In New Orleans’ Central City neighborhood, more than 50 unhoused residents gathered on a sidewalk as Louisiana lawmakers debated legislation that could soon make their presence there a criminal offense. Some sat while others lay on the pavement in the spring heat, waiting as the state Senate considered a bill that would allow fines, jail time, and even forced labor for people found sleeping outdoors. The proposal, already passed by the state’s Republican-controlled House of Representatives, would introduce new criminal penalties in a state that already has the highest incarceration rate in the United States and across the Western world.
If approved, the legislation would make sleeping outside punishable by a fine of up to $500, imprisonment for up to six months, or both. Repeat offenses could result in one to two years in prison with hard labor and a $1,000 fine. The measure builds on a 2024 Supreme Court decision that allows states and municipalities to criminalize homelessness, a ruling that has already led to similar policies in roughly two dozen states and hundreds of cities across the country. In Louisiana, the proposal would go further by pairing criminal penalties with court-supervised programs that may require participants to pay for their own treatment or face unpaid labor if they cannot.
For people living on the streets, the debate reflects a reality shaped by rising costs rather than individual choice. Christopher Brumfield, 51, has been unhoused “on and off” since 2020. Speaking from the sidewalk in New Orleans, he described how financial barriers, not unwillingness to work, led him there. “We’re struggling already and this isn’t a choice,” Brumfield said. “This isn’t because we’re doing drugs. It is expensive to live, so you’re saying you want to penalize us for struggling?” Brumfield owns a trailer in Livingston Parish but cannot afford the cost of utilities, water, or a septic system, which he said would cost upward of $20,000. He moved to New Orleans five years ago to find work, yet even with employment, stable housing has remained out of reach. “I’m working, but I can’t afford to stay in the house. I’ll die there,” he said.
The proposed law arrives as Louisiana faces deep and persistent economic challenges. According to the most recent U.S. Census Bureau data, the state has the highest share of people living in poverty in the country. Roughly one in three households is considered extremely low income, meaning a household of four earns $30,000 or less annually. At the same time, the National Low Income Housing Coalition estimates that Louisiana has a shortage of more than 100,000 affordable and available homes for extremely low-income residents. These conditions have created a widening gap between what people earn and what housing costs, particularly in New Orleans, where median rent has climbed to about $1,600 per month while median income for Black residents remaining in the region is around $20,000 per year.
That imbalance is reflected in the state’s unhoused population, which has fluctuated between 3,000 and 7,500 people since 2020. About 60% of those individuals are Black, despite Black residents making up roughly 30% of Louisiana’s population. Nationwide, Black people are nearly four times more likely to be unhoused than their white counterparts. In Louisiana, those disparities are tied to long-standing housing inequalities that have shaped who has access to stable housing and who does not.
The legacy of Hurricane Katrina continues to influence those patterns. After the storm, Black renters were largely shut out of parts of the region’s housing recovery. In New Orleans, some Black households that rebuilt in neighborhoods like lower Mid-City saw their properties seized through eminent domain for new developments. At the same time, neighboring majority-white communities enacted restrictions that limited rental housing and blocked low-income developments. In one nearby city, a “blood relative” ordinance made it illegal to rent to anyone who was not related to the property owner, effectively preventing many displaced Black residents from returning. These policies reshaped the housing landscape in ways that continue to affect affordability and access today.
For residents like Jerry, a 42-year-old New Orleans native who lost his job after an injury three years ago, those structural barriers remain visible in everyday life. He said people living on the streets are “far from lazy” and described the challenges of navigating a system that requires documentation and stability that many unhoused people do not have. “They put you on the waiting list,” he said. “You got to have some type of credentials, paperwork, or ID, right?” Maintaining those documents while living outside is difficult, as items are often damaged, lost, or stolen. Without them, accessing shelter becomes even harder. “It’s just a redundant cycle — like a hamster on a wheel,” he said. “If you don’t have no phone or no paperwork, you can’t get no shelter, nothing. You can’t even sleep in front of the shelters now.”
Supporters of the bill argue that it could create pathways to services through expanded “homelessness courts.” According to a representative for Gov. Jeff Landry, the measure could help connect people to treatment programs and reduce costs over time. Individuals who complete those programs could have their convictions dismissed. However, participants may be required to pay for part or all of the program costs, and if they are unable to do so, courts would be authorized to mandate unpaid labor to offset those expenses. State officials have also indicated that stricter enforcement could align Louisiana with federal priorities. Last year, President Donald Trump issued an executive order directing the federal government to attempt to favor states that enforce prohibitions on public camping and loitering when awarding grants.
Critics of the legislation say those measures do not address the underlying causes of homelessness. Advocates have argued that the proposal reflects a broader pattern of criminalizing poverty instead of expanding housing access or support services. New Orleans City Councilmember Lesli Harris said the bill would not produce lasting solutions, warning that it would result in “no lasting housing, no services, and no real path forward for the people involved.” She also described the approach as akin to “internment camps,” highlighting concerns about the long-term impact of increased enforcement.
Debbie Villio, the Republican state representative who authored the bill, has defended it as a balanced approach. She said the legislation “prioritizes and balances accountability, compassion, fiscal responsibility and the long-term wellbeing of individuals, families and neighborhoods,” and added that it “integrates criminal justice” and “homelessness response systems into a continuum of care.” At a legislative hearing, Sherman Brown, an unhoused resident who testified alongside his partner, described a different perspective on what that system looks like in practice. “If they were to walk in our shoes, they would experience the things that we go through,” Brown said.
As Louisiana lawmakers consider the proposal, the broader conditions driving homelessness remain unchanged. Rising rents, limited housing supply, and persistent poverty continue to shape daily life for thousands of residents across the state. In New Orleans, where a significant portion of the state’s unhoused population lives, those pressures are especially concentrated, leaving many people without viable alternatives to sleeping outdoors.
For Brumfield, the policy debate unfolding in the state legislature is inseparable from his own circumstances. Standing among others on the sidewalk as lawmakers consider new penalties for people in his position, he described the situation in simple terms.
“This isn’t right,” he said.
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