Homelessness Numbers Dropped in 2025. But the Crisis is Far From Over.

Every year, more than 2,000 people die unhoused on the streets of Los Angeles. Today, over 72,000 people across the county live without stable shelter. According to a recent UCLA study, one in six people experiencing homelessness are victims of physical violence. And yet, despite the urgent crisis unfolding in our own backyards, it often feels like my fellow Angelenos have time to rally around every cause but this one.

Want to protest illegal ICE raids or mass deportations? Thousands show up within hours. Want to counter a presidential military parade with a “No Kings” march? People will drop everything to make signs and chant slogans. Think the Israeli government has made mistakes in its military response to a terror group that murdered civilians at a music festival? Protestors will block highways and drape provocative banners from overpasses.

I’m not opposed to activism—far from it. I share concerns about the cruelty of ICE tactics. I fear authoritarian overreach by our government. And while I take issue, as a Jew, with how pro-Palestinian rallies too often veer into anti-Zionist and antisemitic rhetoric, I understand how chaotic images from a war zone could spark global outrage. Still, I can’t help but notice what’s missing. Where are the marches for our unhoused neighbors? Where is the sense of moral urgency for those living in tents, cars, and under freeways?

While homelessness in Los Angeles remains out of control, a recent point-in-time count showed a four percent decrease in the county’s homeless population—a second consecutive year of decline. That progress deserves recognition. But even with this modest drop, more people remain unhoused today than in 2022 and 2020 (no count was conducted in 2021 due to COVID). We cannot let slightly improved numbers justify growing desensitization. There was a time when this level of suffering would have moved people to organize protests or sit-ins. Now, the crisis is “managed” through talking points and spreadsheets, as though it were a PR challenge instead of a humanitarian emergency.

This issue isn’t abstract to me. I’ve seen it up close. Through Brentwood School, where I will be a junior this Fall, I volunteer with Feed The Streets, a nonprofit serving unhoused people on Skid Row. While I distribute meals and pass out clothes, the most important thing I do is listen. I’ve spoken with women whose lives were upended by trauma, abuse, and eviction. Most aren’t homeless because of “bad decisions.” They’re homeless because they ran out of options.

Yes, some people become homeless due to addiction, mental illness, or poor choices. But that shouldn’t determine whether they’re worthy of help. The reasons people end up on the street may vary. Our obligation to care for them does not. Everyone deserves safety, dignity, and compassion.

As a Fellow with the Jewish Center for Justice, I’ve learned how to turn empathy into action. JCJ’s mission to build a just society grounded in Jewish values reminds me that caring for the vulnerable isn’t just a mitzvah; it’s a mandate. In our tradition, we are called to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and love the stranger. That’s not politics. That’s Torah.

In our tradition, we are called to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and love the stranger. That’s not politics. That’s Torah.

What frustrates me most is seeing so many of my peers singularly focused on what’s happening 7,000 miles away while remaining silent about the suffering right in front of us. The war in Gaza understandably sparks emotion, debate, and disagreement. Homelessness, by contrast, is a problem we can actually solve.

We can protest. We can donate. We can volunteer. We can pressure our elected officials. But too many of us choose not to.

So here’s my plea: If you can march for climate justice, immigrant rights, or peace in the Middle East, bring that same passion to the streets of Los Angeles. Let’s build on the progress reflected in recent numbers and push for real, sustained solutions—not merely statistics that suggest we’re doing just enough.

We need more permanent supportive housing. We need wraparound mental services. We need safe emergency shelters for women and families. We need rent stabilization, tenant protections, and transitional programs that actually work.

But most of all, we need to remember that rampant homelessness is not normal. It is not inevitable. It is a crisis. And it deserves just as much outrage, organizing, and moral clarity as anything else we fight for.

Jack Sampson is a Jewish Center for Justice Fellow and a rising junior at Brentwood School in Los Angeles.