With Spotlight on New Orleans, Louisiana Moves Homeless Out of Sight

In the frigid early morning darkness on Wednesday, Louisiana State Police officers went tent to tent in an encampment that had sprouted beneath an overpass in the heart of New Orleans. The residents needed to pack, the officers told them. Buses were waiting to carry them to temporary accommodations.

Ronald Lewis listened to the officers’ pitch: three meals a day, a recreation area with a television, round-the-clock security in a cavernous warehouse secluded from everything he knew. He had spent years cycling in and out of prison, he said. The option being offered sounded too much like the existence he wanted to leave behind.

Instead of climbing on a bus, he piled all of his possessions into a shopping cart and pushed it along. He was uncertain where he was headed. But he knew that the Super Bowl was coming to town and that his life and his routine were about to be upended because he had pitched his tent about a block from the Superdome, where the game would be played.

“I don’t like it, period,” Mr. Lewis, 65, said as he stood by his overflowing cart. “You’re kicking me out of my comfort zone.”

Mr. Lewis had to make that choice after the state mounted a costly effort this week to relocate people who were living in camps in the city’s core. With the game coming in February and the revelry leading up to Mardi Gras, officials wanted them out of sight as New Orleans would be inundated with visitors.

For months, state officials have been trying to push homeless people farther and farther from the bustling city center, clashing with city leaders and advocates for the homeless in the process. An encampment had been forcibly removed in October before a Taylor Swift concert, and some of the people displaced by that ended up in the area under the elevated stretch of highway cleared on Wednesday.

But the renewed effort this week, led by Gov. Jeff Landry, comes as New Orleans has wrestled with anguish and fear since a man with guns and explosives plowed a truck into a New Year’s Day crowd on Bourbon Street, killing 14 people and injuring dozens.

“It is in the best interest of every citizen’s safety and security to give the unhoused humane and safe shelter as we begin to welcome the world to the city of New Orleans,” Mr. Landry, a Republican, said in a statement.

Mr. Landry sought to achieve that by using an emergency order issued after the attack, which called for securing highways and bridges and making sure streets and sidewalks were clean and accessible.

The plan, officials said, was to offer those who were displaced a spot in a warehouse that had been quickly arranged in an industrial area far from downtown. Officials billed the temporary setup as a hub of resources, offering room for pets and shuttles to ferry people to work and appointments.

Not all of its potential residents were impressed. Some city leaders and advocates working with the homeless have also argued that the undertaking tossed the already precarious lives of residents into further disarray and interrupted ongoing efforts to help people secure permanent housing. The city has had an initiative of its own that aims to house 1,500 people by the end of the year; 822 have already been connected with housing.

“I think it shows that we would accept a lot of harm to unhoused people as the price to pay so they’re not visible during these big events,” said Angela Owczarek, who is part of a grass-roots collective providing support for people experiencing homelessness, called New Orleans Homeless and Houseless Advocacy, Research and Rights Monitoring, or NOHHARM.

The confusion and concern began almost as soon as state police officers began handing out fliers and posting signs detailing the relocation plans this week. And it only intensified as the buses started carrying people to the warehouse, called the Transitional Center.

Christopher Aylwen said he had been talking with friends on the sidewalk at about 5:30 a.m. when they were approached by plainclothes police officers. “You’re obstructing the sidewalk,” he said an officer had told them. He said he had been given an ultimatum: Get on the bus or go to jail. So he got on board and rode to an unfamiliar area a half-hour away.

At the center, he was offered doughnuts and coffee and told to wait. “It was freezing cold,” he said. He took photos capturing a vast, sparsely appointed space that he thought looked more suited to storing industrial equipment than housing people.

On Wednesday, some who had been brought to the center said that they had been told by staff members at the center that they would not be free to come and go as they pleased and could leave only if they had a job — and even then, there was a 9 p.m. curfew.

State officials said on Wednesday that staying at the center was voluntary and that there were no curfews or other restrictions on movement. The heaters were functioning, but bay doors had been left open as furniture and equipment was being moved, allowing cold air in, officials said. By the afternoon, more than 120 people had been registered.

“From an operational standpoint, it seems to be going about as well as can be anticipated,” said Mike Steele, a spokesman for the Governor’s Office of Homeland Security and Emergency Preparedness, adding, “A lot of people were even excited about the opportunity.”

Still, others were skeptical of officials’ promises and worried about what came next. “I gave it a lot of thought,” said Raymond Lewis, 56, describing the setbacks that come with living on the street. His shoes have been stolen while he slept, and strangers have spit on him, he said. Still, his distrust of the state outweighed that. “When people in power decide you don’t matter, you’re in trouble,” he said.

Erica and Timothy Dudley had a tough adjustment after being evicted from their apartment last year, but they cobbled together something they were proud of. “We always make things work,” Ms. Dudley, 41, said. “My husband, he tried to make it as comfortable as possible.”

They had one tent as a living area, another as a bathroom. A friend who went elsewhere left them her tent, which they turned into a kitchen and storage area.

Now, all of that was packed up. They were worried that Mr. Dudley was farther away from the doctors who treat his mental health issues and the threat of arrest if they hadn’t gone. But Ms. Dudley was also slightly hopeful: Maybe the disruption could lead to a positive outcome.

“I’m hoping they’re going to do what they say they’re going to do,” Ms. Dudley said. “We really need the help.”