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In Montreal-East, homelessness is on the rise, now affecting neighbourhoods that were previously relatively spared. While needs are increasing at an alarming rate, emergency resources remain largely inadequate. The few shelters and community organizations in the sector are facing increasing pressure. How can they respond to a crisis that is beyond their capacity? La Converse went to meet actors in the field, visiting the only shelter in eastern Montreal and talking with stakeholders who work between Hochelaga and Pointe-aux-Trembles. Report.
Wednesday January 29. It is 9 am and we are not far from Viau station. In front of the doors of the CAP Saint-Barnabé refuge, the sun shines high in the sky, but the deceptive light does not warm anything.
A dozen figures stood outside, near the entrance, each with a cigarette in hand. Their actions were quick, almost frenzied, as if smoking were a race against frost. Among them was Jeff, a Haitian who grew up in the United States and came to Quebec alone about 10 years ago. Wrapped up in a thick coat and wearing winter boots, the man smiled. “I only arrived here in September,” he said. Incarcerated following an altercation with his former roommates, the man lost his home and his job. “I lived nearby,” he continued. "But now, I hope to quickly find a job and then a place to live. I'm not going to stay here long,” he said.
Around him, some are not as well protected against winter. Running shoes with holes in them, sandals without socks, jackets that are too thin. The cold makes no exception to anyone, it seeps under worn clothes. After a few more minutes, they returned to the warmth of the centre again.
Hochelaga: the only refuge in the east
Michelle Patenaude, executive director of the shelter, welcomed us inside. Everyone there seemed to enjoy it. The centre, located in a former arena, offers an impressive space: there are more than 192 cubicles lined up, all numbered, each equipped with a bed and a table. “They are army beds,” she explained with a laugh, as if to alleviate the situation.
Before ending up at the head of the organization, Michelle was the organization's clinical coordinator. She witnessed the growth of the place, especially during the pandemic. “We are the only refuge in the east and we grew quickly. At the time, CAP Saint-Barnabé was just a food safety organization. We did repairs, we had a small solidarity grocery store. People came to eat and it was a lot of people from the neighborhood, not necessarily people who were homeless, but also people who were at risk of being homeless,” she says.
Then the pandemic changed everything. “It exploded. Before, there were a lot of couchsurfing, that is to say hidden homelessness. People slept temporarily with friends, or even in the small rooms on de Maisonneuve. But when the apartments where they were hanging out were closed and plastered, they were left with no solution.”
Added to this was the opioid crisis, renovations, the closure of seniors' residences and the transformation of CHSLDs into seniors' homes, explains the director of the shelter. “All this has made homelessness much more visible.”
Initially, the shelter had only 15 places — 7 for women and 8 for men — and was open from Monday to Friday. The director still remembers the nonsense of this situation, “as if the homelessness goes away on the weekend,” she said sarcastically.
Today, the reception capacity has exploded: a total of 350 places are offered, divided between the three sites of the refuge. In addition to the 192 beds on this first site, 50 beds are offered on the second site, rue Benette, with an overnight stop in winter and 90 places on De Chambly Street. “We have just added beds for 30 people, which brings us to 380 places at the moment,” she continued. At the back of the arena, several red lawn chairs have been added for those who do not have a bed.
But despite this growth, the lack of places remains a daily emergency. “Yesterday, we had to refuse 52 people. We were full. These people did not have access to a bed, or even a stop,” said Michelle Patenaude.
“Chronic homelessness”
Mr. Eduard* walked past us pushing a stroller where his “baby”, the dog Princesse, his faithful companion for 14 years, slept. With his Trilby hat, warm coat, fleece jacket zipped up to his chin and huge ring finger ring, this man in his sixties seems to be doing well. However, we quickly understood that his life is not easy.
Arriving in Canada in 1996, this Romanian who claims to be stateless filed an application for political asylum, which was allegedly refused in 1998. Since then, he has lived without status, which places him in a very precarious economic situation. “I have been here for 30 years without working legally,” he said. For 17 years, he lived with two of his grown children in a 4 and a half in Villeray. Then, in the space of a few months, everything collapsed: health problems, several heart attacks, a long hospital stay and a family break up... Result? This man lost his home and has been living in the shelter since 2020.
How does he survive? “Thank God,” replies the one who has lost everything except faith. The man copes and considers the shelter to be a home away from home.
To get to Michelle's office, you have to leave the shelter and go to the front of the building. The office is bright and quiet, two parrots perched at the entrance punctuate our conversation. For the past few years, Eduard has not been the only one staying at the shelter. “There are people who have been here since the Notre Dame Street camp was dismantled in 2020. It's their house. It's their home.” She insists on these last words.
The increase in emergency shelters during the pandemic has led to an increase in chronic homelessness, explains Michelle. “We opened a lot of shelters without asking ourselves how to help people regain long-term stability. As a result, many got stuck in these services with no real way out.”
Some organizations then tried to transform these places into temporary accommodations by adding programs to help people regain some stability more quickly. Michelle explains that the mission of CAP Saint-Barnabé, however, is primarily to respond to emergencies, which complicates the implementation of such programs. “I really manage the emergency of the emergency. It is becoming difficult to go further in offering services at this time. And people end up going into chronic homelessness.”
She added: “And that's understandable. Imagine: you have no family, no friends, no children; you find yourself in a shelter where, even if you don't talk to anyone, there are people around you. It's reassuring.”
Reassuring to the point that some, once in a home, are ready to leave their comfort to find some human warmth, she explained. “Some time ago, we put a person in a home. Unfortunately, the accommodation was at Papineau metro station. The man came to ask us if we had a place to stay in Hochelaga, he insisted and was ready to leave his apartment, even if it meant going back to the shelter. Simply because his friends, his network, everything was here.”
To meet this need, the shelter is looking to acquire two buildings in the neighbourhood. “One of them has 20 units. We're going to take it, we're going to take care of it. It's essential to stay here, where people want to be.”
But the housing crisis is complicating matters. “With the expected rise in rents of 5.9%, people who are already vulnerable are at even greater risk. I have couples who cannot find housing because, as soon as they find an apartment, their social benefits are reduced and they can no longer survive financially,” she says.
And the situation is not improving. This summer, the Chambly site, which hosts 90 people, will have to close. The building was purchased, forcing the shelter to leave the premises.
“Funding is always a concern. And in 2026, what will happen? The crisis is not going to go away by a miracle,” said Michelle, in a bitter tone.
“We are talking about directing homeless people to the various resources in Montreal. But these are not ready and, above all, people don't want to be uprooted. A place to live cannot be imposed on them. Like everyone else, they want to choose where they live. They already have so few choices...” she said.
Pointe-aux-Trembles: a desert of resources
14 km from the CAP Saint-Barnabé refuge, we met Michel Dorais, a homeless worker from the organization Prévention Pointe-de-l'Île (PPDI), in his office. Dressed in an electric blue shirt, this big man with a benevolent look is the only one who deals with homelessness in this sector.
Since January 20, 2025, he has been managing a small heat stop, an anonymous space for the few homeless people he knows. Inside, five people find a break once or twice a week, but only for a few hours. These people have nowhere to go. The nearest refuge, CAP Saint-Barnabé, is several hours away on foot.
Before the pandemic, homelessness was an invisible reality in the neighbourhood, he says. “People often met with several people in the same apartment.” But like the rest of Montreal, the Pointe-aux-Trembles neighbourhood was not spared by the crisis.
However, it was not until 2023 that funding was released for a position as a homeless counsellor in Pointe-aux-Trembles.
Michel's phone rang. A man was calling him. After a short conversation, he came back to us. “It's David*, a homeless person. He is in the parking lot of the Tercentenary galleries. He called me to tell me that he is hungry, that he has not eaten anything since yesterday. I'm going to get him a McDonald's.” Michel then put on another of his many hats.
“Since I am the only person involved in homelessness, I cannot simply refer them to other services. Besides, there is nothing here: no food, no place to sleep or to warm up. If I refer them elsewhere, the organizations tell them to move. But they're not going to go, they're not going to take multiple buses and a subway to get there.”
Michel compensates for these lacks himself: he brings resources directly to those who ask for him. Or he sometimes takes them to the city centre so that they can finally get help. “Without support, they can't get there,” he sighed.
Stay or leave: when resources are insufficient
To date, Pointe-aux-Trembles has about 10 visible homeless people, reports the intervener. And so many people in a precarious situation, close to ending up on the street. But unlike the city centre, there is no service dedicated to them here. “So, they leave, come back, and then often end up leaving the area,” Michel continued. "If we only see a dozen homeless people here, it's not because there are 'only 10'; some prefer to leave downtown because they want a certain dignity. Others, on the other hand, categorically refuse to leave the neighbourhood.”
“These people,” he continued, “spend the night in bank ATMs for lack of anything better.” Help services are too far away.
With these words, we left his office to meet David*, who was waiting for Michel in the shopping centre parking lot.
“I won't leave. I am from here.”
On site, we saw an empty camping chair. Michel knew where to look. Without hesitation, he went to a nearby convenience store. A few minutes later, he came out accompanied by a man wrapped up in a ski suit. Cap and hood on his head, he had long blond hair, a full beard and piercing blue eyes. The man in his fifties is a former construction worker.
To survive, he adopted a two-pronged approach. “At night, I sleep at the foot of a warm building; and during the day, I come here. I don't ask for money, but sometimes they give me a few coins to eat,” he summarized.
Very briefly, he talks about what led him to homelessness: a family conflict, but above all, according to him, the government. “I hate the government,” he said. "I have always worked. Now I am being given a miserable welfare grant. If I want to retire, I have to wait another 11 years. And as I am in this situation, my pension will also decrease,” he says bitterly.
Despite the hardness of his condition and the lack of help in the neighbourhood, his answer is unquestionable when asked if he would prefer to go downtown: “No, I will not leave Pointe-aux-Trembles. I am from here, I grew up here.”
It is for people like David that Michel would like to see more services in the neighbourhood. A project is under way, he said. “It should take about two years,” he continued, before people experiencing homelessness in Pointe-aux-Trembles finally have a place to sleep, eat and wash.
In Mercier-Est, abandoned seniors
In the Mercier-Est district, in the east of Montreal, is the Le Pas de la Rue day centre. For more than 20 years, this organization has welcomed, supported and accompanied people aged 55 and over who are homeless.
Every day, more than 250 hot meals are served by Le Pas de la Rue, divided between the two day centres, one in Mercier and the other in the Center-Sud district. But beyond food, it is a presence, a listening ear and support that are offered to these seniors who are often left behind.
Among the organization's familiar figures is Dany Ayotte Kelly, a community worker. “Homelessness in Montreal East is less visible than elsewhere, but it is very real. There is a lot of hidden homelessness: people sleeping in their cars or going from couch to couch with acquaintances. They are invisible, but they exist and they need help,” he insists.
In neighbourhoods like Tétreaultville and Mercier-Est, couchsurfing at 55 or 60 is commonplace, he reports. These people, who no longer have a fixed address, go from one place to another until the street becomes their only option. And once they're out, it's hard to turn back the clock.
A fragile social safety net
Every morning, Dany puts on his boots and walks the streets of Mercier. He goes through the Joliette metro station, goes to Honoré-Beaugrand station and sometimes pushes to Anjou, to meet those who have nothing left. “I go to them, where they are: in metro stations, in front of shops, in improvised camps. The idea is to establish a relationship of trust and to direct them to the appropriate resources,” he explained.
But the biggest challenge is not finding shelter or hot soup. “Many of these seniors have lost faith in society. They have experienced numerous breakups, abandonments, and humiliations. Our job is also to repair these broken relationships, to restore some trust in them. One step at a time, one person at a time.”
“They face a lot of family loneliness. Sometimes we are their only network. At the moment, we are supporting an elder at the end of life, without a family, whose only support is that of the workers he has met over the years. Seeing him leave alone is overwhelming. But we are there, until the end,” said Dany, obviously very moved.
During the summer of 2024, a new wave of homelessness broke out among seniors. The housing crisis was a real catalyst: people who were already in a precarious situation saw their last line fall. “Living in rooming houses often means living in permanent instability. The conditions are difficult and basic needs are not being met. Every day we receive more and more requests for help”, underlined Dany.
A cruel lack of resources
For Dany, it is the same observation: the east of Montreal is particularly poorly served. Few shelters, an insufficient number of day centres, a shortage of food banks. Refusals from CAP Saint-Barnabé are commonplace due to the lack of places. “No matter how many hotspots are there, everything is always full. When I have to say to someone, 'I have nowhere to take you,' I know that I am reinforcing their idea that no one will come to help them. It's terrible.”
In 2021, Le PAS de la rue helped around twenty people a day. In 2024, this figure jumped to 50, sometimes to 65. The deterioration of the living conditions of vulnerable seniors is dramatic. “We are seeing people who had never experienced homelessness before. People who had a home, a stable life, and who, because of rising rents and a series of bad luck, find themselves on the streets. When everything collapses — employment, housing, health — there's not much left,” lamented Dany.
Despite everything, the speaker remains motivated by the human link. “The beauty of this work is to be there for them. These are people who no longer believe in human contact, in the hope of an outstretched hand. But by showing them that we are not judging them, that we are not going to betray them, we sometimes succeed in breaking this shell.”
While actors on the ground are redoubling their efforts to support the most vulnerable, one question remains: how long will they be able to last without greater commitment from the authorities, while homelessness in East Montreal continues to increase?
At the time of writing, neither the City of Montreal nor the provincial government had answered our questions.
With the participation of Yseult Picard.