Behind the Veil of Queer Affinity

A Safe Rest Village might be safer than your place

Tired of dealing with trespassers, break-ins and car thieves?

Consider life in Queer Affinity Safe Rest Village.

“Respect people’s privacy. This village is a residence. People live here,” says the sign posted outside the Queer Affinity Safe Rest Village at 2185 SW Naito Parkway.

Filming and photography are not allowed. Neither is staring without consent.

Hard to stare, though, when the 30 tiny homes are behind a covered security fence and a locked gate sporting the message: “Only you can prevent gentrification.”

Large signs are posted along the fence:

“There’s no place in Portland for hate. Everyone is important and deserves to be treated with respect,” says one sign. “If you or someone you know is being subjected to bias harassment call the Bias Hotline at 1-844-924-BIAS.”

You can even call in the big guns at 911 if:

* a crime is in progress

* you or someone else is physically hurt or being threatened with physical violence

* you can provide information about who may have committed a crime.

While many house- and apartment-dwellers in Portland’s ordinary, working-class and middle-class neighborhoods have been coached to practice patience when dealing with trespassers or petty criminals, residents of Queer Affinity Safe Rest Village can demand that nobody stare at them.

“May I help you?” asked Dana Lynn Louis, who saw me standing outside the front gate.

The village’s white, one-room units have locked doors, windows, electrical outlets, heat, air conditioning, storage shelves and a place for a sleeping bag or mattress. There are also bathroom, laundry and kitchen facilities and on-site staff.

While this is the first of Portland Commissioner Dan Ryan’s six Safe Rest Villages, the concept of tiny-home villages is nothing new in the city. St. Johns Village for homeless veterans opened last year and now seems integrated into that neighborhood.

“They are still getting settled in here,” said Louis, who will oversee art projects and gardening for Queer Affinity. (Check out her website at http://danalynnlouis.com/about/)

Some of the residents had been living in an LGBTQIA+ camp in inner Southeast. Others had been relocated from Old Town earlier this month. So they had already established a community of sorts. On Election Day, they reminded one another to vote, Louis said. (I’m guessing that for Portland Commissioner Position 2, Dan was their man and not Sandeep Bali.)

Queer Affinity opened despite unresolved issues with the schools across the street. The International School of Portland (an independent language immersion school for pre-K through 5th grade) and Bridges Middle School (an independent school serving fifth through eighth grade students with learning disabilities) wanted Queer Affinity residents to pass criminal background checks and wanted a no-camping zone within 1,000 feet, since homeless facilities attract others hoping to get in on free services or deal drugs.

“If you don’t have experience with (the homeless) you imagine the worst,” Louis told me.

Queer Affinity and Ryan’s other proposed Safe Rest Villages offer a “low barrier” to the residents, meaning drugs, alcohol and criminal records are allowed. The Sears Armory Safe Rest Village, expected to open on Multnomah Boulevard in Southwest Portland, also has attracted opposition from neighbors.

During a Zoom meeting of the Multnomah Neighborhood Association last month, neighbors noted that Helping Hands, the organization that runs Bybee Lakes Hope Center, decided not to participate in the Sears Armory Safe Rest Village because of its low barrier policy.

“There were comments in the media that they couldn’t guarantee safety,” said an association member.

“County requests that we move that off-line…,” Neighborhood Association Chair Moses Ross replied, looking tortured as he shut down the subject. “It’s not a valid time to address it.”

When Helping Hands dropped out, All Good Northwest, which runs Queer Affinity, stepped in to run Sears Armory. All Good’s director, Andy Goebel, gave a presentation to the Multnomah neighborhood group about their approach.

“We believe in the intrinsic goodness of human beings…,” said Goebel, a former teacher and pastor. “We staff these sites with … case managers, peer support, housing navigation specialists.”

What if a guest doesn’t behave?

“We are an organization that leans into grace,” Goebel replied. However, sometimes a resident isn’t being a good community member and can no longer be a member of the community.

“We try not to have him turned out onto the street…,” he added. “What we don’t want to do is say, ‘There’s the door, see you later.’”

Are drugs, alcohol and weapons permissible? This is a question that is repeatedly asked and answered in discussions about Safe Rest Villages.

“Drug and alcohol use is happening at all shelter settings everywhere…,” Goebel said.  “We are committed to harm reduction.”

What will Safe Rest Village residents do all day?

“One of the advantages of the village is that people can engage one another …  ‘How are you doing?’ … ‘I have to catch the bus to Safeway’ … Each person’s journey is their own journey … I don’t foresee a lot of forays into the neighborhood,” Goebel said.

He also noted that some villagers are employed. The tiny-home villages are supposed to be transitional and lead to permanent housing elsewhere.

At Queer Affinity on Naito Parkway, Louis considered the same question: What will the residents do all day?

“Lots of people have jobs. …They have medical appointments, community things they do, going shopping, go to the library, working towards getting housing,” she said.

A person named Cody came out and gave Louis a hug, then went back inside and returned pushing a double baby stroller with two healthy-looking cats, one black and white and the other orange, zipped inside. They calmly peered out through the mesh net.

 “She’s taking her babies for a walk,” Louis said. “There is so much cool stuff going on in there. … The Pride Festival in June will have art work. There will be a big fashion show celebrating Gay Pride.”

Despite the low-barrier designation, she said the residents at Queer Affinity are still screened.

“Screening is as much for them as the neighbors. We need to protect the people in there that’s successful.”

Louis had to leave for an appointment.  A long-haired, long-legged blonde wearing a short skirt and shiny red platform heels exited the village. He looked like a Barbie doll come to life.

I asked him if he lived in the village.

“Yes, I’m a resident here!” he snapped, slamming the gate shut and striding over to a disabled car where a man was doing repairs.

Looking on from a few blocks away are the three high-rise American Plaza Towers named Lincoln (18 floors), Grant (26 floors) and Madison (22 floors). The condos and apartments on the east side of the towers have views of the Willamette River and Mt. Hood. Now some of them may have views looking down on Queer Affinity Safe Rest Village.

The towers, built from 1972 to 1980, at one time boasted of their walk-ability to downtown, the waterfront and the streetcar. Ten years ago, Tri-met sponsored a public art project – “Write a Line for the Line” – when the Orange Line was in the works. Selected lines were stamped into the concrete sidewalks, and today they’re still visible if you’re walking in the neighborhood.

Outside Queer Affinity, there’s “Behind the Veil of Morning Fog Mount Hood.” Around the American Plaza Towers, there’s “Illuminated We Float Like Fingerprints on Glass” and “Old Stones Good City Bones.”

American Plaza Towers are surrounded by clean, shady grounds. The lawns are plush, the hostas and lavendar, red and white rhododendrons are thriving.

Like Queer Affinity, American Plaza Towers also has signs and locked doors. But the sign outside the lobby is small and discreet. If you don’t live here, you are not allowed in unless you are visiting a friend.

“Don’t be offended … if you can’t get entry,” the sign says.

A resident was carrying in some plants, and I offered to help. She didn’t need my assistance, but she let me in.

The concierge appeared shortly.

“Are you a resident here?” she asked.

I told her I was curious about the views from the east side of the towers. Was Queer Affinity Safe Rest Village now in some of the views?

“I’ve heard of it.”

Some residents had mentioned it. She seemed guarded and weary. There wasn’t anything she could do about the situation, so why was I bothering her.

Did she ever notice those inspirational lines stamped into the sidewalk out front – “Illuminated We Float Like Fingerprints on Glass.”

“Never heard of it,” she said. “I drive here. I don’t walk around.”

Then with some relief in her voice: “I don’t live in Portland.”