For many people experiencing homelessness in Portland, recreational vehicles and cars serve as their last line of shelter and security. But a new policy change by Mayor Keith Wilson is making it more difficult — and costly — for them to hold on to these vehicles.
One Woman’s Struggle
For the last five years, Rachelle Lacy-Powell, 59, has lived entirely out of two vehicles: a Honda Odyssey minivan and an RV. She used the van for errands and appointments while her RV functioned as her home.
“That’s all I had,” she told OPB. “My lifeline.”
Three weeks ago, she found a green notice on both windshields warning that her vehicles were considered “abandoned” and would be towed within 10 days. Unable to afford the gas to move both, she packed her belongings into the RV and drove it to another street. Days later, her van was towed.
Now, she fears her RV will be next. “Living alone as a woman on the street, this isn’t the life I wanted. But I have one place where I feel safe — my RV. And the city wants to take that away?”
A Shift in City Policy
Until last month, Portland had a policy that waived towing fees for lived-in vehicles if owners reclaimed them within 30 days. That rule, in place since 2017, recognized that many unhoused residents lacked the money to pay several hundred dollars in fees.
Wilson reversed the policy in August. Today, reclaiming a towed vehicle costs more than $300 upfront, a sum many unhoused residents simply cannot pay. After 30 days, unclaimed vehicles are dismantled by contractors.
The mayor has defended the change, saying it’s part of a larger push to address unsafe, inoperable RVs on city streets.
“[Lived-in vehicles] pose an unacceptable risk to the community,” Wilson said at a city council meeting. “We need to re-establish community standards on public safety and sanitation.”
Wilson’s Broader Campaign
The reversal ties directly to Wilson’s signature campaign pledge: ending unsheltered homelessness in Portland by December 1.
Currently, the city’s transportation bureau tows about 35 derelict RVs each month. Wilson has directed the bureau to nearly triple that number to 96 per month by October. His long-term goal is to tow 1,300 RVs by July 2026.
The mayor argues that many derelict vehicles block bike lanes, leak waste and oil into streets, and create health hazards for residents and neighbors alike. By removing them, he hopes to push people toward the city’s expanding network of temporary overnight shelters.
Pushback from Service Providers
Not everyone agrees with the strategy. Critics argue that the crackdown strips vulnerable people of the only security they have without offering a meaningful alternative.
“My fear is more vulnerable people being exposed to all kinds of threats,” said Kristle Delihanty, executive director of the nonprofit PDX Saints Love. “As we head into fall and winter, people will face the elements. Others may be pushed into sex trafficking just to find shelter. Taking safety and stability away from people is only going to make things worse.”
Delihanty has urged the city to invest in more “safe park” sites — designated lots where RV residents can legally park overnight, access basic services, and connect to housing programs. Portland operated one such site near the airport that accommodated 55 vehicles, but it is scheduled to close this month when its lease expires. Wilson has shown no interest in replicating the model.
Shelters Versus RVs
Wilson insists that RVs cannot replace shelter beds. He has pushed for congregate overnight shelters where dozens of beds are arranged in open spaces, arguing they provide a safer, regulated alternative.
But many unhoused people reject this option. Lacy-Powell, for example, said she suffers from anxiety and was previously assaulted in a shelter. She does not feel safe sleeping in a crowded room with strangers.
Her attempts to move her registered RV into a mobile home park have failed; most parks won’t accept vehicles more than a decade old. Affordable apartments remain out of reach after years on waiting lists.
“It’s not like I’m not trying,” she said.
Local Leaders Split
Some elected officials have expressed concerns about the mayor’s approach. Multnomah County Commissioner Shannon Singleton, who has a background in homeless services, said she would prefer the city focus on solutions rather than enforcement.
“Instead of adding to people’s challenges and taking away their vehicles, I would rather us be asking, ‘Do we need more mobile home parks? Do we need more safe park sites?’” Singleton said.
On the other side, City Councilor Eric Zimmerman supports towing RVs, calling them worse than tents in terms of neighborhood impact.
“They have a terrible impact on every single neighborhood in Portland,” he said. “We shouldn’t make it free for people to get them back. There needs to be a barrier.”
Still, Zimmerman is skeptical of Wilson’s overnight shelter model. He prefers “pod shelters” — small, individual sleeping units with locking doors that provide greater privacy and security.
The Cost of Derelict RVs
City officials say the expense of managing derelict vehicles also justifies the crackdown. Laura Rude, a city spokesperson, said dismantling one RV can cost up to $2,000 due to asbestos, mold, and other hazardous materials. Older RVs often pose fire and carbon monoxide risks because residents resort to using propane or gas stoves inside them.
“Derelict RVs are a very expensive problem for the city,” Rude said. “And many are in bad shape, creating health hazards for both the people inside and those around them.”
Enforcement vs. Capacity
Portland technically bans living in vehicles, but enforcement is tied to shelter availability. The city must have enough beds before it can require people to move indoors.
Wilson’s administration has opened 630 new beds toward a goal of 1,500 by December. But with an estimated 7,000 people living unsheltered in Multnomah County, even that milestone will fall short of the need.
Some of the new shelters remain underutilized, however, which Wilson cites as justification to accelerate enforcement. “As long as we have vacant shelters, we have reason to move people off the street,” Zimmerman echoed.
A Personal Battle
Meanwhile, residents like Lacy-Powell live in constant fear of losing what little they have. She said she moves her RV every four days to avoid another tow warning, preventing her from focusing on long-term housing goals.
Her descent into homelessness began in 2017 after domestic violence left her with wrist injuries that ended her career as a dental hygienist.
“I lost my income, my house, my community — everything just fell apart,” she said. “And I’ve never been able to pick myself back up again. There’s always another obstacle in my way.”
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