The human struggles we encounter daily should be a piece of how we define student success and student community engagement or, more importantly, how we define the role of the university in a democracy.   

In fact, by and large, college campuses have historically been absolved from home insecurity matters. This is no longer the case, as recent studies indicate that up to 14 percent of two- and four- year college attendees are currently experiencing some form of housing insecurity (https://rossier.usc.edu/news-insights/news/impacts-college-student-homelessness). There is an obvious import here for university presidents. But we must also shoulder the larger structural burden of creating a society that will not countenance human suffering, will refuse to look the other way, and will demand an end to the problem through policy effort, reimagined practices, and collaboration at every level.

I have spoken to family, friends, and colleagues on several occasions about the overwhelming number of people within just minutes of our nation’s capital, as well as those in our own cities and towns, who face the reality of multiple “insecurities” that interfere with one’s ability to live a life with dignity. This is happening within every city in America as well as the city that decides finances and writes policy into laws that affect the safety and well-being of human life for most of the globe. As discussions about the value of college degrees continue to be debated in D.C., I would argue it doesn't take much intellectual effort to recognize higher education is the antidote to many current societal ills that threaten our democracy—threaten the protection our children deserve.

Throughout my life, I have been afforded great opportunities to meet children across the globe—at schools, community centers, places of worship, and even in grocery stores. One of my favorite questions for every child I meet is “what would you like to be when you grow up?” You can only imagine the diversity of responses children provide: doctor, bus driver, teacher, ballet dancer, professional basketball player, actor, musician, president, artist…the list goes on ad infinitum. However, the one thing I have yet to hear a child articulate is “when I grow up, I want to be homeless.”

It is the rare American who hasn't encountered unhoused people—so much so it has caused too many of us to become desensitized (me included) to the presence of children, women, and men (across race) living their lives on boulevards, under bridges, and in the back alleys of our nation. Yet America continues to struggle with this human crisis. In fact, if one googles the query “what percentage of Americans are living from paycheck to paycheck?” results quickly, and overwhelmingly, present a stark reality: most Americans (58-64 percent) live check to check. The sober reality facing the United States, is six out of ten American families are living potentially just one family crises away from home insecurity as well as other forms of societal displacement and possible forms of human devastation.

That day, in Washington, D.C., a stranger caught my eye, slowing my persistent pace as I observed him sleeping as the many pedestrians walked by his body as if he wasn’t even there. Citizens and visitors of all backgrounds were walking, talking—going about their day—without interruption. I returned to the same spot later that day to provide a meal for that man; however, by the time of my return he had already departed or perhaps was forced by an authority to vacate that sidewalk, still occupied by the bustle of human activity. As I searched for him, I realized something even more important—that people in need can’t afford to wait for my/our convenience. Not our students, not the communities we have been honored to serve, and most certainly not someone in crisis.

As presidents, we are always working to redefine student success and prepare them for the futures of their choosing. That requires staying ahead of their needs through our collective and collaborative efforts. One way, as leaders with “thirty-thousand-foot views,” is to equip our students to see, address, and resolve society’s ills. But before we can do that, we must begin to see all people more clearly—both on and off campus. We have all walked past someone living on the street. We have all found ourselves unsure of what to do. We all know not every situation has an immediate solution. But if we begin today to see the needs of all people and prepare our students to rid the world of its ills, then there is hope. My hope is that today’s children never experience the turmoil of being unhoused tomorrow and none of us are faced with walking past another human living in crisis and unhoused on any street, as I did that day in D.C.