As a new cold wave hits Montreal, the risk of homeless people losing their lives spending the night outside is severe. On Tuesday evening, a public consultation was organized on homelessness and the question of social cohabitation. Outside, the only question was how to survive. A report from the Converse School.
7:00 p.m. The session “Homelessness and Social Cohabitation”, organized by the Office de consultation publique de Montréal (OCPM), began at the Saint-Pierre Centre. The objective of the consultation is to gather the opinion of the population on an issue that is getting a lot of attention: homelessness.
Indeed, the metropolis concentrated 47% of the homeless people identified in 2022 in Quebec, or 4,690 people. A figure that is largely underestimated, according to several community organizations, and that does not account for hidden homelessness — which refers to the situation of people hosted by friends or who sleep in their car.
On the platform, six people are presenting this information session, the first in a public consultation process that will last until February 28. They were three commissioners of the OCPM, two representatives of the Department of Diversity and Social Inclusion (SDIS) of the City of Montreal and an advisor from the Service de police de la Ville de Montréal (SPVM).
At the back of the room, the latecomers served themselves a cup of coffee, kindly offered to the public. While outside, homeless people accumulate layers of clothing to mitigate the bite of the cold, in the Saint-Pierre Centre people took off their coat as soon as they entered the door because it was so hot.
Questions from citizens that remain unanswered
“Resources dedicated to people experiencing homelessness are really critical to reducing homelessness, but also to meeting the basic needs of vulnerable people and promoting their inclusion. Perhaps most people agree that the services are necessary, but it is often the location of these services that is difficult to agree on,” says Nicolas Pagot, division manager of the Department of Diversity and Social Inclusion (SDIS) at the City of Montreal.
Cases of neighbourhood mobilization when announcing housing projects for people experiencing homelessness, for example, are in fact commonplace. However, the City assures that it wants to “implement resources in the 19 boroughs” so that they are no longer concentrated in the city centre.
The benches reserved for the public were sparse: 15 citizens responded to the invitation, while 50 people are following the online exchanges. Some spoke to representatives. “You said you wanted resources in all boroughs, but also that it was difficult to reach consensus, so can you give us an idea of when you hope to reach this goal? ” a citizen asks at the microphone.
The answers are not always there... In this case, as on several occasions, the representatives of the City avoid answering the question. “And that's all? Do you have no answer to give? ”, says the president of the consultation, Ariane Émond. While laughter ran through the meeting, city representatives promised a written response later.
Among the audience, we find Héloïse Koltuk, an employee at Entremise, a Montreal company that creates living spaces in vacant buildings. “Every day I see people sleeping at my door, outside in the cold, while I manage an enormous heated and empty building,” explains the young professional. Koltuk takes care of a building close to the Berri-UQAM station, very close to the Montreal Bus Station and the BAnQ, which she describes as “the showcase of homelessness in Montreal.”
She questions the validity of regulations and safety standards that prevent vacant buildings — numerous in Montreal — from being used to accommodate people experiencing homelessness, especially during episodes of extreme cold. She came to the consultation looking for answers to her questions: “I understand that there are standards in general, but in this specific case, I don't understand how it would be more dangerous for homeless people to sleep in heated buildings, even if they are not up to standards, than to sleep outside and risk freezing to death.”
Again, Nicolas Pagot sidesteps the question: he simply recalls that “identifying a space for a resource includes a lot of criteria”, in particular “in terms of fire safety”.
Outside, very close to this warm room where people discuss the fact that their presence should be socially acceptable, those first concerned do not have the luxury of escaping the cold. Their only concern that evening, which they know will be particularly freezing, is to survive.
9:00 p.m. — A warm night, a daily mission
Only a few meters from the splendour of the Montreal Courthouse, a completely different world unfolds in the shadows, firmly gripped by the snowy ground. Here, no marble or gilding, but camp bags and difficult existences. A dignity worn over the shoulder under the frost.
It is 9 p.m. and in the darkness of a building door, under the clouds of smoke from their cigarettes, John and Denis are getting ready to spend a long night outside. Maybe the coldest of the year.
The minutes go by slowly, as they evoke the roofs that could shelter them tonight. Whatever, an ATM lobby, the entrance to a closed business, anywhere where the cold would be a little less severe... “You are lucky, you have a bed for tonight”, Denis tells his companion in misfortune. John was able to find a break at the reception centre tonight.
Denis, in his 60s and with a gray beard, confides: “At some point, you're so exhausted that you fell asleep, even with the lights on.” Another, younger, adds: “Outside, it's impossible to sleep for more than 10 minutes in a row. It's so cold that you wake up all the time.” When asked if they received any help or support outside their community, Denis said, “Not really. But between us, yes.”
A little further on, in front of the Clark Street shelter, a strange normality sets in. Some greet each other, exchange smiles, know each other. It's almost like a summer terrasse, but the words are echoing in the freezing air, and the hands are squeezing blankets. What little they have, they share: a cigarette, a coffee, a moment of humanity.
However, behind the glass of Café Mission, there is heat. The evening audience, numerous at the visitor centre, witnessed the victory of the Canadiens against the Lightning at the end of the game on TV. A small joy on many faces marked by weariness and a feeling of abandonment.
Behind the Mission Café, in a dark alley, we met George Hadland. Originally from New Brunswick, he has been living in Montreal for 20 years. With a sincere smile and a natural conviviality, this local resident opens the trunk of his car.
Inside, blankets, shoes, hot and cold drinks. George, who is always ready to reach out, invited us to warm up. “Do you want anything? A beer? A blanket? ” We turned down the beer, but his kindness warmed our hearts.
“It's hard to see them in this cold," he confides. "But if you can do something, no matter how small, that counts. I buy blankets, coats, stuff like that. I like doing that and going to my neighbourhood. It's important to show that you care about others.”
George doesn't give up. “I've been doing this for four or five years,” he says. "Before, it was less serious, but now there are a lot more people. Everyone deserves a roof over their heads, and that's what motivates me. I said to myself: 'Today, it's particularly cold, I have to go.' Yesterday I was busy with my wife and the kids, but today we're here. We're collecting stuff, blankets, hats, anything we can to help.”
While the Chinatown Arch celebrates the memory of its pioneers, many homeless people struggle at its feet to survive. Some will spend the night outside for lack of space in a shelter. They too hope for a thought, an open door. However, year after year, their distress grows.
9:56 p.m. — Streets deserted by -15°C weather under the Jacques-Cartier bridge
At the intersection of De Lorimier and Viger Est Avenues, under the imposing metal structure of the Jacques-Cartier Bridge, calm reigns. In the pale light of the lamp posts, the shadows stretch out over a frozen background.
A makeshift shelter is erected there, on the snow, made of plastic sheeting held in place by clumsily-arranged pieces of wood. Right next door, an image of an impossible journey, an abandoned bike, its front wheel missing, rests sadly. Around the tent, pieces of life scattered around. A powdery pink scarf hangs out in the dirty snow, in the company of worn mittens, a reminder of a recent visit.
On the ground, remains of charred wood indicate a weak attempt to repel the cold. A small flame, probably ignited with rudimentary means, must have offered a short respite to one or more people. But tonight, the shelter is empty. No breath, no voice, just the distant murmur of traffic on the bridge.
When we called to see if anyone was in the tent, no one answered. The contrast is striking. Here, under this bridge in a city full of activities, the abandonment is palpable.
Where did they go? Have they found refuge elsewhere, or are they still wandering around looking for a less inhospitable place? These questions remain unanswered, as is the cold that creeps in everywhere.
10:38 p.m. — The joy of finding a coat
As we walk towards Atwater, at the intersection of Saint-Hubert Street and Viger Avenue, the silhouette of a single man, standing at the red light, caught our attention. He calls out to us. His eyes are soft, but tired. We offer him something to eat, and his face lights up immediately. With gratitude, he speaks to us for a moment, briefly tells us about his daily life.
“If you want, go to Concordia, next to the A&W,” he said. "My friends are there. They will be very happy, because yesterday they were really hungry and could not find anything to eat.” There is an unwavering sense of kindness and solidarity.
Most of the time he's trying to find a place to sleep, but it's not always easy. Sometimes, when he falls asleep in the street, people steal from his pockets, taking with them what is most precious: often, a few coins or small objects...
But this Tuesday evening, he was relieved. “I am sleeping at someone's house, on the floor, but warm,” he said, with a shy smile. Then, as if to share a bit of joy, he proudly shows us his coat. “Look! I found it on the street. Have you seen? It's nice, isn't it? ” His eyes sparkle as he caresses the fabric, happy at the discovery.
11:01 p.m. — McDonald's at the corner of Atwater and Sainte-Catherine: 30 minutes and then get out
A stone's throw from Cabot Square, between the smell of French fries and that of cleaning products, we passed the luminous M to enter the famous fast food chain, one of the places where homeless people take refuge to find some heat. Many try to bargain for a few hours of respite inside McDonald's, but are driven out. Outside, the cold is biting, it's -15°C.
A few minutes later, an employee — whom we'll name Paul to preserve his anonymity — started his shift. First task of the evening? Expel the two homeless people sleeping in the dining room. He puts on latex gloves and gets ready to wake up the first one.
She is sitting on the bench and curled up, head between her arms, on the table. She wears a coat and sunglasses and only raises her head for a few seconds when knocks sounded on the table. Right after, she was stopped by Ethan, a homeless man who seems to know the sleeping woman. He talked to her and in turn tried to wake her up. He tugged her arm, took her pulse to make sure she's okay, and shook her to get her up to leave.
“It's very difficult. Of course, if I had the choice, I would do another job”, confides Paul. Recently arrived in Canada, he knew when he accepted this position that he would have to interact frequently with people experiencing homelessness. “But I did not expect to see that in Canada at all, it is very shocking to see so many people who use drugs in public spaces and so many people sleeping outside in this cold,” he confides.
We had been there for 20 minutes when a woman entered the building. She let out a sigh of despair when she learned that the toilet was now inaccessible, locked with a key. “It's closed at night because there was too much used injection equipment in the toilet. We reopen in the morning, but with someone who checks often,” confirms an employee.
“I don't mind if they eat or if they sit down to eat. The management gives them 30 minutes to warm up, but the agreement is that they leave afterwards to make room for the customers. Sometimes I even give them free food, but the problem is the people who arrive high and vandalize and steal,” Paul explains, pointing to a television that was damaged six months ago. Indeed, on the walls and pillars of the restaurant, we see posters signed by the management and whose message is clear: the dining room is only accessible to customers who consume for a period of 30 minutes.
More worryingly, Paul has already been attacked several times. “Last week, a man pulled out a knife; that sometimes happens. I'm not afraid, I know how to take them, but it's not easy,” he whispers before heading over to another person lying on the ground.
Hidden under her coat, she slumbers. After a few tries, she still couldn't stand up. Three police officers entered the branch and went to the counter, but they were stopped by the employee, who asked for their help. They are also unable to get this person to stand up, who eventually left the restaurant in an ambulance.
SPVM agents are used to this type of scene in the city centre. “Sometimes, some people sleep in alleys or buses, and we wake them up because we wonder if they are still alive,” says one of them.
“In winter, that's pretty much our job: looking for homeless people to make sure they're not in danger and trying to find them a place to go. When you find someone, you call the shelters to find out if there is space. If yes, we accompany them, but sometimes the shelters are full, and there is nothing else we can do,” the police officer said. Situations that do not leave him indifferent and in respect of which he has learned to develop a certain form of “resilience” in order to continue his mission of “protecting the most vulnerable”.
11:34 p.m. — Rejected, they wander in the cold in search of a new refuge
Across Atwater Avenue, the rules are the same at A&W. Reception is not much easier: homeless people cannot stay there for more than a few minutes. The atmosphere is getting heavier, time is running out: you have to find a place to rest.
“I feel like I haven't slept in years,” the woman who found the bathroom closed at McDonald's told us over and over again. She was worried that winters will become more and more freezing.
When she has no choice, she takes refuge in the hospital. However, she strives to avoid it because it is impossible to smoke, among other things.
While she confides her concerns to us, Ethan, a man with an exhausted look, ends up leaving the restaurant, expelled by police officers and an employee. Cigarette on his lips, he wentaway with a friend, in search of the next place of respite. Several locations and shelters are full, they list how few choices they have left.
As they finished their cigarettes, they were told about a warm-up centre on Stanley Street, about a 20-minute walk away. Ethan and his friend admited to us, with a touch of surprise, that they did not know about its existence. The police never tell them where these shelters are, forcing them to walk randomly in the cold.
However, this heating centre has a major drawback: they cannot sleep there. The place only offers a temporary break. Ethan and his friend leave, set off for the warming centre, their figures gradually blending into the darkness.
Sophia, with two hats screwed on her head and her eyes full of gentleness, listened to the whole conversation. Silent until then, she spoke... She has been in Montreal for almost a year. She is originally from Kangiqsujuaq, a small village in Nunavik. Located near Hudson Strait and Baffin Island, it has barely 840 people who share their daily lives there.
Due to the housing crisis, her family had to move to Nova Scotia. She does have a few cousins in the city, but a void persists. The absence of her loved ones and her former life is felt.
“It's really cold,” she exclaims, her teeth clenched and her lips twitching. She glances at her phone, waiting to hear from her cousin.
“God gave me this life,” she whispers. Despite her difficulties, she does everything she can to help others, especially young Inuit women living on the streets of Montreal. “It's easy to end up in bad circles,” says Sophia. She often reads the judgment in the eyes of passers-by, a look that weighs heavily. She therefore tries as much as possible to create a space where these young women are supported and valued.
Before continuing on her way, she reassured us all the same: she has a place to sleep.
One street away is the urban space of Cabot Square. A tent named in honour of Raphaël Napa André was once erected there. The Innu man died in January 2021 on the streets of Montreal. On a freezing night, he was forced to leave a shelter due to COVID-19 restrictions.
The homeless population of Cabot Square and the surrounding area frequented this place, where several services were offered to them. Hot drinks, seats to keep warm, blankets and coats to stay warm, and food and feminine hygiene products were provided to anyone who needed them.
But two years ago, the city stopped putting up the tent. Instead, a skating rink was installed. Luxury condos and apartments replaced the gas station, and the old Montreal Children's Hospital was relocated. The Atwater subway adds to this weight, as its doors are now closed and barred, impossible to escape the cold in.
No deaths to be deplored that evening... but tomorrow?
No one died or was taken to the emergency room for frostbite that night.
Success on the streets of Montreal is therefore measured less by what has been achieved than by what has been avoided. As Tuesday night gave way to Wednesday, and an Arctic cold settled on the 5,000+ homeless in the city, death was prowling around every corner.
If nothing is done, the cold envelops the vital organs. It slows the heart, fills the lungs with fluid, and numbs the part of the brain that regulates body temperature.
At daybreak, in front of Résilience Montréal, escaping this destiny seems less like a victory than a reprieve. This is what David Chapman, manager of the downtown shelter, told La Converse early Wednesday morning.
“Sometimes it feels like you're playing with their lives and not losing,” he says. "But there are still many cold nights ahead, and it is almost certain that we will lose more people before spring arrives.”
While luck has allowed many homeless people to survive, there has also been a good deal of preparation on the part of Montreal's emergency services. The patrollers “checked and rechecked” every corner of their sector, according to police spokesman Jean-Pierre Brabant.
“We are making rounds in the camps and alleys, everyone is mobilized,” Mr. Brabant explains to us. "During a night like this, if someone needs to be transported or if they are in distress, our mission is to help them.”
Likewise, paramedics in the city paid attention to anyone who was at risk of frostbite.
“Our first responders are all fully aware of the danger that reigns outside at the moment,” adds a spokesperson for Urgences-Santé.
Mr. Chapman has been watching these street corners for about a decade. In its beginnings, this shelter located west of downtown welcomed 100 to 150 people. Today, there are more than 300.
Before the pandemic, a few commemorative ceremonies were organized every year in memory of people who died on the streets. The shelter then hung their photo on a wall and organized a funeral service.
But over the past five years, the situation has deteriorated so much that deaths are now commemorated in collective ceremonies. Last summer, the shelter honored the memory of 37 people during an afternoon in Cabot Square. They died within 18 months.
“We used to lose three or four people a year,” Chapman explains. "It was hard, but we didn't know at the time how much worse it was going to get. Today, there may be three deaths in one month.”
With the meteoric increase in housing prices in Montreal since 2020, streets and shelters are overflowing. And with the recent recommendation from the Administrative Housing Tribunal (TAL) to increase rents by 6% this year, it seems that the streets will become even more congested.
“Nobody wants to walk across town only to be refused entry to a shelter because it's full,” notes Mr. Chapman. "Currently, in some places, you have a one in two chance of being refused. You can't continue to rely on chance like this without paying the price.”