The Mother Road—and the People Beside It

In the spring of 2025, I noticed banners going up for the 2026 centennial celebration of the “Mother Road”—Route 66. In Albuquerque, NM, this stretch of road is aptly named Central Avenue.  
I’ve lived in Albuquerque all my life—close to a half-century now. Central has always been a major thoroughfare for me. For the past 15 months, it has been part of my daily commute.  

In the area’s history, it’s interesting to note the highs and lows of Route 66, especially in the Southeast part of Albuquerque. The New Mexico State Fairgrounds went up along Central in 1938. After World War II, jobs at Kirtland Air Force Base and Sandia National Labs fueled a population boom. Motels, diners, and service stations sprouted along Central to meet the demand.  

In the 1960s, Kirtland shifted much of its workforce to on-base housing; and in 1970, I-40 diverted long-haul traffic from Route 66. With apartments and low-cost motels underused, the area along Central Avenue drew immigrants, refugees, and other new-to-town families.  

As economic hardship hit the area, crime followed. In 1989, an Albuquerque Journal headline labeled this part of town the “War Zone.” Drugs, prostitution, and violent crime took up residence.  

Decades later, the substances may have changed, but poverty and crime persist. Despite attempts to rebrand the area as The International District, the issues within these four square miles seem much the same.  

One community advocate whom I know has described the stronghold of "institutionalized neglect.”  I will admit that I had to look up the phrase to understand its weight. Essentially, it’s neglect that’s been “baked” into policies, budgets, and cultural habits. The institution may keep functioning smoothly on paper, but the people inside it are left without real support.  This may indeed be an apt way to describe what we are seeing in the International District.   

These days on my commute, I commonly see police and paramedics trying to resuscitate someone who has overdosed on fentanyl. People sleep at bus stops, panhandle at intersections, or wander—nearly bent in half—as drugs ravage body and mind.  

Homelessness is impossible to miss. Encampments pop up routinely. Debris blankets landscape rocks, and soot from small fires streaks the walls of many businesses. There is human waste on the ground. This slice of Route 66 is far from its glory days.  

The “cringe factor” of promoting the Centennial—internally to residents and externally to visitors—lands hard in the middle of our present reality. Tourism brings real benefits: positive press and the spending that follows when visitors shop, dine, and lodge here. But if we want people to feel safe and welcome, the City must be mindful of the optics on Central.  

I cannot confirm a connection, but in late 2024, the City Council passed ordinances effectively banning public camping, with encampments on or near Central prioritized for clearance. Was this action taken just in time for the promotion of the Centennial?  

When the encampments are removed and the trash is picked up, sure, the area looks much better.  But where have the residents of those encampments been moved to?  There are very few accessible spaces for people to move to once they are displaced.  

There is no question that the City is gearing up for Centennial tourists. There’s already a webpage highlighting “the longest continuous urban stretch of the Mother Road in the country.”  

In a strange loop, the Centennial nudges the City to move the unhoused away from Central to attract visitors. Visitors spend money; taxable sales rise; Gross Receipts Tax (GRT) revenues climb. The latter provide about 68.7% of Albuquerque’s general fund in FY25, so a tourism bump generally lifts the flexible dollars that the City can use for core services. The City’s Health, Housing & Homelessness department draws on the general fund (about $52.2M in FY25) to help fund emergency shelters and homeless support services.  

“Out of sight, out of mind” isn’t going to work for this complex issue. Neither is blame-shifting or finger-pointing. How do we, as a community, lend a hand or raise our voice?  

Is there any hope for a “both-and” solution? Can we prepare for a celebratory year of travelers as they make their way through our city and be intentional about not neglecting or marginalizing those experiencing homelessness?  

We cannot forget that the people being “moved along” are our neighbors. They have names, families, and more grit than most of us will ever need. Each encampment clearance tears up what little routine they’ve managed to build. IDs get lost, meds are scattered, and trust is further eroded.  

We can hold both truths at once: the City has a responsibility to keep public spaces safe and welcoming for residents and visitors, and we have a responsibility to see and treat those living outside as human beings, not obstacles.  

I hope that in the months ahead, we can be intentional about working on long-term problem-solving and not simply provide a year-long Band-Aid while visitors are passing through. Our neighbors experiencing homelessness deserve this dignity, and our business owners and housed residents deserve safe and hygienic places to live and work.  

What if 2026 really does become a year to celebrate the remembrance of what was while we’re planning for a sustainable and equitable solution for all residents of Albuquerque?