A recent KUER article critically examines The Other Side Academy (TOSA), focusing primarily on former participants who describe the program negatively and questioning the philosophy behind therapeutic communities. Every institution should be subject to scrutiny, and TOSA is no exception. But after reading the article, I was left asking a different question: Why is this level of scrutiny almost never applied to the homelessness industry itself?

For years, Utah taxpayers have funded an expanding network of homeless service providers, permanent supportive housing projects, behavioral health programs, shelters, consultants, and administrators. Collectively, these organizations receive millions of dollars in taxpayer support. Yet despite decades of funding and intervention, overdose deaths continue to climb, chronic homelessness remains a persistent problem, and many individuals cycle repeatedly through shelters, emergency rooms, jails, detox centers, and housing programs without achieving lasting recovery. Where are the investigative stories examining those outcomes? Just a few basic facts:

• Every person in the academy who wrote a letter to enter the program is saving Utah taxpayers approximately $58,000 per year. (by not being incarcerated). This is resulting in tens if not hundreds of millions of dollars, converting incarcerated people into productive citizens
• Employers are lined up to hire Academy graduates because they are taught such excellent vocational/behavioral skills. This is not an overstatement.
• All formerly homeless TOSA village residents generate all of their own room and board revenue via their social enterprises. (Compare this to the costs of homeless housing, which is costing the County taxpayers millions).

The KUER article focuses on individuals who left TOSA before completing its demanding 30-month program. That’s fair. Not everyone succeeds there, and TOSA openly acknowledges that fact. But if we’re going to evaluate TOSA based on the experiences of those who failed to complete the program, shouldn’t we apply the same standard to publicly funded homelessness programs? 

How many participants in those programs permanently overcome addiction? How many become self-sufficient? How many rebuild relationships with their families, maintain employment, and stop relying on government assistance? Those questions are rarely asked, and even more rarely answered. “There is almost no accountability in the current homeless services and money being provided to them,” says James Behunin, former senior audit supervisor for the Utah State Legislature, who served on the Utah Homeless Services Board until last year. 

Over the past five years, I’ve spent hundreds of hours interviewing homeless individuals, recovery providers, housing administrators, and program participants throughout Utah. I’ve toured shelters, permanent supportive housing facilities, tiny-home villages, and recovery programs. One conclusion has become increasingly difficult to ignore: many of our current systems appear designed to manage homelessness and addiction rather than help people permanently escape them. Housing is provided. Services are provided. Medication is provided. Case management is provided. Yet personal accountability is often treated as secondary, and measurable recovery outcomes can be difficult to identify.

TOSA represents a fundamentally different philosophy. Its premise is that lasting change requires accountability, honesty, work, community, and personal responsibility. Residents are expected to confront destructive behaviors, contribute to the community, develop vocational skills, and earn their place through effort. Critics see that approach as harsh. Supporters would argue that real change is often uncomfortable and that accountability is precisely what has been missing from many modern recovery models.

What the KUER article largely overlooks are the graduates. Over the years, I’ve met dozens of former TOSA participants whose lives once revolved around addiction, criminal behavior, homelessness, and chaos. Today, many of them operate businesses, maintain careers, mentor others, and contribute positively to their communities. Dylan Gibson, Jordan and Tiffany Holdaway, Jackie Tress, Jeffrey Kaiser-Plate, Brian Billmeyer, Keith Morey, and many others stand as examples of what TOSA calls “whole-person change.” These aren’t simply people who became housed. These are people who transformed their lives.

One example is featured below. Facing years in prison, this former participant entered The Other Side Academy instead. Today he is employed, self-sufficient, and helping others. His story illustrates the type of long-term transformation that supporters argue is often ignored in discussions about TOSA.

That’s why I believe the real story isn’t whether TOSA makes some participants uncomfortable. The real story is why so many publicly funded programs continue to avoid the same level of scrutiny despite receiving vastly more taxpayer dollars and producing outcomes that deserve serious examination. If journalists want to investigate TOSA, they absolutely should. But they should also investigate the broader homelessness industry with the same rigor, the same skepticism, and the same willingness to ask difficult questions about results.

Feature Image: Tim Stay, David Durocher, and Joseph Grenny of TOSA. Photo by Dung Hoang.