The Streets: No More Home, No More Family

Homeless bound,
I wish I weren't, homeless bound
Home, clothes are grime-y cotton
Home, where the food's 'au rotten'
Home, where the rats lie plottin'

As I walked out of the Sears Centre on Yonge Street in Toronto, there on the curb, begging for a hand out, sat a man in his mid to late thirties. The weather was cold and dreary and the man had on a coat and a sweater and what appeared to be several layers of shirts. His face was bland and expressionless, tattered from the cold Canadian winter. All humility had left him and his pride had been shaken to the roots. It was apparent to anyone with the time of day to look or talk to him that he was a shattered soul with a story

What really caught my eye on this frosty March afternoon was the shopping cart with all his worldly possessions. It was overflowing with “stuff” - blankets, coats, pants, boots. Amongst all the dirty and shabby clothing peeped a one-eyed teddy bear that probably belonged to a son or daughter in a former life. Then again, it may have been the only comfort he had to get him through another unmerciful day - another challenging night. I imagined that it probably use to sit proudly upon a frilly lace pillow amongst other stuffed animals in a young child’s colorful bedroom. One that was barely a memory now.

I watched shopper after shopper scurry past this humble man without even a glance. In their minds he didn’t even exist - he was so remote that he was a figment of someone else’s imagination. I stopped and handed the man a bill and invited him to join me for a coffee around the corner. The man got to his feet and shook my hand and said “Thank you - Thank you so much for your generosity”. “You have no idea how many people walk by and whip nickels at me and tell me to get a job and get a life”. He said that he had come to Toronto from down east to find work but when things didn’t go exactly as planned and the savings were all gone his wife took off with their daughter and things just went downhill from there.

I have been around large cities enough to have learned long ago never to trust a so-called homeless person on their word. Not unlike the general population if truth be known. In fact, all of society is burdened with con artists, cheats, felons, and the like. They walk Yonge and Dundas in ragged old clothes - they sashay Jarvis and Bay in Armani suits. Perception is the only real difference.

The statistics are disturbing. It is estimated that there are at least 200 000 homeless people in Canada—people literally without homes, people with no private spaces in which to live, people existing from day to day, 24/7, in public places. And the situation is getting worse. In Toronto, front-line workers report two to four deaths each week of homeless people. The Mayor’s Task Force on Homelessness several years ago estimated that another 80 000 people in Toronto are at risk of becoming homeless in the near future as a result of overcrowding of existing shelters, substandard housing that they will eventually have to leave, and—for others—simply not having enough money to pay the rent. In Vancouver, social workers report that the spread of HIV infection is a direct result not only of prostitution and drug abuse but of homelessness itself, an interconnected and self-perpetuating relationship. In Montreal, the suicide rate among young street people is 12 times higher than that of young people who have homes. And in Calgary, about half the city’s homeless population of 3800+ are actually employed but cannot find affordable housing. Making matters worse, not only do homeless people suffer from a poverty cycle, but they also face discrimination that hinders efforts to improve their situation. They are often stereotyped as being lazy and an unnecessary burden on society, as actually preferring life on the street to any other option, or—perhaps the cruelest misconception—as somehow being people who “deserve” to be homeless.

There is a growing, troubled awareness that in this country, consistently rated by the United Nations as one of the best countries in the world in which to live, there is a conspicuous discrepancy: poor people without homes. For many of us, having more than one television, more than one telephone, more than one car is not unusual. We probably don’t consider ourselves “wealthy” and yet, in terms of the most basic need - a home - 200 000+ Canadians have no wealth at all. Nothing!

Volunteers continue to serve in soup kitchens and participate in many other outreach programs for the homeless. However, in a political climate of rationalization and downsizing of social services, governments disagree as to who is responsible for the homeless, raising the fundamental question of the role of the state as opposed to the role of private and corporate citizens in fulfilling our social responsibility to the poor. Municipalities argue they are short of funds for social welfare programs because provincial governments have slashed spending. Provinces argue they have no money because of cuts in transfer payments from the federal government. Meanwhile, according to a report by the Centre for Social Justice at York University in Toronto, the gap between rich and poor in this country is widening despite increased economic growth in Canada. And for the homeless, winter has descended on our mean streets.

It is easy to become desensitized to an issue like homelessness. It may seem like a hopeless or very distasteful situation to us personally, something we have difficulty dealing with emotionally. We may also feel distanced from it because it seems so far removed from our own experience. Of course, if any of us have been personally touched by homelessness, or know of someone who has become homeless, then it is much easier to understand the issues. Some observers say that one of the reasons the problem of homelessness in Canada’s major cities is not improving is because misconceptions interfere with a true understanding of the problem.

As we were leaving the coffee shop I felt that I had redefined my perception of homelessness by simply reaching out and listening. All are not the same - some are different - many stories are quite familiar and not unlike our own. Dan, my newfound coffee mate - a son, a husband, a father, a friend, and a fellow Maritimer - did not necessarily chose his destiny - unfortunate circumstances had imposed it upon him.

As I exit the little boutique on Duckworth Street there on the curb........

Breakfast was some curdled cream
Then I killed a fifth of old Jim Beam
With each frown, eyes avoiding me
The scum of all humanity
And every wrinkled nose I see
Reminds me just how much I reek
Homeless bound, I wish I weren’t...