I Am Human

By Amber Lynn Whitson

Recently, a group of very inspiring Berkeley youths held a rally and march in Downtown Berkeley, declaring their solidarity with Where Do We Go and the unhoused population. The following is my speech from that rally:

My name is Amber. I am human. I was born in Santa Monica, CA. I did not move to California from some other state. I graduated high school at 15. I am not uneducated. When I was 16, I left Santa Monica with some friends, headed for Seattle. We made a pit stop here in Berkeley. I was once an adventurous teenager, as many of us are at some point.

People here warned me about the Berkeley Vortex sucking me in. I laughed. I used to get bullied in school where I grew up. Here in Berkeley people were so open-minded and accepting of my enthusiastic and quirky nature. I've now been living here in the Berkeley and Albany area for 27 years. I am home, here.

For nearly all of that time, I have been living on the streets, in one way or another. I am a survivor. (I have slept directly on the sidewalk, in abandoned buildings, parks, tents, cars, hotel rooms, doorways and carports of kind-hearted neighbors, in the courtyards of compassionate churches, under a bridge on UC campus...) I am resourceful. And, for about the past 10 years, I've been living in an RV. I don't just live in one, I also keep everyone else's running.

Today, I stand before you not as a statistic or a stereotype, but as a human being—a person with a story, with dreams, and with dignity. I have been an activist and an advocate for many years. But, even those who fight for the fair treatment of others, sometimes need others to fight for them.

When I was younger, I still had hopes of living in traditional housing (house, apartment, etc.) someday. At the time, that felt like what I was supposed to be aspiring towards. But as the years passed and I became more aware of the harsher realites of life, I began to see the world differently. I met friends who had lived indoors their whole lives who developed a health problem and could not afford their medical bills and rent and subsequently lost their housing.

I saw the extreme inequalities in our society, and I experienced firsthand the struggles of living unhoused—struggles that are often made harder by judgment, misunderstanding, and even harassment and bullying at the hands of the police. All it takes is one "homeless ticket" for sleeping in public in Berkeley... The courthouse is in Oakland!... And, when you miss your court date because you can't get someone to watch your dog or your camp... Now you have a warrant for your arrest. Good luck getting out of the system while you are still homeless.

Over time, I realized that for me, living in my RV is how I can live within my means and also maintain my independence and my dignity. The cost of living in this country is absolutely obscene. I own my RV, outright. I would happily pay for a space to park it off the street. But, there are no such places in Berkeley. And, if there were, they would almost certainly be out of my price range. So, I park on the street.

But here’s the thing: living on the streets doesn’t make me less human. It doesn’t make any of us less human. Yet, too often, people who have never lived on the streets see us as something other—something to be feared, ostracized, marginalized and sometimes outright hated. People often fear what they don’t understand or can’t relate to. Stereotypes, and media portrayals along with societal biases and societal stigma dehumanize unhoused people, reinforcing stereotypes and dehumanizing unhoused people turning their struggles into something alien instead of relatable and distancing those wiho have never lived on the streets from seeing shared humanity.

There is something called the leaf-blower effect. It's defined as "when you blow your problems onto someone else's sidewalk". And that is all that sweeps accomplish. That’s why what you’re doing here today is so important. This movement is about bridging a divide. It’s about seeing each other as people, not as problems. It’s about listening, understanding, and finding common ground. It's about holding the city that we ALL live in accountable to ALL OF US. Unhoused people don't pay property taxes. But, our government squeezes us for every last cent that they can, just like they do everyone else. And it’s about recognizing that everyone, no matter where they live, deserves respect, compassion, and dignity.

Forced displacement is wrong, whether it be driving people from their homeland or running people out of the city that they call home because their economic status makes them undesirable in the eyes of the government. To the students here today: you are doing something extraordinary. You are choosing to see the humanity in people who are often looked upon as though we were a rat infestation or broken windows. Just another nuisance for citizens to complain about and for the City to abate in response. YOU are choosing to challenge stereotypes and build connections. And you are showing the world that change starts with small acts of kindness and courage.

I want to thank you for seeing us—for seeing me—as a person. And I want to encourage you to keep going. Keep talking to people who live differently than you. Keep asking questions. Keep standing up for what’s right. Because when you treat people who live on the streets as human beings, you’re not just helping us—you’re helping to create a better, kinder, and more just society for everyone. And thank you for reminding us all that no matter where we live, we are all human, and we all deserve to be seen.