Words like “vagrants,” “derelicts,” “filth,” and “vermin” have been used to describe individuals experiencing homelessness in Austin, according to a recent analysis by the Statesman. These labels strip away humanity, reducing people to stereotypes. But the individuals referred to as “vermin” are my patients—human beings who deserve dignity and understanding.

As someone who works with these individuals daily, I choose my words carefully. I say “individuals experiencing homelessness” because “homeless” is not their identity. It is a circumstance—a traumatic, often temporary condition. These are human beings first, with stories and struggles that make them more than their current situation. Allow me to share a few of those stories.

Stories of Resilience

• Doug never misses his middle school son’s football games. Every week, he cheers from the stands, pride beaming across his face. When the game ends, while other parents drive their families home, Doug hugs his son, waves goodbye, and catches a bus back downtown to stay at the ARCH shelter. He wishes things were different, but his love for his son remains unwavering.
• Ruth, 80 years old, is the epitome of a sweet, little old lady. With a master’s degree, she dedicated her life to teaching. But after retiring with minimal savings, she moved in with her son, who abused her. Determined to escape, Ruth left and found refuge at the Salvation Army shelter. Months later, she secured a spot in senior housing but still visits our clinic for care. Outside, those labeled as “derelicts” often help her up the steps, carrying her bags with gentlemanly grace.
• John, a skilled carpenter, spent decades building homes across Austin. One night, he was assaulted, leaving him with a broken arm and severed nerve. Unable to work, he lost his income, his home, and eventually, his hope. He spiraled into depression and alcoholism, a tragic irony given that he once built the very homes he now walks past.
• Then there’s Mike, a veteran who served his country honorably but witnessed trauma that left lasting scars. Mary, who fled an abusive husband. Carl, a talented chef who can talk barbecue for hours. Veronica and Victor, lost everything during Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey, respectively. Betty, has read countless historical non-fiction books at the library. Brian was abandoned as a child, who can’t read but captivates crowds with his guitar and soulful singing.

These individuals—each with unique stories and humanity—are not defined by their lack of housing. They are human beings navigating hardships, just like anyone else.

How We Can Help

As we debate public policies and strategies to end homelessness, let’s start by recognizing the humanity of those affected. The creators of the Murderville Game are taking meaningful steps to assist. A portion of every Murderville Humiliation Card purchase will directly support local shelters and programs helping individuals like Doug, Ruth, and John.

These funds will provide food, shelter, and essential services to help individuals transition from homelessness. Each purchase is a chance to make a tangible impact, ensuring our community’s most vulnerable members receive the care and dignity they deserve.

A Shared Responsibility

It is an honor to listen to and share these stories with others. I hope that by doing so, I can inspire more compassion and understanding. We are all part of the same community, and our humanity is tied to how we treat one another.

Let us act with kindness and generosity. Purchase a Murderville Humiliation Card today and be part of the solution. Together, we can give people the tools they need to rebuild their lives and find hope once again.

Tim Mercer is an assistant professor of population health and internal medicine at the Dell Medical School at The University of Texas at Austin and a primary care physician with the Health Care for the Homeless Program at CommUnityCare.