Minneapolis mayor vetoes ‘humane’ encampment ordinance



Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey vetoed an ordinance Thursday that would have mandated the city provide portable bathrooms and handwashing stations for large homeless encampments and, in most cases, give those living there at least one week’s notice before the camp is shut down.

The vote on whether or not to override the veto will be taken up by the new council in January — which includes four newcomers. The current council will not be able to take action on this veto unless the mayor calls a special session. 

A spokesperson for the mayor said Frey does not plan to do so.

In his veto letter, Frey said the ordinance would encourage encampments to grow and make it harder for the city to intervene “before a small, newly formed encampment becomes a large, established, dangerous one.” He said it would “fail the very people it claims to help.”

The ordinance was authored by Aurin Chowdhury, Jason Chavez and Aisha Chughtai, a trio of council members who have pushed for a reimagining of the city’s policies addressing homelessness. The council members said their ordinance aimed to create a more humane and public health-centered approach to addressing encampments.

The ordinance requires the city to provide a fire extinguisher, first aid kits and overdose reversal medicine at encampments with 20 or more people, within 10 days of the camp forming. It also requires the city to provide free storage for people when encampments are shut down. Some critics of the ordinance have said that would rack up costs that had not been budgeted for. 

“It’s not controversial to provide public health services,” said Chavez, one of the authors. “It’s not controversial to provide storage. Like, in what world is it okay to throw people’s belongings away? It just doesn’t make sense to me. It’s just inhumane.”

Chowdhury said she agrees with the mayor that encampments are “not a safe or dignified place for people to live,” but that the city needs to tackle public health issues that emerge in a reality where homelessness exists — as well as have a mandatory standard approach to encampments. 

“If you aren't giving a pre-closure notice, which isn't unheard of, people are left to be surprised. It increases trauma for unhoused people. It makes neighbors feel more anxiety when they see a closure happening and they weren't aware that it was going to happen,” she said. “Service providers also rely on notice, and that's something that we baked into the policy.”

The city has internal guidelines over how to address encampments, including a goal of providing a three-day notice to residents before a closure and employing a homeless response team to try and connect people to services before and after that notice. 

“Our team has a compassionate and collaborative approach to engagement, which is bringing favorable results toward ending homelessness,” said Enrique Velázquez, director of regulatory services for the City of Minneapolis. That’s the department that includes the four-person homeless response team.

As it stands, the only codified policy is a police order to break up encampments before they form. That directive points to laws around trespassing and damage to property as grounds for citations and arrest. 

That policy has led to a reduction in the number of encampments that are in Minneapolis. 

Between March and September this year, the city closed just one large encampment.

That was the Longfellow encampment that real estate developer Hamoudi Sabri allowed to form on his private lot this past summer, which was eventually shuttered after a shooting. 

Frey pointed to fires, violence and “increased crimes of opportunity” that have occurred at encampments, punctuating his veto letter with the statement that “we will not support policies that knowingly push vulnerable neighbors into dangerous conditions.” He pointed to Minneapolis’s reputation as a leader in housing and has been a proponent of investing in more affordable housing. 

But critics of Frey — including those providing direct outreach to people who are living outside — say the city’s current approach on unsheltered homelessness has pushed people into the shadows and into more dangerous living conditions to navigate alone. 

“Our current policy hasn’t addressed the fact that routinely we see people under overpasses on Franklin Avenue or Cedar on the south side. That still exists,” Chowdhury said, adding she has seen people hiding behind dumpsters or fleeing to the suburbs and ending up in jail. 

Naomi Wilson, a community organizer and volunteer for Sanctuary Supply Depot — a collective that helps provide tents, gloves and winter jackets to people experiencing unsheltered homelessness — said people are still seeking out survival supplies because they have nowhere else to sleep but outside. 

“We work with a lot of people who would like to get housed and there’s just not enough opportunities for everyone who is experiencing unsheltered homelessness,” she said. “Our main goal is just to keep people alive and I would hope that our city can move in a direction that keeps people alive and healthy and safe, rather than having to hide in the shadows.”



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Journalism has its perks. I’ve floated in a hot air balloon over Albuquerque, NM, and even taken a ride in a 1932 Ford tri-motor, the kind of plane that looks like it could have starred in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” Last week, I added another feather to that cap, a WWII C-47 at Meacham International Airport for the Christmas Light Flight, a decade-long annual tradition over Fort Worth and Arlington.

The plane itself is a sight, a vintage C-49J, a WWII military transport based on the iconic Douglas DC-3, built to carry troops and executives during the Second World War. But the real draw isn’t the interior lights strung up for the holidays; it’s the view from above as the aircraft glides over neighborhoods lit up in festive splendor. From the city centers of Fort Worth to Arlington’s interlocking streets, the lights shimmer like a terrestrial constellation.

Karolina Marek, the plane’s social media manager and crew chief, guided me through the experience with a mix of history and reverence. This plane has been through a lot. Restored by Greatest Generation Aircraft around 2003, the fuselage, radio room, and interiors were returned to their period-accurate glory. A navigation dome on top of the plane served as the original GPS, a celestial guide for pilots using the stars to navigate.

“The plane was a troop carrier and executive transport,” Marek explains. “It doesn’t have a cargo door, which is what you’d see on other variants. Everything here is for the people who rode in it. And yes, it’s restored, period-accurate down to the last rivet.”

The C-47 is rare, only 138 of this specific C-49 variant were ever made, and finding parts for its 1820 Cyclone engines is no small feat. Volunteers of Greatest Generation Aircraft keep it airborne, ensuring the legacy of WWII veterans lives on. Marek describes the maintenance as “strict,” with inspections twice a year to adhere to regulations. “All the money from ticket sales goes straight into keeping this aircraft flying,” she says. “Fuel, oil, parts, everything. It’s a nonprofit mission, preserving history and honoring the men who served.”

The Christmas Light Flight has been a Fort Worth tradition for a decade. “It started because we wanted people to experience the city from above during the holidays,” Marek says. “The spirit is unmatchable, flying on a vintage aircraft over Christmas lights, it’s that nostalgia everyone loves.” The flight path circles downtown Fort Worth, then arcs over Arlington, giving passengers a bird’s-eye view of neighborhoods transformed by holiday cheer.

Greatest Generation Aircraft doesn’t present itself like a museum piece under glass. It feels more like a working memory. Founded in 2008 by eight men who believed that forgetting was the greater risk, the organization has grown into a volunteer-driven effort fueled by grease-stained hands and long weekends at the Vintage Flying Museum. One of the most arresting details isn’t visible from the tarmac at all. Veterans who once flew or maintained these aircraft signed their names inside the fuselage. Many of them are gone now. Their handwriting remains, pressed into aluminum, turning a short sightseeing flight into something closer to a conversation across time.

Every weekend, volunteers converge at the Vintage Flying Museum to maintain aircraft and prepare for flights, airshows, parades, and even parachute jump operations. “Warbirds are an expensive passion,” Marek admits, “but every part, every hour spent maintaining these planes, is worth it to honor those who fought for our freedom.”

Flying in this C-47, it’s impossible not to feel the soul Marek describes. From the comfort of modern seats, a far cry from the wooden benches soldiers once endured, the plane carries you not just through the night sky, but through history itself.

“The spirit of this airplane is special,” Marek says. “Out of all the planes I’ve flown, she’s my all-time favorite. She has a soul.”

December 16, 2025

11:58 AM





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