Transportation and housing shortfalls complicate access to help for domestic violence survivors

Oct 14, 2024

Kal Greenman-Baird works at a domestic violence agency serving more than 7,200 square miles on the Western Slope. Transportation is one of the biggest challenges survivors and advocates face in their rural area. Photo: Alec Berg, Rocky Mountain PBS.

LA JUNTA, Colo. — When Tina decided to leave her abuser, she used every service Arkansas Valley Resource Center had to offer, from temporary shelter to group counseling.

But getting there was a challenge. In La Junta, Tina’s hometown, public transportation is few and far between. The city bus runs on a limited schedule and is based on reservations, which the city recommends making 24 hours in advance.

Tina didn’t always have reliable access to her own car — or her aunt’s Jeep, which she sometimes borrowed — to drive herself to the agency’s office.

But Tina wasn’t overly concerned with her transportation options. She knew someone from the agency would always pick her up if she needed.

“I knew if I needed a ride, I'd be like, ‘Come and get me, and [they] would be there,’” Tina said. “It was just a phone call away.”

For domestic violence survivors looking to leave an abusive situation, one of the greatest barriers to safety lies in the logistics of getting out. Survivors must figure out where they will go and how they will get there.

Providing transportation and shelter is a significant challenge and cost for the rural domestic violence agencies who try to help survivors like Tina answer those questions.

The sparse public transportation and lack of affordable housing in rural communities mean that domestic violence agencies must spend more time and money trying to fill the gaps.

On the road…again and again

Hilltop’s Latimer House, an intimate partner violence agency based in Grand Junction, serves four counties on the Western Slope, spanning more than 7,200 square miles.

“Transportation is one of the biggest barriers that we have in rural communities,” program manager Kal Greenman-Baird said. “Public transport doesn't really exist. There's one [long-distance] taxi company for the Western Slope all the way from [Grand Junction] down to Cortez.”

In rural areas across Colorado, public transportation, taxis and ride-sharing services are limited in scope and schedule.

While there might be public transportation within a city, such as All Points Transit in Montrose, survivors living outside of the city limits can struggle to access resources.

If a survivor has their own vehicle, it might not be safe for them to access it, it might not be reliable or the cost of gas might be prohibitive.

Most rural agencies that Rocky Mountain PBS spoke to have satellite offices throughout their service areas. Hilltop’s Latimer House has two offices — one in Grand Junction and the other in Montrose, about an hour south on U.S. Highway 50.

Despite having these additional office locations, agencies find that survivors struggle to cover the distance.

“We have some folks who may live out in Crawford or Paonia and need to get to our service in Montrose or Grand Junction,” said Hollie VanRoosendaal, vice president of community programs for Hilltop. “They have at least about an hour, if not an hour and a half drive.”

Advocates try to bridge the gap by meeting survivors closer to home and giving them a ride from there, oftentimes using their personal vehicles. But the more rural and remote the location, the harder it is to find a public, yet confidential, pick-up spot.

“For us to try to show up with transportation but meet them in a safe place when they're living in mainly agricultural farm areas is really difficult because they've got to find a way to meet us somewhere public,” VanRoosendaal said.

At agencies with already skeletal staffing, it takes a toll to have advocates spend so much time — whole days sometimes — on the road, traveling between satellite offices, meeting with survivors or driving them to shelters.

“Needless to say, one of our large budget items is mileage,” said Nikki Johnson, director of Help for Abused Partners, a domestic violence agency based in Sterling.

Help for Abused Partners has four employees and serves a three-county area, spanning a little more than 3,000 square miles. Johnson herself has about a 50-minute commute to work each day, since she lives in Fort Morgan.

Johnson said the agency has arrangements with several gas stations to cover the cost of gas for survivors. Survivors fill up their tanks, and the gas station sends the bill to the agency, who pays it right away.

Help for Abused Partners, a domestic violence agency based in Sterling, has a shelter that can comfortably house a dozen survivors and their children. Photo: Carly Rose, Rocky Mountain PBS.

Stuck in shelter

Shelter for survivors is one of the key services that agencies provide. The shelters provide a safe, confidential place to stay while they look for more permanent housing away from their abuser.

It’s also a place for survivors to take a break from their situation, even if they’re not planning to leave at that time.

Shelters are often designed to accommodate survivors and their children.

Not all agencies allow men to stay in their shelters, even though they recognize that domestic violence impacts people of all gender identities. These agencies set male survivors up in motels for temporary, safe refuge instead.

Help for Abused Partners is one agency that doesn’t let men stay in its shelter. Johnson said the agency has agreements with motels across the three-county area to get a discounted rate — about half the cost — for rooms for survivors.

Agencies that do have a brick-and-mortar shelter will sometimes set survivors up in motels in order to keep the survivor and their children within their community, if that’s what the survivor wants.

Several agencies across the state operate with a hotel-motel shelter model, since not all of them have a building of their own to house people.

The Arkansas Valley Resource Center, based in La Junta, put Tina and her three kids up in a motel when she needed temporary housing. The agency had its own shelter but had to sell the building due to privacy and safety concerns.

Tina said an advocate came by with breakfast, lunch and dinner every day she stayed at the motel. It was a nice break, but she didn’t feel completely safe sheltering in the motel.

“[I was] on edge still because I was still here in this county and there's only a certain amount of spots I could be,” Tina said. “Especially at night, I think I was more scared because that's when everything happens the most, and I just didn't want to be found.”

Agencies will also house people in motels when their shelter is full.

High housing costs — and less funding to cover them — make it difficult for survivors to find affordable, long-term housing so they end up staying at the shelter longer.

Agencies have pre-determined limits on how long they can house someone in the shelter, but those limits are often pushed.

“We're supposed to be a 30-day length of stay, but how do you put a mom and three kids out on the street because their apartment is not going to be ready for another two months?” Johnson said. “I can't do that.”

Southwest Safehouse is a shelter in Durango operated by Volunteers of America Colorado. It’s the only shelter with an undisclosed location within five counties in southwest Colorado, senior director Veronica Martin said.

The shelter is one of the largest that Rocky Mountain PBS spoke to, with 22 beds and room for overflow. It also offers a longer initial length of stay than most other agencies’ shelters across the state, who have fewer beds.

Martin said the program is initially six weeks, and residents can apply for up to 90 additional days of stay.

“But that's still nowhere near long enough to find housing,” Martin said. “They're trying to get a housing voucher and the waitlist is really long. I've seen people get on [the waitlist] and it's two years until they might be selected.”

"If we want to create a sustainable change, there needs to be more available housing for people to get into, especially that's affordable."

Housing and transportation challenges are linked.

In Durango, the housing that survivors are able to get into is usually not within the city limits. Martin herself works in Durango but lives in Farmington, New Mexico.

The farther that people are from the city, the farther they have to travel for services and the harder it is to access public transportation.

Rising costs, shrinking budgets

Among other services, federal funding from the Victims of Crime Act (VOCA) can be used for transportation, relocation, transitional housing costs and emergency shelter, so it’s a valuable funding source for many agencies.

“VOCA is overall about 44% of the funding for the safehouse,” Martin said.

VOCA creates a pool of federal funds, fed by restitution and lawsuit settlements, for agencies like those serving survivors of domestic violence. That funding is then distributed on the state level.

But that pool has been shrinking since 2018, meaning there’s less money to go around. Domestic violence agencies across the state are facing significant cuts in VOCA funding.

The Arkansas Valley Resource Center, which helped Tina and her kids get to safety, will face a 28% cut in its 2025 VOCA funding.

“With those drops, we’re going to have to just look at where can we cut costs, [and] is it going to affect our services that we provide,” executive director Brooke Leonard said.

Leonard and other advocates across the state are busy fundraising and applying for grants to make up for the funding lost in the VOCA cuts, so that survivors like Tina always have someone to call for a ride.

“I swear they move mountains,” Tina said. “I swear they do, to make sure that you feel safe.”