with these temporary beds located in dorm spaces around campus, chief among them foster youth and students who identify as LGBTQ +. However, the members struggled with how to identify these students and which among these protected categories would be considered most “at risk”. Questions like how to measure homelessness, who to consider in need for emergency housing, and even the very definition of “at risk” and “emergency” situations were discussed. For the members of SSI, FYRE students like Bri were the top priority when considering who to give the most funding to, as they reasoned foster youth and LGBTQ students would be in the most volatile situations, and would therefore, need preference when it came to allocating financial aid and rooms. However, attendees realized accepting only certain protected classes would leave many students stranded, especially those who aren’t aware of resources on campus, as Bri and Rose were not. Then, the question becomes – how to spread the word about these resources so it reaches the right students? How to create a space where students can share their concerns and the university can respond effectively with the funds given? Would the resources be doled out by need as determined by financial aid, as in Rose’s situation? How could they improve traditional channels to create a better response to student needs? These were all questions the group wrestled with, and while they did not come up with a definitive answer, there is an effort being made to think in new ways that can address more student needs.

“There’s only so much the administration can do with the funds they are given by the state,” said Cassius Rutherford, the former president of the Associated Students of U C Irvine (ASUCI) Housing Commission. “It also depends on the housing that is available, and the kind of area we live in. Other campuses, like USC and UC Berkeley, have big apartments with other apartment complexes and housing units that are part of the city already surrounding the campus. Irvine only has the campus housing they are given, so there is more limited supply of housing.”

Disagreements on the definition of housing insecurity itself also contribute to the lack of knowledge and solutions to the problem. The exact definition of housing insecurity is disputed within academic and government fields. The US Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) defines housing insecurity as circumstances in which individuals “lack a fixed, regular, and/or adequate nighttime residence”, a definition which HUD also uses to describe homelessness. According to Mireles’s study on housing insecurity, the definition is expanded to include couch surfing and overcrowding. The disagreement as to what causes student housing insecurity, or even which student demographics are most at risk for housing insecurity seems to be stalling the improvements that can be made, even with well-intentioned plans.

In the late 90s and early 2000s, the Marine Corps, Air Station El Toro, located at what is now the Irvine Great Park, was decommissioned, and the veterans in charge of the base requested City Council renovate the housing units and create an affordable housing model for the low-income and homeless residents of Irvine. In 1996 lengthy battles between Five Points, the largest developer in Irvine, Irvine City Council, and the Orange County Board of Supervisors began overusing the recently decommissioned El Toro base as either affordable housing projects or as a new commercial airport and community center. By 2003, the District Supervisor Thomas W. Wilson was the only one of several council members who were still on board with using the space for affordable housing. The developer’s heavy influence in campaign funding resulted in its use for commercial development, luxury housing, and community entertainment. Irvine still holds this attitude towards its homeless and student populations, shown by the April 2019 near-passage of an amendment to Irvine’s zoning laws, which would effectively criminalize any options students have to obtain housing, especially situations where multiple students are living in apartments designed for one or two people.

To councilmembers, the ordinance is a way to fix complaints by residents and the first of many steps to solve the student housing crisis that affects most US institutions. To students, the requirement that their residence be classified as a “boarding house” and that they must prove they are the “functional equivalent of a family” is a breach not only of their privacy but of their rights as students – just another way for Irvine Company to leech money from them.

According to the ordinance, the current regulations placed on tenants of boarding houses “ leaves a loophole” for multiple tenants to be put on one lease agreement in a process called subleasing, a strategy many students use to have enough people renting a space to make the exorbitant costs of rent each month. However, the reforms would cut out this option of subleasing, instead forcing residents to prove that they are a “single house-keeping unit.”

Hundreds of students turned out to protest the ordinance at a March 12 meeting with Irvine City Council, where Cassius another students from ASUCI and elsewhere heard comments and justifications from City Council as to why the amendments were taking place. Community members had complained to the Council many times about overcrowded student living spaces that bred noise and overflowing trash cans, interfering with their peaceful home life. NIMBY, or Not In My Backyard, an activist group of Irvine citizens, actively campaigned for the ordinance and against student living arrangements and homeless shelters in Irvine. After each student spoke out to the council members, wild cheers and applause broke out. When NIMBY activists and other community members spoke, silence followed.

ASUCI members were able to obtain a letter from the State Department notifying the Irvine City Council that “certain provisions may impose unintentional constraints upon the availability of housing for persons with disabilities or other protected classes. The provisions of potential concern include: “Additional scrutiny of those with separate rental agreements, subjective elements … and potential fair housing issues, including but not limited to different treatment of persons based on marital status, familial status, race, or nationality. These provisions have the potential to impact housing programs that seek to provide independent living opportunities for special needs populations. Gov. Code section 65008 renders null and void any action that denies enjoyment of residence, land ownership, tenancy or other interest in land to individuals based on protected classes, including intended occupancy of any residential development by persons of very low, low, moderate, or middle income.”

The main scruple that the State Department and students have with the Housing Ordinance is the use of the language of “boarding house” and “single house-keeping unit”. State law prohibits the City from establishing a limit on the number of occupants in a residence, and prohibits the establishment of requirements based on “families or households as traditionally defined (e.g. blood relations). However, state law does allow the City to “require that adults cohabitating in residential properties be "single housekeeping units”.

Originally the term “boarding house” refers to “homes in which two or more tenants on separate leases rent separate rooms and only common spaces (such as the kitchen) are accessible to all occupants.” The amended definition of “boarding houses” implemented by the City of Irvine after the state changed its definition, bases the status of boarding houses on how many separate leases are contained within the rental agreement.

For a boarding house to be considered a “single house-keeping unit” the City Council requires that the residents of that unit “must have a relationship beyond cohabitation.” To prove that residents do indeed have a relationship that goes beyond mere cohabitation, the City plans to monitor whether residents are the “functional equivalent of a family”, meaning that they must “share living expenses, chores, eat meals together, and/or are a close group with social, economic, and psychological commitments to each other.” In the ordinance there is no statement discussing exactly how the City would monitor these activities to determine whether roommates were actually housekeeping units, but that it could be done with census-like surveys determining who does the chores, in what rooms students sleep and with whom, whether students eat meals together, and whether they are psychologically supportive of one another.

Cassius said that many of the misconceptions groups like NIMBY have about students occur because of lack of contact with the student population.

For Rose, Bri and George, the ordinance would have derailed their ability to live and go to school. For Bri, the threat is real, especially for next year’s housing. If the ordinance passes, she will not be able to afford the rent in off-campus apartments that would not be covered by her FYRE scholarship. If multiple roommates and overcrowding are criminalized, it is her fear that the “boarding house” rule would apply to quadruple and triple rooms like the one she lives in now in Mesa Court, and like the new Plaza Verde second year apartments that are scheduled to be built by Fall 2019. “I would have to drop out of school.”

Rose said, “I wasn’t on the lease. I wasn’t paying rent, and landlords don’t like that. This ordinance could have criminalized my chance at shelter, and I wouldn’t have fit anywhere else. We aren’t family units, we are a bunch of messes together on one lease; it makes no sense to throw us all together. This is a college town and the idea of a family unit for students who are just struggling to survive just doesn’t exist. My main concern is not that we as roommates can consistently support each other, ‘it’s can you pay rent?’ It’s really about surviving. You can’t prove that. It’s not a measurable quality