It’s about understanding the story of all those who are involved in homelessness. “But it’s also a desire to change the way we see things, to adopt a bottom-up or grassroot approach. As a consequence, he adds, many people, whose experiences and needs are not understood, “end up on the street, where they are shouted at by residents or the police, simply because they have fallen through the cracks.” He stresses that no individual person is to blame, but rather a system and set of policies. And everyone working in homelessness needs to be objective, follow the rules and work in silos,” he says. “The way the system works, everything needs to be compartmentalized. His experience in the field led him to become disillusioned with the system and motivated to come up with his own solution. Eventually, with the support of his father and a dedicated social worker, he managed to quit his addiction and pursue an education and career in social work. Finally, armed with a backpack and $20, he ran away to Montreal, where he spent years in the street. The relationship with his parents suffered as a result. Lebire grew up in a middle-class family in a house in the suburbs, but in his teens, a sudden move to a different neighborhood left him vulnerable to a drug addiction. This marked the beginning of a long-lasting friendship with Jonathan Lebire, director of the new collective Comm-un, which opened in 2022 and aims to support the unhoused population of Milton Park.Ĭomm-un is, in many ways, a culmination and consequence of Lebire’s own experiences.

Unhoused people in the area are routinely ignored or harassed and, as years go by without any marked improvement in the situation, they have to deal with increasing discontent from local residents and business owners.įor Savard, her life changed when one night, a couple of years ago, a social worker approached her on the street instead of a quick check-in before moving on, he sat next to her and shared a drink. And, in a city that is already struggling to meet the needs of its unhoused citizens, the comparatively small neighbourhood of Milton Park, nestled between downtown Montreal and the Mount Royal Park, and is a favored spot by Indigenous and Metis people, seems to be facing the brunt of it. That number does not reflect the pandemic, which put a strain on already scarce human and financial resources the housing crisis, rising inequality and inflation, which continue to make things worse. She is one of the 3,000 unhoused people living in Montreal, according to a 2018 survey (a census is currently being conducted by the City to provide more updated numbers). Conversations range from her personal life story, updates about her adult children, local gossip, and the challenges of being unhoused. She welcomes visitors with a big smile, many of whom she knows by name, and more often than not, it’s followed by an invitation to join her in the backyard for a smoke. Savard is a regular fixture at the Collective, where she spends her days. “Before I was no one, now I feel like someone,” says Savard about her relationship with Montreal’s Comm-un Collective, a meeting place and a lifeline for many of the city’s unhoused community. After seven years, she says she got used to feeling invisible. Years of addiction have led her to a life on Montreal’s streets. Chantal Savard, who is Mi’kmaq, feels the weight of generational and personal trauma.

Deeper chantal danielle