Urban Inuit fear closure of Montreal homeless shelter

Tommy Pitseolak Kingwatsiak, 30, of Cape Dorset, is a regular at the Open Door shelter in Montreal. He goes most days to the day centre to work on his carvings, which he sells for extra income. (PHOTO BY COURTNEY EDGAR)

SPECIAL TO NUNATSIAQ NEWS

MONTREAL—Some come for the food, and others come for the pews to sleep on after a rough night on the streets.

Tommy Pitseolak Kingwatsiak, 30, of Cape Dorset comes for the quiet and the community.

Kingwatsiak often carves animals in soapstone in the back of Open Door, Montreal’s day shelter, which has been in operation for more than 30 years in St. Stephen’s Church.

On a productive day, Kingwatsiak can complete two polar bear figures which he later sells to art galleries in the Old Port. It’s how he makes a living, he said.

The shelter provides him with the tools, space and encouragement he needs to create. Without it, he and many others, who are without a home or struggling with poverty, addictions or mental health, don’t know where they would go.

The majority of the patrons at Open Door are Indigenous—and about 40 per cent are Inuit.

Although the shelter has been located for decades in the same location, it was sold a few months ago. Two weeks ago, the Open Door received notice that it would have to vacate the premises by the end of July.

Since then, David Chapman, the acting director of the Open Door, searched for a new spot where the most vulnerable in the city can spend the day, eat hot meals and benefit from the social services which he and his team of staff and volunteers provide from 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., Monday to Friday.

The shelter is one of a kind in Montreal because they don’t turn anyone away, Chapman said.

“We allow anyone in,” he said. “If you’re intoxicated or very drunk, or if you’re coming off crack, we will let you in, and that’s rare. There’s a certain risk with that. Sometimes people come in screaming and we don’t throw them out the door. But sometimes people have reason to scream.”

In cases like that, other Open Door clients have to just sit and listen.

“It is very intentional,” Chapman said. “We sit with them through hell.”

Chapman said this is proving to be an obstacle when it comes to looking for a new location.

“People will say they care about the homeless,” Chapman said. “But when it comes right down to it, it’s ‘but not in my back yard’ and that is the situation we find repeated over and over again: ‘We want to help you—but not right here.’”

He said it’s tricky because “they’re available until you let them know you’re a homeless shelter.”

Chapman said he remains hopeful: Last week, during a board meeting with Makivik Corp. and the city of Montreal, their supporters promised to help the organization. They plan to meet again in two weeks.

“There is a will and a recognition of the importance of what we do here,” Chapman said.

Although the shelter serves roughly 150 people per day, at the beginning of the month there are typically much fewer clients. But even on June 1 there was still at least 50 people at the Open Door—more than a dozen sleeping on the pews, another dozen eating food from paper plates and the remainder chatting and moving about.

The Open Door doesn’t just feed the homeless though. Since January, staff has also helped people find a home or arrange for addictions treatment. And they have provided counselling and legal help for spousal violence or sexual assault, and even done banking for some.

“Right after cheque day, if you’re sleeping on the street, you get robbed,” Chapman said.

During our interview, a woman came to Chapman and asked him for medication which he keeps for her. Another woman, with a bruised face, told Chapman that she had her partner arrested for beating her up that day.

The Open Door maintains a transition program for emergencies such as extreme addiction or when a women is being controlled by a pimp. With the help of Makivik, the shelter arranges a return back up north for Inuit who are in desperate situations, finding them employment there and getting them reunited with family.

Last year, at least one person per month was helped this way.

Sylvie Cornez, a spokesperson for Makivik, said that, as she walked through the nearby Alexis Nihon mall in downtown Montreal, she realized that if the Open Door shut down, those who go there would have no choice but to seek shelter in the shopping centre. That could result in arrests for loitering or public drunkenness.

“I am sure that is not going to be good,” Cornez said. “Look at the number of people who are on the bench. They need a safe place where they can take a break from the harsh life of the street.”

She said she is optimistic the Open Door will find a temporary location, hopefully a building where it can settle permanently and grow—to be a shelter that not only welcomes those with addictions, but also focusses more on rehabilitation.

“We’re hoping we can do no less than what we do right now, with room to expand,” Chapman said, adding that he’d like the shelter to be open 24 hours a day.

But stable funding is what they need, he said. And staying in the same neighbourhood is key. This is where their patrons are. But since they have been in the same church for so many years, the rent has remained low. Chapman worries about rental costs at a new place.

Currently the centre receives substantial funding from Makivik, with some funding from the city of Montreal, individual donors in the region and about 10 churches—but the budget is always fluctuating.

“We have these poor guys sleeping on the bench,” said Lillian Curtis, a regular at the Open Door.

Her grown son, who struggles with alcoholism and has been in and out of jail, was the reason she first started coming to the Open Door a few years ago. Her 27-year-old grandson, who is half-Inuk, has also used the services at the Open Door when unemployed.

Curtis is not homeless—she lives a few blocks away and comes to the Open Door to see people an to eat for free because money is tight while she supports her grandson on a fixed income.

When Curtis, a senior who has lost most of her eyesight, comes in, staff at the front desk kiss her on the cheek and joke around.

“It is like when I walk in the door everyone cheers for me,” Curtis said.