Meet a few of the neighbors who rely on GAMC

By Monica Nilsson

A well known luxury home developer walks into the St. Stephen's Street Outreach office. He has something to give me. Is it a donation? No. It's a skilled carpenter. Does the carpenter need a job? No. He needs mental health care and housing. He has no income. He has no health insurance.

Fortunately Minnesota has a program for destitute and disabled folks, called General Assistance, and its health care complement: General Assistance Medical Care. With one phone call, the carpenter has an appointment with a physician the next day. GAMC is coming quick.

The builder explains that he has built beautiful homes all around the metro with the help of this carpenter. But something started happening with the carpenter's mind, and he did the unthinkable: The skilled carpenter sold his tools. He soon lost his job and, instead of building beautiful homes, he was sleeping in the woods near them.

His employer was concerned and wanted him back. He had seen an article on the St. Stephen's Street Outreach Team's work with people who are without shelter, and brought the carpenter in.

A few months later my work takes me to the marble halls of the State Capitol. The governor has cut GAMC from the state budget. The Legislature is proposing a reformed program and is going to vote on it.

I bring nearly 40 veterans with me to observe the vote from the House gallery. All of the vets have been homeless and had to use GAMC to survive.

I'm hopeful that these symbols of American heroism won't be denied affordable health care. Some veterans wouldn't be on GAMC if their VA benefits had kicked in -- but that can take many months, even years. Others have a lesser disability, so veterans' benefits cover less than all of their need. GAMC has been a bridge -- or lifeline.

Before the vote, Republicans and Democrats alike give a standing ovation to a group of men who in some other context might have been seen as "a bunch of bums." I wonder whether I will ever see this happen again. I like to think the legislators saw the vets as heroes in a distressing disguise.

The bill approving the reformed GAMC plan passes the house 125-9 with 38 Republicans supporting it. As we leave the Capitol, one Vietnam vet tells me, "Some of us guys were saying that's the most recognition we've received since we came home 40 years ago. I have to leave now so I can cry."

A few hours later the governor vetoes the proposal.

In his State of the State address, Gov. Tim Pawlenty said that "the most important thing that happened this week is that our Red Bulls of the Minnesota National Guard came home" from war. Should we take satisfaction from the homecoming, but then not also ensure that the Red Bulls have a home and access to health care?

I know a Red Bull who sleeps under a bridge. He and each of the other 39 men and women in the Capitol gallery that day protected these legislators' freedom to serve their state and country, and each of them needed GAMC. Word on the street the next day is that Republicans will fall in line behind the governor's veto out of party loyalty.

The more time I spend around the Capitol, the more I know why I wish I spent less. The people I'm around every day on the streets have no power, but such hope; the people at the Capitol have all that power, but such despair -- gridlocked, unable to move forward. I wonder whether resiliency is more often sheltered by cardboard or marble.

Back in my office I meet with the carpenter and home builder again. They wonder how I will house the carpenter. I tell him that his $203 in General Assistance isn't much but it does make him eligible for subsidized housing. He'll have to wait a while, but there's hope. When he's stably housed, his health will improve with care and, one day, he'll have a new set of tools.

I tell them we are lucky it's not April 2. Should House Republicans decide not to override the veto, GAMC will end April 1. For the next carpenter who walks into my office, it may take four months before the application for Minnesota Care is processed.

By December, though, the governor has proposed the end of all $203 General Assistance grants. This means thousands of people with zero income until they are able to return to work or obtain Social Security disability income.

How will they pay the Minnesota Care premium and copays? How do I house someone with zero income? I can't. So next December, when the next concerned employer brings in a troubled employee, there will be no calls to doctors and no offers of housing. It's going to get awfully crowded on a street near you.

What are we to do?

Here's my contribution. I am going to make every effort to have those sheltered by cardboard and those sheltered by marble visit each other's camps. If we were not so separated, legislators wouldn't decide to cut off the paths out of homelessness. Our state doesn't just need jobs; we also need employees who have housing and access to immediate health care so they can do their jobs.

All of us are influenced by the people in our lives, and the decisions legislators make about the destitute will not be so harsh when the destitute keep showing up in the legislators' Outlook calendars.

Who knows what could happen? Some of that hopefulness and resilience, some of that willingness to change and overcome, might just rub off on them.

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Monica Nilsson is director of Street Outreach at St. Stephen's Human Services in Minneapolis and president of the Minnesota Coalition for the Homeless.

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