Boom town poor live in campsite tents

Thirty-five families or single people, many of whom are employed, are living in tents, tent trailers, campers and motor homes in Rotary and Centennial Parks. The reasons are lack of available, affordable rental units, minimum wage jobs, hotel costs, and no money for a deposit and first month’s rent if they qualify for an emergency unit.

Perhaps because of poverty, the housing shortage was first identified in the Aboriginal community but they do not hold a monopoly on campsite living.

A public meeting, attended by about 150, was spearheaded by seven concerned Aboriginal women who hear daily from parents who do not have homes. Some were asking social services to take their children so they wouldn’t have to live outside without food.

The humiliation people felt in the public meeting was evident in the anguish of choked voices as they told stories through tears. Others angrily demanded an end to increasing rent, discrimination, lack of affordable, accessible housing and racism.

Christine Reid asked if creation of a crisis was required to become eligible for help: “What is the criteria? Do I have to be beaten? Starving? Have four kids? What do I have to do?”

A Fort McMurray resident, Debra Pruden, offered to take in a family living in the campground but was afraid she and her family would then be evicted from their home.

“When a woman begs to be allowed to take in homeless kids, we have a problem,” another local person, Dwayne Huppie, said.

Margaret Ashick asked: “What rules and regulations did Christopher Columbus have when he came? Do we knock on doors and start turfing people out? We have a multi-million dollar operation here and people are living on the street.”

That meeting identified the concerns of homeless individuals and families. Fears were voiced about living outside in the snow. Participants were advised by officials how the system worked. This seemed to bring little comfort to those for whom the system doesn’t work.

Some suggested discrimination for Aboriginal people was economic discrimination: as rents increase, people with money will always displace those without it.

A woman calling herself as Mary tells another view. Mary is a quiet, well-spoken, gentle woman. She has full-time work, earning over $15 per hour. Mary, a mother with three children, has had three experiences in six months of being rejected by landlords. On the phone she heard: “Yes, it’s available, you’ll have to fill in the application form. The first person with the damage deposit and first month’s rent has it.” She would appear with money in hand only to be told others were coming to see the place.

Unable to find a place Mary will be leaving Fort McMurray. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t get a place because of the color of my skin. I feel angry. My money is as good as anyone else’s.”

In August 1997 seven campsites had the look of permanency. Belongings stacked under bright blue tarps, people in coats stood beside open fires. With cold rainy weather this number dwindled to three sites.

James Taylor arrived with his fifth wheel unit and hopes of securing a job. “I worked here as a process operator in 1967.” Media coverage of Syncrude’s and Suncor’s success and expansion plus regular announcements by government and business portraying Fort McMurray as a leader in job creation and economic improvement, brought him back.

If he finds work, he says he can live in his fifth wheel while building a house. It has insulated tanks and he has a compressor unit for power to run the furnace. However he worries about theft or vandalism of his unit while he is job-hunting.

Across the same campground in the trees, is Ginette, 37, who prefers to use only her first name. Ginette, limping across the floor of her dirt-home, extends a grimy hand. She has been in the campground for three weeks since her eviction from a rented trailer in Reidel Trailer Court. Ginette and her husband, employed full-time at $6 per hour, had the rent raised to $2,000 per month. Unable to pay, they were evicted. The trailer was subsequently demolished.

Unable to qualify for emergency housing because they couldn’t pay $310 for damage to a previously rented unit, Ginette and her husband had been living in a small tent. Recently a fellow camper donated a larger tent and tarps. Ginette and her husband have since been joined by another woman who uses their small tent. She lost her rented place after a jealous boyfriend misinterpreted Ginette’s husband’s presence in her shower.

The three share a make-shift compound. A picnic table with a tablecloth, a cooler, and a rough shelf for dry goods are partially surrounded by tarps and blankets which buffet the wind. Ginette’s crutches lean against a tree. She invites the reporter to stand inside their home at the campfire, their only source for heat and cooking. Ginette apologizes in her French accent: “I’m sorry for my dirty hands, I don’t have any water right now. This isn’t me, but this is my home. This is my kitchen, that my bedroom, but I won’t show you. Please leave me some privacy." “I clean the campground so we don’t have to pay to stay here.” The longing is visible on her face: “Tonight Doreen is coming to take us to her place for a hot shower and a warm evening of TV before we come back here to sleep.”

Ginette, 37