When They Take the Funding, We Build New Tables

A call to action for those who understand that systems change doesn’t end when the funding does

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The news has spread through our networks like wildfire: federal contracts canceled, technical assistance dismantled, years of progress threatened. As someone who recently lost all remaining federal contracts myself, I find myself at a crossroads familiar to many. But I’m writing today not with surrender, but with fierce determination.

Because there’s something fundamental that this administration doesn’t understand about movements: we were here before the funding, and we’ll be here after.

From Bridges to Boardrooms

I once slept under bridges and found nourishment in trash cans. Today—or at least until recently—I moved through systems, building frameworks that centered those most impacted by homelessness. My journey from experiencing homelessness to helping transform the systems that perpetuate it isn’t unusual in our movement. Many of us carry both professional expertise and lived wisdom.

For years, we’ve watched our collective work transform how communities respond to homelessness—creating tables where those with lived experience didn’t just have seats, but built the tables themselves. Where once the voice of lived experience was tokenized, we created frameworks where 90% of voices came from internal systems experts. We documented both horror and hope with equal precision.

Now those official channels are closing, but our collective power remains.

Learning to live with horror doesn’t mean getting used to it. It means choosing, every day, how to carry it, how to witness it, how to fight it—while still remembering to breathe.

What Happens When the Funding Ends?

Our work continues. But it requires honest assessment of our positions, privileges, and responsibilities. Here’s what that means:

For Those Who Just Lost Their Positions:

• Connect immediately. The relationships we’ve built remain our strongest asset. Reach out to your networks not just for job opportunities, but to ensure critical work continues.
• Document your expertise. The frameworks we built together aren’t proprietary—they’re community wisdom. Write down methodologies, strategies, and insights. Share them widely through informal networks.
• Remember your value. Your worth was never in your title. It was in how you transformed systems by bringing your whole self to the table. That transformation can continue in new forms.

For Those Still Working Within Systems:

• Identify critical gaps. What essential work is now unfunded? Find creative ways to continue it through partnerships, volunteers, and resource-sharing.
• Build shadow networks. What was once done through official channels can now happen through community coalitions. Create alternative structures for information-sharing and capacity-building.
• Protect the data. Ensure the research, evaluations, and documentation we’ve created remains accessible. Archive it, share it, and continue building upon it.

For Everyone—Especially Those With Proximity to Power:

Now is the time to honestly assess risk versus responsibility. This requires brutal honesty about what we’re willing to risk and why.

There is a profound difference between discomfort and danger.

Discomfort is the feeling in your stomach when speaking truth to power. It’s the awkwardness of challenging colleagues who want to “wait and see.” It’s the uncertainty of acting without institutional protection.

Danger is what happens to communities when that truth remains unspoken. It’s people losing housing, services, and lives. It’s systems of oppression gaining ground while we hesitate.

Your liberation is tied to mine, yes—but that means you must be willing to get uncomfortable while others face actual danger. Discomfort is a privilege; real danger is what marginalized communities face daily, and now more acutely.

Ask yourself:

• What am I willing to risk?
• What am I protecting?
• Who pays the price for my safety?

Building New Tables

The systems we’ve worked within were never designed for liberation. They were designed for control. Our work now—unfunded, unfettered, and urgent—is to build alternatives while those with the most proximity to power leverage it for protection of the most vulnerable.

This is not the time for paralysis. This is the time for principled action guided by honest risk assessment. Those of us who have survived systems of oppression know the difference between risk and ruin. Those with privilege must learn this difference quickly.

The work of ending homelessness is the work of racial justice. The work of witnessing is the work of resistance. The work of hope is something we do, not just something we feel.

I don’t want a seat at your table. I want to build a new one. And I’m inviting everyone who understands that discomfort is the price of progress to join in the building.

This regime doesn’t understand what they’ve done. They haven’t ended our movement—they’ve unfettered it.

And I’m not sure they’re ready for what comes next.