Why good intentions, enormous spending, and permissive policies are not enough.
In my previous article, I examined Republican gubernatorial candidate, Steve Hilton’s proposal to address California’s homelessness crisis, which he calls Off the Streets and Back on Track. His plan combines shelter, medical care, addiction treatment, psychiatric services, job training, and assistance finding permanent housing with a renewed commitment to enforcing public camping laws.
I argued that this approach reflects an important Christian principle: genuine compassion sometimes requires intervention, responsibility, and the restoration of order.
But I want to go a little further.
Because California’s experience raises a rather uncomfortable question: How can a state spend tens of billions of dollars helping homeless people and still have so many people living on its streets?
And perhaps more importantly, why do we so often assume that spending more money is evidence of greater compassion?
The $24 Billion Question
Between fiscal years 2018–19 and 2022–23, California allocated nearly $24 billion to homelessness and housing programs. That’s billion with a B.
According to a 2024 California State Auditor’s report, nine state agencies administered at least 30 programs dedicated to preventing and ending homelessness.
And what did the auditors discover?
California frequently lacked the information necessary to determine whether its programs were actually working.
Of five programs examined, two appeared cost-effective. For the other three, the state had not collected sufficient data to evaluate their effectiveness.
Think about that.
Billions of dollars spent, and the government couldn’t adequately account for the results of major portions of its efforts.
I’ve made this argument before, particularly in discussions with my progressive Christian friends: Good stewardship is not optional for Christians.
When we give money to a charity, we reasonably expect evidence that the money is helping people. Why should we expect less when government spends billions of dollars taken from taxpayers?
The question isn’t whether California cares enough to spend money.
It’s whether California cares enough to find out what works.
When Government Makes Housing Unaffordable
Here’s another uncomfortable reality.
California’s extraordinarily high housing costs are not simply the unfortunate consequence of market forces. Government policy contributes to them.
Restrictive zoning, lengthy environmental reviews, permitting delays, development fees, and complicated regulatory requirements all increase the cost of building housing.
And when housing becomes prohibitively expensive, people living on the financial margins are the first to suffer.
Although the following example concerns California’s high-speed rail boondoggle (a government jobs program masquerading as a transportation project) it vividly illustrates the broader problem of excessive regulation, particularly in California.
Cali Bullet Train FACTS: Approximately $15.7 billion in baseline program expenditures (as of July 31, 2026); zero miles of high-speed track laid; and roughly 18 years since voter approval (or ~30 years since the Authority’s creation).
A major University of California, San Francisco, study found that unaffordable housing was a central factor in people’s pathways into homelessness. Participants reported a median monthly household income of just $960 in the six months before becoming homeless.
The irony is difficult to miss.
Government restricts housing production, housing becomes more expensive, more people struggle to afford shelter, and then government spends enormous sums attempting to address the resulting crisis.
This isn’t an argument for eliminating reasonable environmental protections or building standards.
It’s an argument for recognizing that regulations have consequences, including consequences for the poor.
According to the California State Auditor, newly constructed affordable housing in some parts of the Bay Area can cost as much as $1 million per unit.
Imagine how many people could be helped if the cost of producing housing were substantially reduced.
And imagine what that might mean for taxpayers, charitable organizations, and the people desperately needing somewhere to live.
Housing First—and Then What?
California has also embraced a policy framework called Housing First.
The underlying idea is understandable: provide stable housing without first requiring sobriety, employment, or participation in treatment. Once people have a roof over their heads, other problems may become easier to address.
For some people, this works.
A family facing eviction because of a temporary financial setback may need little more than rental assistance and an opportunity to regain stability.
But consider someone with a severe methamphetamine addiction, untreated schizophrenia, or a long history of living on the streets.
Housing alone will not adequately address those conditions.
And treating every homeless person as though the primary problem is simply the absence of an apartment risks misunderstanding the complexity of the crisis.
Critics of California’s homelessness policies, including researchers at Stanford’s Hoover Institution, have questioned whether the state’s approach adequately addresses addiction, mental illness, and other factors contributing to chronic homelessness.
A more comprehensive approach must distinguish among very different circumstances and provide different forms of assistance.
For some, that means affordable housing.
For others, intensive psychiatric treatment.
For others, addiction recovery.
For still others, job training, family reconciliation, and help rebuilding ordinary routines of responsibility.
Compassion requires understanding the actual problem—not merely applying the same policy to everyone.
Addiction, Mental Illness, and the Limits of Autonomy
Research from the University of California, San Francisco, makes the challenge unmistakable.
Its Behavioral Health and Homelessness report found that approximately 48% of surveyed homeless adults had complex behavioral-health needs, including regular drug use, heavy drinking, hallucinations, or recent psychiatric hospitalization.
Thirty-five percent reported regular illicit drug use.
Perhaps most troubling, 28% of respondents with regular drug use or heavy alcohol use had sought treatment during their current episode of homelessness but couldn’t access it.
What kind of compassionate society tolerates that?
One that speaks endlessly about respecting autonomy while failing to provide meaningful opportunities for recovery?
Certainly, civil liberties matter.
But Christian anthropology offers a richer understanding of human freedom than merely allowing people to do whatever they happen to desire.
A person enslaved by addiction is not flourishing in freedom.
A person suffering from untreated psychosis is not necessarily exercising meaningful autonomy simply because government leaves him alone.
Sometimes protecting human dignity requires more than respecting someone’s immediate wishes.
It requires helping restore the conditions in which genuine freedom becomes possible.
When Good Intentions Produce Bad Consequences
California’s experience with Proposition 47 offers another cautionary lesson.
Approved by voters in 2014, the measure reduced penalties for certain drug possession and theft offenses.
Its supporters hoped to reduce unnecessary incarceration and redirect resources toward more constructive responses.
Those are understandable objectives.
But a 2026 study by the Public Policy Institute of California found evidence that Proposition 47 likely contributed to approximately 7,000 additional people experiencing unsheltered homelessness between 2015 and 2019.
Researchers also estimated that the measure contributed to a roughly 20% decline in drug-treatment admissions, associated with fewer referrals from the criminal justice system.
These are statistical estimates, not a claim that Proposition 47 alone caused California’s homelessness crisis. But they raise serious questions about the unintended consequences of well-intentioned reforms.
A policy can emerge from sincere concern for suffering people and still make their circumstances worse.
And when that happens, acknowledging failure is not cruelty.
It is a moral obligation.
A More Christian Understanding of Compassion
I return to something I’ve been emphasizing for months.
The Christian obligation to care for the poor is unequivocal.
But Scripture does not tell us that compassion requires a particular government program, an ever-expanding budget, or the suspension of ordinary expectations about personal responsibility.
Those are matters requiring wisdom and prudential judgment.
The Good Samaritan didn’t merely express sympathy for the injured traveler.
He acted.
He provided immediate care, transported the man somewhere safe, and arranged for continued assistance.
Le Bon Samaritain, Rembrandt, 1632-1633.
His compassion was concrete, costly, and directed toward recovery.
That is the standard I would like to see reflected in our public policies.
Help people get off the streets.
Provide appropriate treatment.
Make housing more affordable.
Restore public spaces to their intended uses.
Measure results.
Hold government and nonprofit contractors accountable.
And enlist the tremendous resources of private philanthropy, churches, and community organizations.
None of this guarantees success. Any serious alternative, including Hilton’s, must demonstrate that it can deliver appropriate care, respect civil liberties, and produce better outcomes.
But surely we can agree that perpetually managing human misery is not the same thing as overcoming it.
In my previous article, I suggested that California’s extraordinary private wealth could become a powerful resource if philanthropists had confidence that their contributions would produce meaningful results.
I still believe that.
And I would like to see California test a comprehensive approach that joins public responsibility, private generosity, personal recovery, and measurable accountability.
The objective should not be simply to make homelessness less visible.
It should be to help homeless people become homeless no longer.
That’s a far more demanding understanding of compassion.
And, I would argue, a far more Christian one.
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We Don’t Have To Live Like This