I want you to try something: Close your eyes and picture someone experiencing homelessness in your neighborhood.
What did you see? A faceless silhouette sleeping under a bridge? A generic cardboard sign? Or did you see Craig, who sleeps under the 5th Street bridge because it’s safer than the shelter, who carries a blue backpack containing his diabetes medication that needs refrigeration?
The difference between these two mental images isn’t just semantic—it’s the foundation of everything I’ve been writing about in this series. It’s the difference between systems designed for categories and systems designed for people.
The Politics of Naming vs. Categorizing
The intake forms say “Client #4291.” The housing assessment calls them “chronically homeless individual.” The hospital discharge papers read “transient, no fixed address.”
But his name is James. He needs insulin every Tuesday. He has a dog named Rusty that he refuses to abandon for shelter. He lost his housing when his partner died, and the grief still wakes him at night. He knows more about the history of this city than any tour guide.
Institutions need categories because categories create distance. Categories allow us to serve populations without the messiness of knowing people. Categories let us create policies for “the homeless” without worrying about what James actually needs.
This is by design.
When we convert names into categories, we convert relationships into transactions. We transform care into compliance. We strip away the specific humanity that would demand specific responses.
“There are homeless individuals in our community” creates a different responsibility than “Maria sleeps in her car behind the laundromat with her two children, and she works the early shift at the hospital cafeteria.”
Names create accountability that categories actively avoid.
Names and Needs as the Foundation of Networks
During winter storm Uri in Austin, when the city’s infrastructure collapsed and thousands were left without power and water in freezing temperatures, something remarkable happened. Austin Mutual Aid raised over $1,000,000 in grassroots funding practically overnight. We didn’t just raise money—we mobilized a network based on names and specific needs.
While official channels were tangled in red tape, we coordinated over Zoom calls among those who still had power. I watched as Chris Baker, then executive director of The Other Ones Foundation, dispatched vans throughout the city, picking up unhoused neighbors directly from the streets before the worst of the storm hit. Together, we managed to get over 400 unhoused neighbors into hotels for two weeks.
Even in my own life, this network became a lifeline. My mother needed distilled water, but I couldn’t navigate the icy roads to reach her. One text to the network—”My mom, Cathy on Amberglen Blvd, needs drinking water”—and within hours, someone I’d never met delivered what she needed.
No intake forms. No eligibility requirements. No categories.
Just names, needs, and networks.
This wasn’t accidental. For years, some of us had been building these connections—learning names, mapping needs, understanding who had what resources. We didn’t wait for a crisis to learn that Mrs. Guzman has an extra room but can’t climb stairs, or that the Rodriguez family has a truck but needs childcare.
When institutions failed, these name-based networks activated immediately.
The difference between abstract knowledge and specific knowledge is the difference between “There are diabetics who need insulin during power outages” and “James at the corner of 5th and Main needs his insulin refrigerated by Tuesday.”
One is a concerning statistic. The other is an actionable relationship.
From Names to Networks
After Hurricane Harvey, I worked with a barber from Beaumont who’d been rescued with nothing but his barber’s license. This man—who had lost everything—immediately offered haircuts to other evacuees. Someone found a tall wooden chair, we laid down blue tarps to catch the hair, and this barber stood giving haircuts to children and adults who had also just lost everything.
This isn’t just a heartwarming anecdote. It’s a demonstration of what becomes possible when we move from categorical thinking to relational action.
The official response would have labeled him: “evacuee in need of services.” But by knowing his name, his skill, and connecting him with others, we created something healing for everyone involved. Those haircuts provided more than neatness—they provided dignity, connection, and a momentary return to normalcy.
This is how name-based networks function. They recognize that everyone has both needs and gifts. They allow for the complexity that institutional categories erase.
When we build networks based on names rather than categories, we create systems where:
- Resources flow directly to specific needs without bureaucratic gatekeeping
- People can simultaneously receive help and offer help
- Solutions arise from community wisdom rather than institutional assumptions
- Care becomes reciprocal rather than hierarchical
These networks become the foundation of the alternative systems we need to build as institutional support crumbles.
Practical Actions
So how do we move from categorical systems to name-based networks? Here are concrete steps:
- Create a neighborhood map with names and needs.
Walk your block. Introduce yourself. Learn who lives where, what they need, what they can offer. Document this knowledge—not for institutions, but for collective memory. - Start a hyperlocal emergency text/call tree.
Collect phone numbers from willing neighbors. Establish who checks on whom during emergencies. Ensure everyone has at least two contacts who know their specific needs. - Learn medication and mobility needs of vulnerable neighbors.
Who needs refrigerated medication? Who uses mobility devices? Who has specific dietary restrictions? This knowledge saves lives when systems fail. - Host regular “coffee hours” that don’t require registration.
Create informal gathering spaces where people can connect without having to “qualify” for attendance. Make these accessible and consistent. - Document community wisdom about local resources.
Who knows which pharmacy delivers? Which landlord works with vouchers? Which church has a food pantry that doesn’t require ID? Collect and share this knowledge. - Practice introductions across difference.
Deliberately connect neighbors across divides of housing status, language, or culture. Be the bridge between housed and unhoused residents in your area. - Identify and share alternative resource pathways.
Map the informal systems that already exist—the store owner who keeps a tab for neighbors in need, the parking lot where free meals happen, the unlocked bathroom that’s available after hours.
These aren’t revolutionary actions. They’re relational ones. They’re the foundation upon which revolutionary change becomes possible.
The Courage of Proximity
I know the fear that comes with learning names. Names create bonds. Names make suffering personal rather than abstract. Names eliminate the protection of distance.
Many of us have been taught that professional distance is necessary for “real” help. That we can’t get too close to others’ suffering without becoming ineffective. That boundaries mean keeping people at arm’s length.
This is a lie designed to maintain the categorical systems that fail us.
True boundaries are not about distance—they’re about clarity of relationship and responsibility. They don’t require us to avoid knowing names. They require us to be honest about what we can and cannot offer within the relationships those names create.
There is courage in proximity. There is power in allowing ourselves to know names and stories. There is healing in transforming categories back into people.
When we know names, we can no longer pretend that homelessness is an abstract problem requiring complex institutional solutions. We must confront the immediate reality that James needs insulin storage by Tuesday.
This confrontation with specificity is precisely what institutional systems are designed to avoid—and precisely what creates the urgency that drives community action.
Learn Three Names This Week
As federal funding disappears and programs shutter, the institutions are telling us: “There’s nothing you can do.”
I’m telling you: Learn your neighbors’ names and their needs. These are the first acts of resistance against systems that want us isolated, categorized, and dependent.
Learn the name of one person sleeping outside in your neighborhood—and learn what medication they need.
Learn the name of one elderly person on your block—and learn what support they require during emergencies.
Learn the name of one family struggling with housing costs—and learn what skills or resources they can share.
Names without needs remain abstract. Needs without names remain categorical. Together, they become the foundation of action.
This is not charity. This is not saviorism. This is the fundamental work of building networks that can sustain us when institutions fail.
We don’t build community with categories. We build it with names and needs.
The system wants you to see categories. Resistance begins when you learn names, understand needs, and take action.
What name have you learned recently that changed how you understand a need in your community? Share in the comments, and join us for our next post on “Distinguishing Discomfort from Danger” on April 1.
Rhie Azzam Morris 
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