Lost Vital Documents Create Barriers to Housing for Anchorage's Homeless

“When they become homeless, they lose their identity,” Mike Hill said.

The outreach specialist and housing navigator with the Anchorage Coalition to End Homelessness is describing a cycle where the loss of a simple plastic card can derail an entire life.

According to a report from the Anchorage Daily News, the loss of vital documents like birth certificates, Social Security cards, and driver’s licenses creates a massive barrier to stability for those living without permanent housing. Without these papers, the path to employment, healthcare, and even a bed in a shelter becomes nearly impossible to navigate.

The high cost of lost paperwork

For many, the loss is not a matter of carelessness but of survival. Aeriel Reardon, who now works as a food truck manager for the Downtown Hope Center, experienced this firsthand during a violent encounter while living outdoors in Anchorage. After a man doused her with camping fuel and set her alight, her backpack saved her life, but the vital documents inside were lost.

The practical reality of life on the streets makes document security difficult. Lugging a filing cabinet is not an option, and even maintaining a wallet or a small bag is a constant struggle when living in temporary or unsheltered situations. Bente Lahue-Brewer, who lost her ID while staying at the Brother Francis Shelter in 2018, noted that the loss left her unable to file for necessary Social Security benefits.

“I struggled,” Lahue-Brewer said. “I just winged it.”

The stakes extend beyond personal convenience to fundamental human rights and access to state resources. When individuals lack identification, they face a Catch-22: they need ID to secure housing, but they often need housing or a stable address to easily replace their ID. This creates a systemic loop that keeps people trapped in homelessness.

“You can’t get into housing without ID,” Hill said. “That applies not just to apartments or hotels that require proof of identification. Shelters are making it more restrictive lately too by requiring some form of ID to be presented upon asking for a bed.”

Restoring identity through community action

To combat this, organizations are moving directly into the communities where unhoused residents congregate. Hill uses a wireless tablet to meet people at known locations, such as near the Circle K at 36th Avenue and C Street or in Davis Park in Mountain View, to begin the process of “housing readiness.”

A recent effort at Project Homeless Connect in Anchorage demonstrated the scale of the need. During the event held at the Egan Center, workers from the Alaska Division of Motor Vehicles and the Bureau of Vital Statistics provided immediate, hands-on assistance. The impact of these single-day interventions is measurable:

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Service Provider	Document Type / Action	Volume Reported
Alaska DMV	State IDs and driver’s licenses	Approximately 70 documents
Bureau of Vital Statistics	Birth certificates, marriage/divorce decrees	Close to 40 documents

For people like Vivian Changsak, a former wildland firefighter who has been living on the streets for six years, receiving a temporary state ID at the event was a critical first step. While the official card arrives by mail in two weeks, the temporary document allows her to move forward with applications for Alaska Housing.

Workarounds for the unhoused

Securing documents is only half the battle; receiving them is the other. Because many unhoused individuals lack a fixed address, case workers and officials utilize specific legal workarounds to ensure paperwork reaches its destination. Hill recommends the post office’s general delivery service, which holds mail for up to a month, or using the addresses of shelters like Brother Francis or the Downtown Hope Center.

Karla Montoya, a deputy state registrar at Alaska’s Bureau of Vital Statistics, noted that identity can often be verified through non-traditional means when official papers are missing. This includes using a prison ID for those who have been incarcerated, or having a case worker provide a letter on agency letterhead to vouch for an individual’s identity.

Even medical and legal records can serve as anchors for identity. Reardon, who is now clean and housed, was once able to replace her documents by using a police mugshot to prove who she was. In other instances, hospital records have been used to identify individuals in medical crises, eventually providing the paperwork necessary to return home.

For Reardon, the journey from near-death to stability was a process of reclaiming her life, one piece of paper at a time. After an overdose in 2022, she described her recovery as a second chance.

“I felt like I was a little girl again,” Reardon said. “I felt like it was my second chance at life.”