Lolita Griffeth believed she was only saying goodbye to her boyfriend for a few days when she left to accept a temporary apartment offer.
Her boyfriend, Cornelius Taylor, was hesitant about her leaving, but Griffeth convinced him it was a necessary step out of homelessness.
She assured him, “I know where to find you when I come back.”
Sadly, by the time she returned just days later, he was gone.
Cornelius Taylor, 46, met a tragic fate on January 16, when a front loader truck struck him inside his tent during what was supposed to be a routine clearing of the encampment where he and Griffeth were living.
Initial reports from the police suggested that Taylor’s death might have been related to a drug overdose.
However, the Fulton County medical examiner later revealed that he died from blunt-force trauma, including a lacerated spleen and liver, and that his pelvis had been shattered.
This shocking incident reverberated through Atlanta, igniting a vigorous debate about how the city manages its homeless population.
While there is widespread agreement that Taylor should not have died, questions arise regarding why a standard encampment clearance escalated into such a tragedy and how the city can prevent similar occurrences in the future.
In the wake of Taylor’s death, the tent encampment he inhabited was not immediately shut down.
Instead, the Atlanta City Council implemented a moratorium on most encampment closures, allowing many residents to return to Old Wheat Street in the historic Sweet Auburn area.
Tents were seen occupying sidewalks, streets, and overgrown lots.
Just across the street lies the Martin Luther King Jr. National Historic Park.
The Old Wheat Street encampment is not a new phenomenon.
Nolan English, who founded the homeless-services organization Traveling Grace Ministries, first visited the area in 2011.
He described it as a “perfect storm” for chronic homelessness, pointing out that the local community generally displays a degree of tolerance towards the homeless residents.
However, this extended presence has led to many residents becoming veterans of street life, growing doubtful of promises from service organizations.
“A lot of people there are ready to go,” says English.
“But the more you’re fumbled by the city, the more you become service resistant.”
Taylor himself was among those who had been living in various Atlanta encampments for a decade.
He and Griffeth, who is 56, became inseparable after meeting in a tent community eight years earlier.
In their relationship, Griffeth recalls how Taylor consistently provided for her needs and cared for her health, especially after she suffered a stroke.
They shared joyful moments, even creating silly rap songs together, though Taylor, known by the nickname Psycho, had his prickly side.
Despite their love, both struggled with mental health issues—common among residents of Old Wheat Street—often turning to drugs and alcohol to cope.
Griffeth, who sought to escape this lifestyle, faced challenges in convincing Taylor to pursue stable housing.
“ He’s a mover and shaker,” she says of Taylor.
“If he sat down, he was going to get back up again in 30 seconds.”
Outreach workers from SafeHouse reached out to the couple in early January, informing them about the impending camp closure.
Griffeth accepted an offer to transition into what was represented as a temporary apartment, but what she discovered was a medical facility.
After a few days, she returned to Old Wheat Street, wary of the closure.
Before leaving, she warned Taylor, “Be careful, because they keep telling us that they’re gonna put us out.”
The events leading up to Taylor’s death revealed a significant absence of a standardized process for clearing homeless encampments in Atlanta.
Partners for HOME, the nonprofit managing the city’s homeless services, outlines a vague six-phase closure procedure on its website.
However, without a formal policy, there was no explicit record justifying the decommissioning of the Old Wheat Street site.
Cathryn Vassell, CEO of Partners for HOME, admitted that complaints about Old Wheat Street had intensified, particularly leading up to its planned closure.
By October, the city decided to prioritize the encampment’s closure amid claims that it had become increasingly unmanageable and encumbered the street.
On the morning of January 16, outreach teams from SafeHouse, along with the Atlanta Police Department and the Department of Public Works, arrived at the encampment with heavy machinery in tow.
The timing of the operation drew ire, as many believed it was targeted to clear the area ahead of the major Martin Luther King Jr. Day celebrations, which would attract tourists and dignitaries.
Additionally, Vassell brought to light the city’s urgency in addressing the encampment due to a man who had been intimidating residents, further complicating the situation.
This individual, identified as Daniel Barnett, is known for his actions towards the encampment and was later arrested after vandalizing residents’ tents.
In the aftermath of the clearing operation, it became evident that the lack of a clear protocol posed serious questions—who was accountable for confirming that residents had vacated their tents?
SafeHouse Outreach claimed they were not responsible for clearing the area.
Neither the Atlanta Police nor the Department of Public Works could be reached for comment regarding their responsibilities in this matter.
This ambiguity raised crucial questions about the accountability of various city agencies during encampment clearings.
The circumstances surrounding Taylor’s death prompted the local community to demand a reevaluation of the city’s approach towards its homeless population.
Taylor’s family, alongside other advocates, protested against the encampment sweeps, emphasizing the need for systematic change in how the city interacts with individuals experiencing homelessness.
Reverend Shanan Jones, president of Concerned Black Clergy, stated, “There was a policy that came and rolled over his life.”
In response to the community’s outcry, City Councilmember Liliana Bakhtiari introduced a resolution to halt most homeless encampment closures.
This would specifically restrict heavy machinery from being employed during such sweeps, except in cases of extreme safety issues, until Partners for HOME could provide a thorough report on improving operations going forward.
Speaking publicly, Bakhtiari criticized the city’s Continuum of Care, indicating a need to reassess the procedures and funding allocations currently in place.
She called for a paradigm shift in how the city handles homelessness, suggesting the current model is ineffective.
The council even established a Homelessness Taskforce of 33 government entities and homelessness organizations to review policies concerning unsheltered populations and offer recommendations for improvement.
Meanwhile, the Justice for Cornelius Coalition, which includes Taylor’s family and various activist groups, is also developing its own suggestions to present to the city.
This Coalition aims to ensure that encampment residents receive necessary support, create a Homelessness Czar to oversee policy changes, and demand accountability for local organizations like Partners for HOME.
Nolan English expressed concern that homelessness has turned into an industry in Atlanta, emphasizing that the city could adequately house all its homeless population if funds were directed purposefully.
English advocates for a genuine reckoning with the root causes of encampments, noting that not all clearances are warranted.
“An encampment under a bridge might be dangerous, but in Sweet Auburn, these are families and communities,” he stated.
He warned that when individuals are forcibly removed from their encampments without gaining housing, they often return to the streets with diminished trust in any outreach services.
“Not only are you perpetuating homelessness,” he said, “but you’re creating more service-resistant homelessness.”
The majority of residents at Old Wheat Street remain after the tragedy of Taylor’s death, including Griffeth, who returned to the community following what she perceives as a misleading relocation effort by outreach services.
Griffeth finds comfort amongst her camp peers, asserting, “We’re unified.”
In remembering Taylor’s encouragement during tough times, she said, “Come on, baby. You just get yourself together.”
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