A Homeless Woman's Struggle for Survival
by Lydia Gans
Looking at her gaunt figure and listening to her raspy voice, it is obvious that being on the street has taken a toll on her health. Soon she will be 60 years old. She has worked, raised a daughter and helped other people. And still society denies her a place of her own.

Photo of Jenifer Beckmann by Lydia Gans
Jenifer Beckmann is 58 years old, and has been homeless for the last eight years. She gave a sarcastic little laugh when I asked her why she is forced to live on the streets of Berkeley. "I'm homeless because a whole lot of other people are homeless right now," she said.
She explained, "Housing is simply not available for people on a low, fixed income." With the federal government continuing to slash funding for Section 8 housing and other programs to help the poor, life these days is "terrible," Jenifer said. She added, "The political environment, the money environment, the housing environment - all of it is just abysmal."

A Young Mother Dreams of a Brighter Future
by Janny Castillo

Brenda Lee Fowler holds her baby son. Photo by Janny Castillo
After struggling to overcome poverty, addiction and the loss of her children, a young mother dreams of a brighter future.
Brenda Fowler is a resident of McKinley House, a transitional house in Berkeley operated by BOSS. We met in her small apartment, just big enough for her and her 18-month-old baby boy. He happily moved around the apartment during the interview, occasionally crawling up beside his mother. She would give him a kiss and he would go back to playing.
You couldn't tell by watching them that Brenda and her baby have overcome years of homelessness, drug abuse and a five-month separation at birth. You couldn't tell how close she came to giving him up for adoption.
Someone's Daughter, Sister or Mother
Photoessay by Anna Graves
Berkeley photographer discovers the hidden humanity and beauty of homeless women

Each one of the women I recently photographed in Berkeley is someone's daughter, someone's sister, or someone's mother. In these photos, you won't see much of the spot called home; you will see someone's daughter, sister or mother living on the sidewalk, under a freeway, or in a park.
I don't tend to show you the toothless smile, or the worst scars - because you might turn away and not see the beauty, the dignity, the humanity. It might scare you; perhaps because you'd have to recognize that it could be you. So many people in this country are just one paycheck or one serious illness away from an eviction - and the sentence to a life of endless wandering.
STREET SPIRIT
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