There’s a certain ache that comes from walking the streets of a city you love, only to see people—human souls—curled beneath scaffolding, or sitting on subway benches, lost in their own minds and pain. If you live in or around Philadelphia, or even visit occasionally, you’ve probably felt it too. That helplessness, that sting of “this isn’t how it should be.”
I felt it last Sunday on a coffee run to my favorite cafe near Center City, when I passed a man in a rumpled coat, talking to someone I couldn’t see. His voice was sharp, scared. It echoed just loud enough to make passersby cement their eyes straight ahead. He wasn’t invisible. But he might as well have been. Moments like that sit with you.
So when I heard that former Governor Andrew Cuomo, in NYC, had launched a new initiative specifically aimed at mental health and homelessness in the city, I took a long pause. Not a quick scroll-and-dismiss, but a deep, counselor-style pause—the kind where you let the whole weight of the thing sink in before deciding what you feel about it.
Because this is complex. People are complex. Motives are layered. But need? That part is simple. The need is urgent, obvious, and everywhere.
Let’s talk about what’s happening.
Cuomo’s new initiative is positioning him, not as a politician, but as a public advocate—a man outside of office, still stepping into the fray. He’s built a coalition of local leaders, and the express goal is to push current city officials, including Mayor Eric Adams, toward more decisive action on the twin crises of homelessness and mental illness. Whether you view Cuomo with suspicion, support, or somewhere in between, it’s worth examining what these efforts mean for the city—and the human beings who call it home.
Now, critics are already talking—suggesting this may be a reputation-restoration project more than anything else, a post-resignation strategy. I get that critique. I really do. And maybe there’s some truth to it; motives are rarely pure.
But here’s the thing. In my two decades as a counselor, I’ve learned that sometimes, people do the right thing for complicated reasons. And still—it’s the doing that matters.
If someone shows up to therapy because their marriage is on the brink and they’re desperate? That’s fine. If they want a better relationship with their kids? Also fine. If they’re terrified of their own behavior? You know what? Still fine.
We don’t require moral perfection to allow someone to help.
We require action. Consistency. Accountability.
Right now, New York’s (and Philadelphia’s) shelter system is stretched beyond recognition. Emergency rooms have become revolving doors. Too many people with severe mental illness are cycling through jails and public hospitals—not because they are criminals—but because there’s simply nowhere else for them to go.
Let that settle for a second.
We hear the term “mental health crisis” so often, it’s almost lost its meaning. But this isn’t abstract. It’s people slipping through cracks so wide they might as well be canyons. It’s mothers grieving sons who couldn’t access care. It’s veterans abandoned. Children growing up beside subway platforms, learning to sleep through noise and cold as if that’s just how life goes.
I’m not here to deliver policy prescriptions—I’m not a politician. But I do know what helps.
Consistency helps. Wraparound services help. Trained, compassionate outreach workers help. Housing that comes *before* treatment? That helps more than we often realize. We keep trying to “fix” symptoms before we offer the dignity of a door key, and it rarely works.
And leadership—imperfect, maybe politically motivated, but tangible leadership—can help.
I’ve worked with street outreach teams. I’ve sat in hospitals at 2 a.m. waiting with someone experiencing psychosis, because there was no bed available yet. I’ve watched systems fail the same people, over and over again, because the people building those systems weren’t listening to the folks working the front lines.
So here’s what I’ll say plainly: if Cuomo’s initiative brings money, attention, pressure, even urgency to an issue that this city has too long treated as background noise, I welcome it.
Even if it’s imperfect.
We’re allowed to hold multiple truths.
We can question Cuomo’s motives, and still be glad the spotlight is on our unhoused and mentally ill neighbors.
We can push our elected officials to act faster, and still appreciate coalitions being formed by those no longer in office.
We can want structural change, vast and systemic—and still embrace every step that moves us forward, inch by inch.
There are lives hanging in the balance, and delay costs dearly.
Here’s what I want you to remember—wherever you live, and wherever your heart tends to focus its concern: apathy doesn’t heal anything. Neither does finger-pointing. What heals is connection. Showing up. Listening. Giving a damn.
And if you, like me, find your heart cracking a little every time you walk past someone clearly suffering—then let that ache be your compass. Let it move you toward advocacy, or volunteering, or calling your representatives, or even just choosing to look someone in the eyes instead of away.
We don’t need more cynics. We need compassionate pragmatists. People willing to act, even when the solutions are messy and the alliances feel uneasy.
If Cuomo wants to use his influence to bring mental health and homelessness to the forefront again? Let’s hold him accountable to the promise. But let’s also recognize that few things in public life are more worthy of our collective energy.
Because healing takes everyone. It takes counselors and caseworkers and elected officials and yes, sometimes controversial public figures who step back into the ring.
So keep choosing empathy. Keep remembering dignity. Keep calling out injustice, while rooting your vision in hope.
There are people in pain tonight who deserve better than silence and shrugging. Maybe—just maybe—this is one more step toward changing that.
And whatever step you choose to take—I’m proud of you for caring. Keep going.
