Monday, 11 July 2016

Why Aren`t I Feeling The Love?

I am so sick of hearing, reading, writing, thinking and talking about the high cost of housing and homelessness in Vancouver.  And really, Gentle Reader, why should I worry about it?  I`m okay.  I live in Social Housing.  For the rest of my life I will likely be paying thirty percent or less of my monthly income on rent.  It isn`t ideal.  I could well be spending up to three decades or longer in this tiny bachelor unit in a relatively unsafe part of downtown Vancouver.  I also know how scary it is out there.  If anything should happen to jeopardize or deprive me of my housing I would be in the deepest possible doo-doo.  So, being short on alternatives as I am, I will never be able to survive in this fabulously overpriced city in market housing of any variety.  And this is every bit as likely as it is that my wages are going to remain frozen at twelve glorious dollars an hour until the minimum wage rises above that sum.

I am not suffering.  Even with rising food costs I am still able to live within the budget I created for myself ten years ago.  I simply no longer eat out.  I am also not as generous with charitable giving as I used to be.  I used to be a regular donor to the food bank.  Now, hardly ever.  Likewise with street beggars.  I used to give frequently and generously, especially for someone earning only a little above minimum wage.  But then I became suspicious that a lot of the money I was giving was being spent on drugs, alcohol, gambling and cigarettes, or at least keeping their sorry asses alive while they waited for their next welfare check to blow on another batch of self-destructive fun.  I still give sometimes, if only to protect my soul from shrinking incurably.  I have a bank account, savings and the capacity to travel every year, cheaply mind you, and always in Latin America (so far, Costa Rica, Mexico, Colombia, then back to Costa Rica next year.

I am not complaining.  I am still doing a lot better than many other people.  I can still live in this beautiful city.  I have also been blessed with a capacity for enjoying life, even if it's just a short walk to buy a jug of milk, or listening to a cd of Baroque music while working on my art, or having coffee with a good friend, or practicing Spanish on Skype with a friend in Venezuela or Honduras.

I have survival guilt.  Severe survival guilt, given my own personal experience of being homeless.  If anyone has an obligation to speak out about homelessness and housing unaffordability it should be me.  And outside of writing this blog and annoying politicians I am not really doing a hell of a lot these days.  One very good friend of mine, whom I will not name out of respect for his privacy (and I do like to keep my friends!) is currently occupying with several others in his collective an apartment building slated for demolition, a protest against the destruction of low cost housing and the displacement and driving out onto the street of the many low-income renters who make up our body politick. 

I just received today from my Member of Parliament, the Hon. Hedy Fry an email detailing some funding, changes and reforms that the federal government are going to push through.  Here it is:

Just one little note to conclude, Gentle Reader: Equity, Schmequity.  Housing is not an investment, it is having a place to live.  When a few greedy homeowners are allowed to hold the rest of us hostage because they want to make their cool million off their equity we will know that things have already tilted too far.  Whoops!  Too late!
Um...Hedy?

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