Wednesday, 1 July 2026, 2:54
Fresno County has one of California's highest rates of domestic violence calls to law enforcement, yet only one shelter—the Marjaree Mason Center—exclusively serves survivors fleeing abuse. With just 40 rooms for about 140 people at a time, the center turns many away, leaving them to navigate homelessness or return to dangerous situations. This crisis highlights a broken link between emergency shelter and stable housing, compounded by erratic funding and a competitive rental market.
The Marjaree Mason Center offers private rooms, therapy, medical services, and 24/7 security—but capacity is severely limited. Leticia Campos, the center's chief programs officer, says they never double-bunk residents due to trauma. However, the shelter can only house 40 households at a time, with an average stay of 30 days. “We turn many people away,” Campos told reporters, though the center did not provide specific data on how often that happens.
Campos explained that survivors often face financial abuse, leaving them without job skills, credit, or rental history. “Let’s just say I have three children with me, all under the age of 10,” she said. “I’ve never been employed because I’ve been prevented from being employed. I didn’t graduate high school, and now I have multiple evictions on me.” In Fresno’s tight housing market, finding a home within a month is nearly impossible, forcing some to return to abusers.
Most of the center’s funding comes from federal, state, and local government, but it swings dramatically year to year. Jennifer Willover, housing policy analyst for the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence, says “most funding is one-time or short-term… Every year, housing and homelessness providers, as well as domestic violence service providers, are constantly kind of holding their breath.” This instability makes it hard to plan for capacity or extend stays beyond 30 days.
Nova Coburn, who stayed at the center a few times, now lives in a tent in Fresno’s Tower District. “They housed me and I was thankful for it, but they never got me rolling with any kind of permanent housing,” she said. She’s been unhoused for four years and is on multiple waiting lists. “For some reason, for the life of me, I’m not getting the help.” Coburn’s story is common: outreach workers change frequently, and survivors lose trust in a system that feels repetitive and ineffective.
Lethal Gee, an outreach worker with the San Joaquin Valley Free Medical Clinic, spends her week searching for unhoused survivors. Changes to Fresno’s encampment policies have led to more sweeps, forcing people to move constantly. “I’ve been hearing from people that the city’s been taking all of their stuff and throwing it away,” Gee said. She relies on a mental “rolodex” of names and needs—whether for IDs, medical care, or practical items like tents—to build trust with survivors who have been “burned before by a public system,” according to Alex Visotzky of the National Alliance to End Homelessness.
Fresno County has one of the highest rates of domestic violence calls to law enforcement in California, yet it has only one shelter dedicated to survivors. A UCSF study found that nearly 10% of unhoused people in the state experienced domestic violence, and among cisgender women, that number doubles. The Marjaree Mason Center’s limitations reflect a statewide issue: insufficient long-term investment in both housing and victim services.
The Marjaree Mason Center provides critical services, but its 30-day limit and funding volatility leave many survivors without a path to stability. Advocates call for longer-term investments and extended shelter stays to help survivors rebuild their lives. Without change, more survivors will end up like Nova Coburn—on the streets, waiting for help that never comes.
