What happens when state government doesn't work? When legislators don't do their jobs?
People like the 17-year-old girl across the table, living in a shelter instead of a jail cell, start feeling scared.
What happens when state government doesn't work? When legislators don't do their jobs?
People like the 17-year-old girl across the table, living in a shelter instead of a jail cell, start feeling scared.
I'll return to her story in a minute, but let me pose a question:
Shouldn't there be some punishment for people sitting on millions of dollars that's supposed to go to those who need it -- but can't get it -- solely because those elected to dispense the money can't function?
Could you blame the intended recipients for going a bit crazy? Angry, perhaps? Which is pretty much how I phrase the question to Rocio Watson, the executive director of the Women's Living Transitional Center, an Orange County shelter for women trying to escape abusive situations. Because of the ongoing budget impasse, the shelter hasn't gotten any of its state funds for the last three months. "We're about $300,000 in the hole right now," Watson says.
"As a community member, I don't think they have the right to do this, to play politics with people's lives," she says of the state legislators. She's concerned about her staff and the 122 women and children at the shelter, but could just as well be speaking for any number of nonprofit organizations or other groups waiting for the lawmakers to do their jobs.
Watson has seen this act before, but never this bad. "It's never smooth sailing for nonprofits," she says, "because you never really know if you're going to get the same amount every year. However, this is the worst it's been in the 31 years we've been around."
About 70% of the shelter's budget comes from state and federal funds; private donations and foundations account for the rest. At the end of May, the shelter learned it wouldn't get about $310,000 that had been previously budgeted. Watson cut its operating budget by one-third, to around $100,000 a month.
That cut was bearable, Watson says, but staffers were laid off. The ongoing stalemate since then, however, put the shelter on the brink.
"This time last week," Watson says, "we appealed to our board, and they dug into their own pockets and helped us make payroll. We were ready to shut down last Friday."
That doomsday scenario prompted Watson to go public, both with the media and with fundraising appeals. It snagged $20,000 in recent days from people with good hearts but still needs an additional $77,000 in the next week. Unlike a week ago, she's now hopeful that in the short run, she can raise the money.