Protests to nonprofit: One man drives unexpected change

Noam Barnard never anticipated leading an outreach nonprofit. 

“If you told me six years ago that this is what I’d be doing with my life, I would have probably laughed in your face,” Barnard admitted. 

But today, Barnard is the executive director of the Cincinnati Coalition for Community Safety (CCS), which provides care and supplies to people experiencing homelessness and people with substance use disorders.

The unexpected role was years in the making, starting with the summer 2020 mass protests in Cincinnati that followed the police killings of George Floyd in Minneapolis, MN, and Breonna Taylor in Louisville, KY. 

As demonstrators filled the air with anger, Barnard watched police use tear gas and rubber bullets on protestors. Moved to do something, he and other volunteers handed out water bottles and eventually, gave first-aid to protestors in need. 

“At that point, we — myself, and, unbeknownst to me at that moment, a handful of others — were all working in the same direction to make sure folks that were raising their voices in the streets were as safe as possible,” he said. 

Over time, the strangers in the crowd of helpers became people he recognized. 

As the heat of the civil rights protests fizzled out that fall, Barnard and his new comrades found themselves at a crossroads: continue helping or go their separate ways. 

“We were, like, ‘well, I mean, we’ve got, like, $700 in our Venmo account, and, like, somebody just bought us T-shirts. But there’s no protest tomorrow, and there’s nothing else to do tomorrow,” Barnard said. “So, now what?” 

People were committed and resources were available, so Barnard and the group shifted their focus and established the CCS.

“I don’t feel like I made a decision, it was just what was happening,” Barnard said. “I didn’t necessarily choose the role that I take right now, but at the same time, it seemed like the obvious next step.”

Since 2020, Barnard, a stagehand in his day job, and coalition members have taken to the streets to provide meals and harm-reduction supplies to people who need them. 

“We’re not on the streets every day, dodging tear gas canisters and stuff like that, but there’s a lot of work to be done, and we’ve got the support,” Barnard said. “So we pushed forward and moved on to more direct community support.” 

These days, tubs of Plan B emergency contraception, condoms, granola bars, clean syringes, and more pack the back of Barnard’s grey Honda Odyssey. On the van’s back bumper are stickers warning, “This vehicle makes frequent stops,” and a decal with the CCS logo. 

A laminated sign features a QR-code that links to CCS’ donation sites — the group receives no government funding, he said. Instead, they depend on private donations. 

“We’re funded completely through crowdsourcing, $20 at a time on Venmo, about $4,000 a month,” Barnard said.

Since then, the coalition’s efforts have grown.

The trunk of Barnard’s van is packed with feminine hygiene products, toothbrushes, sexual health supplies and sterile needles. Banard hands out these necessities at community parks and events to ease the living conditions of disadvantaged people.

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“The first [shipment] of Narcan I ever got was two boxes of 12. So I was, ‘Oh man! I got like 24 Narcans!’” Barnard laughed. “Now I’m like, I need an extra room to, like, store all this stock.” 

Building relationships is imperative, Barnard said, so he tries to meet the people he helps where they are, day after day: handing out food in parks and setting up tents at local festivals to give out aid. 

“Everybody’s hanging out, we’re chilling, we’re talking,” Barnard said. “And you know, how it works out is, we go pick up a couple of pizzas, and sit down and break bread with everybody.” 

After years of driving the streets of Cincinnati, many people in need recognize Barnard. People know he’ll have cold water and a few snacks on a hot day, and that he can connect people with social services — but only if they ask for it. Neighbors knock at his front door because they know he will have snacks for them, even at night.

“If you’re gonna break bread with somebody, that’s your neighbor, that’s your friend now,” Barnard said.  

“People know my van, they flag me down. They know I have condoms, they know I have clean syringes,” he said. “You’re not just giving somebody a bag of Doritos and a bottle of water and dismissing them. We all live in the same neighborhood, and we’re all friends and we’re all neighbors.”

Since the Coalition’s pivot toward homeless assistance and food insecurity, they have partnered with a variety of nonprofit and governmental entities to help supply and distribute resources. The speed at which things can get done through local government, though, can sometimes frustrate Barnard.

“I feel like every single time we meet, we have to, like, vote on something next month and I’m like, ‘man, guys, let’s just go!’” he said. “Six months from now, by the time we vote on this, it’s going to be winter, and it’s going to be, like, a whole different situation.”

Despite all the unanticipated change driven by his determination to move, Barnard said he’s still the same guy he was before the protests started.

“I’m proud of myself, and I’m proud of all our comrades that help out and donate and chip in,” he said. “I feel like we’ve impacted the community in a huge way, and [we’re] probably not stopping anytime soon.”