This week it finally dawned on me that our front yard occasionally functions as a safe-er consumption site. Almost 10 years ago we bought a small church in the West End to be renovated as our home. The exterior looks basically the same and from the beginning many people assumed it was still a church and therefore a quasi-public space. There has always been a trickle of folks knocking on the door or simply sitting on the steps visiting or having a bite to eat. Sometimes I would stop and chat, at times getting into long and interesting conversations. People rarely ask if they can come in and we rarely say yes if they do, though once I had someone come in and share a vision he had which took him at least 20 minutes to tell (he travelled across hell, earth and heaven in it). Often enough I simply let people be if there sitting there.

In almost 10 years we’ve never had an issue other than a bit of garbage left here or there. Well, fine, a number of years back a large deck swing miraculously grew legs and learned to walk. Some mornings I would leave the house and a few things looked moved or out of place. Curiosity getting the better of me I eventually broke down and got some cameras around the house and would occasionally check footage. One day I watched two people from the night before enter our yard. It was the middle of the night and one of them slowly and carefully unscrewed our outdoor lighting (not breaking any) until there was a dark corner where he and his friend, well, I don’t know what they did. I suppose I could complain that he didn’t screw them back in afterwards. Over the years I would find traces of booze, drugs and sex.

Then one morning this spring it was finally warm enough to comfortably have a coffee outside before work. A young woman looking a little worse for wear came in the gate and starting talking. She asked if she could come inside. I said I needed to go to work soon but she could have a seat out here if she wanted. She sat and we talked a little. She said she had to get out of her apartment block. She asked for water. She asked my name. Then she sort of turned away from me. I went back to my reading (Klaus Theweleit’s 1970s and still relevant book on fascist male psychology). After a few minutes I looked up and realized that she appeared to be preparing a needle for injection. This was a first for me in the yard and it felt a little weird but I let her finish. She carefully cleaned up after herself. We wished each other and well and parted ways.

My front yard, it seems, is a bit of an odd space. I still keep the inside of our house fairly restricted though we are open to strangers. Being a former church people seem a little more comfortable just walking in the gate. The simple fence seems to mark it off as not being fully vulnerable to ‘the street’. I have never had to call the police. In fact, when dealing with some people in distress they have actively asked me NOT to call the police. I know other stories and experiences can be different. I’ve been a part of scenarios where de-escalation with physical intervention seems needed (note, I did not say police intervention).

We are failing as a city and we are willing to pin our failure on the struggles of those unnecessarily suffering (discarding them as already dead, zombies as one city councillor recently called without their houses to do drugs). The last I checked the life expectancy of those living close to downtown is nearly 20 years lower than the rest of the city and God knows some of us are skewing this number with life expectancy plummeting even lower when adjusted for income and housing.

The eternal question, what is to be done? There is sound research, policies and laws that could make a massive difference in people’s lives but to be honest I can’t imagine we will move the needle on any of this until we accept, understand and embrace an understanding of peace and wellbeing that is tied up in the peace and wellbeing of everyone. There is no political will in the face of the demands for personal profit and security that holds out poverty as a fear and threat that keep us from making substantial changes.

I try not to be heavy handed in talking with my 13 yo about these things but he is perceptive enough. One day he talked about the danger there was in other neighbourhoods. I thought maybe he had rose-coloured glasses about the realities of our neighbourhood but I eventually realized what he was talking about. He knew that it was okay for people land up in our yard, take a load off for a bit and carry on but he also realized what would happen if people with few other options landed up on the lawns and front steps of nearly any other neighbourhood in the city. He understood such a person would likely not be safe there. Our entire public discourse as a city is centred around the ‘safety’ of those who are already the safest. We fear and ridicule those who suffer most. Though I didn’t plan it I’m proud of my little plot that might on occasion be a safer-er space for someone else. May we nurture and fight for such places in our hearts and in our city.