The ongoing battle over how to handle America’s surging homelessness crisis has taken yet another surreal turn—this time with Kentucky’s so-called “homeless court.” What was supposed to be a crackdown on illegal encampments has instead morphed into a bureaucratic tap dance where camping bans exist in theory but not in practice.
Let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t camping. Going to the woods, pitching a tent, and cooking over a fire is camping. Setting up a tarp city under an overpass, surrounded by drug needles, stolen shopping carts, and makeshift toilets? That’s squatting at best, and in many cases, it’s a hub for crime, drug abuse, and public endangerment.
Yet, the language manipulators in politics, media, and the activist class keep rebranding the problem, thinking that if they just change the words, the crisis will somehow disappear. First, they swapped out “bums” and “hobos” for “homeless.” Then, when that became too politically inconvenient, they pivoted to “unhoused.” Now, it’s “urban camping.”
At this rate, by 2030, we’ll be calling them “nomadic environmentalists.”
But let’s talk about what’s actually happening in Kentucky. Last year, frustrated by growing tent cities, skyrocketing crime, and out-of-control drug use, the state passed a camping ban. Louisville, where the unsheltered population doubled in just a year, began issuing citations—72 in total since the law took effect in July.
Now, instead of enforcing the law, Louisville’s courts have created a special docket—a so-called homeless court—to ensure that no one actually faces consequences. Defendants charged with unlawful camping are not convicted, not fined, and not jailed. Instead, they’re given more time to find social services, while judges, defense attorneys, and prosecutors cooperate to avoid enforcing the law.
The only case dismissed outright so far? A woman who was in labor when she was cited for illegal camping.
This entire system is less about solving homelessness and more about appeasing activists who think any effort to clean up the streets is somehow an act of cruelty. Public defenders like Ryan Dischinger don’t even pretend this is about the law, openly calling the camping ban “a crappy statute that doesn’t make any sense” and insisting the legislature only passed it because they “don’t like to look at homeless people.”
Here’s the reality: nobody wants to criminalize people simply for being poor. But allowing tent cities to take over sidewalks, public parks, and entire neighborhoods isn’t “compassionate”—it’s dangerous and destructive. Ask the residents of cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles, or Portland how well years of “housing-first” policies have worked. Entire communities have been overrun by crime, filth, and addiction.
Kentucky lawmakers thought they were addressing the issue with their camping ban. But instead of real enforcement, they’ve been handed a bureaucratic workaround that avoids punishment and makes the problem everyone else’s to deal with. And the predictable result? Tent cities may disappear from certain areas, but the underlying issues—drug abuse, mental illness, and lawlessness—remain just as rampant.
