For Joel Nieves, the ongoing controversy over his tiny home in New Haven is more than a legal dispute.
Nieves, 49, has been living without electricity since July, when city officials ordered a utility company to cut power to his dwelling.
Nieves suffers from hypertension and a cardiac condition, and relies on his CPAP machine, a medical device to help him breathe at night. He said for him, the fate of Rosette Village — the cluster of prefabricated homes where he lives — has become a matter of life or death, as he can no longer plug in the device while he’s sleeping.
“If you can imagine, every 15 minutes, waking up while you're trying to sleep, where you can't breathe, it feels like somebody is smothering you with a pillow,” he said.
For months, Nieves and others have lived in the homes built in the backyard of housing activists Luz and Mark Colville on Rosette Street in New Haven.
The city previously determined the 100-square-foot structures are illegal dwelling units because they don’t comply with state code. It ordered them to be taken down, and cut off electricity last month. Residents have appealed to the state Codes and Standards Committee. A decision is still pending.
In a written statement, New Haven Mayor Justin Elicker told Connecticut Public the city is ready to connect residents of Rosette Village with alternative temporary housing and assistance.
"The city is committed to extending compassion, and services to people experiencing homelessness, but must also ensure the places they live are safe, and meet state standards," Elicker said. “These structures are not compliant with those standards.”
Nieves has lived at Rosette Village since April.
He said he can’t go into a shelter because he suffers from post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) stemming from an incident that occurred while he was working as a private security guard.
“In the shelter program they just stick everybody in one room,” he said. “You start to feel unsafe. And unfortunately [with] your PTSD, when you feel overwhelmed, you either sit in a room or you feel like you're going to have to run out the room and leave immediately. It's that flight and or fight mode."
A friend suggested cocaine to help him stay awake at night — Nieves said he had debilitating nightmares as a result of his PTSD and the drug prevented him from falling asleep. He then struggled with substance use disorder.
“I lost who I was,” he said. “My home went away, friends and family disappear from you because you're in your addiction. You're trying to cover up pain and suffering.”
Nieves said he was treated at a state rehab program and dropped off at a warming center in April because he had nowhere else to go. After the center closed, he said he slept under a tree before learning about Rosette Village.
Since moving to the private backyard, Nieves has been connected with a primary care physician, psychiatrist, and cardiologist, all thanks to the neighborhood Cornell Scott Hill Health Center.
Phil Costello, clinical director, drives the clinic’s mobile health van to the village each week to care for the residents. He said people with health conditions like Nieves could be at risk because of lack of access to electricity.
“If you suffer from sleep apnea and don’t have the right treatment, you're a ticking time bomb because it raises the cortisol in your blood, increases your sugar and cholesterol,” Costello said. “So it increases your chances of heart attack and sudden death.”
State officials previously issued a 180-day permit and management plan for the homes at Rosette Village, allowing them to temporarily remain in place. The permit has since expired.
In a written statement issued last month, a spokesperson for the state Department of Administrative Services said structures that exist for more than 180 days must comply with the building code to ensure they're safe.
The homes at Rosette Village don't currently meet thresholds for wind and snow loads, foundation requirements, energy efficiency requirements for thermal insulation, and fire resistance rated walls, he said.
Nieves said his tiny home — he has his own key and can come and go with freedom — is safer than any campsite he's been on. He cooks his own meals in a common area; uses the bathroom, washer and dryer in the main house; and pitches in with chores.
The best part is that his backyard neighbors look out for each other, he said.
"It's a sense of community and at any point where I'm not feeling well, a lot of the people that are here immediately will come up to me [and ask] 'You OK? You want to take a break? You want to separate for a little while?' And I'm like, yeah, and I'll go into my home and it's my own space, and I recompose myself."
