Tent cities are everywhere. Yalonda M. James / The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty


February 19, 2025   7 mins

It’s a toy store called Treasure Trove, but the first thing you see when you enter is no child’s play. Boxes of Narcan, a medication used to treat emergency drug overdoses, sit on the front counter near the cash register, accompanied by a handwritten sign that says “Free”.

Treasure Trove opened a year ago in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, as a satellite store of their toy and second-hand goods shop in nearby Newberrytown. But this second location, within spitting distance of the Pennsylvania State Capitol, has evolved into something like a mission for the chronically homeless that also sells Funko Pops figurines. The owners, a pleasantly nerdy couple named Jason Crocenzi and Jennifer Draisey-Crocenzi, say it was impossible to operate a standard retail business in a downtown where hundreds of deprived homeless people wander the streets and often outnumber regular pedestrians.

In July, the Crocenzis were featured in a feel-good story for the local newspaper about turning their business into “a hub for helping the homeless”. One of Treasure Trove’s employees is Daniel, a gravel-voiced 75-year-old veteran who had been sleeping in a tent since 2011 until the Crocenzis were kind enough to let him live in the store building.

The problem is that the homeless don’t always love them back. Less than a month after the article appeared in The Burg, someone named Toby walked into the store and angrily demanded $3,000 for a new e-bike. He’s a bespectacled 26-year-old homeless person already infamous among some local merchants and residents because, for years, he’s been aggressively demanding no-strings-attached financial assistance. The Crocenzis offered Toby free clothes, beverages and leads on affordable housing, but wouldn’t hand over thousands in cash to him.

Jennifer’s account of what happened next is harrowing: “He then threatened to sue me, then kill himself, and then charged at my huge husband, ripping part of his beard off, hitting him with a mop, throwing his phone, and breaking inventory. He ripped Jason’s shirt, kicked and hit him, and refused to let him go for several minutes as we kept yelling: ‘Let him go, stop this!’

“Jason was on the ground, unable to breathe, until the police arrived and immediately pulled him off. It’s not many who would even try to attack a 600-pound store owner who does nothing but give free items to the homeless all day long.”

The Crocenzis pressed charges, and Toby eventually pleaded guilty to assault but was not in police custody for long. Meanwhile, Toby told a completely different story about the encounter. According to an account on a neighbourhood Facebook group, he was the blameless one being discriminated against. “They started yelling, cussing, and harassing me,” he wrote. “If anyone supports this business, they are not human.” The moderators sided with Toby and banned the Crocenzis from the group. When Jason Crocenzi protested, he said he was told they didn’t want to infringe on a homeless person’s First Amendment rights.

Today, Toby continues to use the group to beg for PayPal or Venmo donations and bullies people individually through direct messages. Everyone in this liberal-leaning city seems too uncomfortable to put an end to it; anyway, what can truly be done?

It’s not an uncommon story: nearly every American city now has a version of Toby. Often, it’s a handful of individuals — mentally ill or drug-addled chronically homeless people — who terrorise entire blocks, neighbourhoods, or public transit for weeks, sometimes years.

In San Francisco, one such repeat offender is Lacey, a woman who, since 2020, has chased people and their children around city parks while screaming bloody murder. In Austin, Texas, a homeless man named Rami Zawaideh smashes city property with a sledgehammer and cuts down trees with a chainsaw and machete while shrieking all through the night. Due to a confrontation with Daniel Penny in a New York subway car, the entire nation is aware of the sad story of Jordan Neely, a homeless person with 42 prior arrests — including three subway assaults. Neely remained on New York City’s “Top 50 List” of homeless people in need of assistance and treatment from 2019 until he was killed in 2023.

In Harrisburg, a small city in south-central Pennsylvania, the problem isn’t just Toby. There’s another unhoused man who — for seven years — has created havoc wherever he goes in a stretch of downtown. “He just comes in, and he’s ranting and raving, torturing customers, yelling in their face for money, doing drugs,” said Angel Fox, the owner of a local laundromat. “It was so sad to see that he’s not just tortured the other small businesses on the street but the community. In a four-block radius, one person is terrorising the community, and nothing is being done.

“Why is he still on the streets? Is law enforcement… waiting for him to hurt someone or someone’s kid, or do we have to be traumatised because we have to self-defend ourselves?” Fox continued.

The local police say they’re doing what they can under the system as it exists — they’ve arrested this particular perpetrator nine times in 2024 and 45 times since 2017, but the charges aren’t violent enough to warrant longer-term jail. There’s little in the way of other recourse. The Harrisburg State Hospital, which once took care of thousands of mentally ill patients for a century and a half, was shut down in the early 2000s and sat decrepit and abandoned until it finally burned to the ground late last year.

The fiery destruction of the state hospital is an appropriate metaphor of America’s under-institutionalisation problem. Since John F. Kennedy signed the Community Mental Health Act of 1963, most of the country’s mental hospitals were closed over the second half of the 20th century. And it was a bipartisan project: liberal reformers catalysed by exposes of abuses found common ground with fiscal conservatives who opposed the costliness of the asylum system. Without these institutions, the tens of thousands once housed in them are instead cycled in and out of jail, emergency rooms, and living on the streets. The shelters that offer to put a temporary roof over them run on government funding, grants, and donations and are all voluntary. No one is forced to get treatment or stay in a shelter, and so many of the homeless inevitably pick up where they left off after they leave jail, for better or worse.

What we get instead, in a time of ever-increasing economic inequality and hyper-individualism, is the rise of the anti-institution — large informal homeless encampments that have become a standard feature of the American city. Harrisburg’s own ragged tent city grows in a forested acre on the south edge of town, a no-man’s-land patch of wilderness between the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation building, a trainyard, and the Susquehanna River. It’s a series of tents, lean-tos, and makeshift camps walled in with found objects, surrounded by litter and discarded items.

This isn’t the first iteration of Tent City. The previous version, under the Mulberry Street Bridge, was cleared out in 2023 after police said the area was full of trash, rats leaping out of garbage, and “a spike in violent crime, drug usage, overdoses, sex workers, rapes, stabbings, and shootings”. Without institutionalisation and a short-term housing plan beyond the shelters, the homeless simply recreated the bridge encampment in a new location.

It isn’t safe to live there. Two men were stabbed in the camp in 2024, and dangerous blazes break out as people try to stay warm by building haphazard campfires. On 16 January, after a man named Alfred Colon burned to death in a tent there, his family said they hadn’t had contact with him in four years, and didn’t even know he was homeless. Drug overdoses are also common, hence the emergency doses of Narcan at Treasure Trove. According to Daniel, the former homeless employee at Treasure Trove, a portion of tent city’s residents are addicted to $5 fentanyl pills, often called “blues”.

The dysfunction of the tent cities inevitably spills out into the downtown area which, like many cities, is already suffering from a post-Covid malaise. A lack of footfall in a struggling local economy reliant on state government jobs that have stayed remote, boarded-up businesses, and the chronically homeless population have given much of downtown Harrisburg a tragic post-apocalyptic quality.

The political vacuum creates a doom-loop effect: businesses are often wary of investing in neighbourhoods like these, and when they don’t, residents lack access to essential services, including groceries and healthy food options. Commercial and property values drop, reducing funding for public schools and other municipal services. Middle-class people in these neighbourhoods tend to move out, exacerbating the concentration and clustering of disadvantage. Without policy changes, cities like these threaten to produce more homeless people and quietly slide into oblivion.

“Treating the homeless like they’re Peter Pan’s Lost Boys helps no one.”

The lack of a legitimate response to this issue, or liberals’ defence of the status quo, may help explain some of the urban working class’s revolt in November’s election of Donald Trump. The media scratched their heads and tried to puzzle out why working-class people, especially those of colour in cities, turned towards MAGA.

At least some of that anger was directed at the Democrats for prioritising the chronically homeless and illegal immigrants for free housing and services. Liberal cities continue a delusional Housing First policy that’s next to impossible to succeed over the next decade when there’s hardly any affordable housing for the non-college-educated working class, much less the destitute. In 2024, the Biden-Harris administration awarded $3.16 billion to over 7,000 homeless-related projects, including $2 million to Harrisburg. That amounts to about $7,500 per homeless person included in the city’s Continuum of Care. Meanwhile, those who hide their homelessness or who scrape by working multiple jobs receive little help.

Those who object to these priorities or the anarchic state of encampments are considered bigots. Thanks to progressives’ culture of weaponised “empathy”, there’s little expectation of accountability or pro-social behaviour from the homeless because it’s considered inherently cruel to a class of people to be pitied as symbolic victims of capitalism and contemporary society. But treating the homeless like they’re Peter Pan’s Lost Boys helps no one, especially not the mentally ill or drug-addicted people themselves, who are often victims of crimes at the hands of each other in tent cities.

Thankfully, the tide may be slowly turning towards involuntary treatments. California and New York have recently adopted and expanded involuntary treatment policies and so have Canadian provinces such as British Columbia and Alberta. Trump has said that he will work with states to ban urban camping and push people into treatment for drug addiction and mental health, but it’s unclear whether his administration will invest in the kind of resources needed. Thus far in his second term, he’s appeared to be much more interested in wrecking existing institutions than creating new ones.

But without serious reform, we will just see more tragedies such as Daniel Penny’s vigilante confrontation with Jordan Neely in a New York subway or the attack on Jason Crocenzi in Harrisburg. More tragedies by inertia.


Ryan Zickgraf writes from Pennsylvania.

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