Temporary homes on clearcuts

(by Margot Grant)

A few years ago I produced a radio documentary about tent cities in the United States. Although I realize it is not pleasant to spend winter in a tent, particularly in the Pacific Northwest, I was impressed by the way these tent cities were organized.

There were roughly three kinds of homeless people in the US: those who slept outside, those who stayed in shelters—often violent places—and those who had organized themselves in tent cities. The latter especially were often former members of the middle class who had fallen on hard times.

The “cities” invariably had a fence, even one simply fashioned out of tarps and poles. The entrances were closed with a gate or chain. Behind the entrance, office tents with computers and wifi were staffed by at least two people, day and night, to answer questions and to keep riffraff out. Do you want to stay here? Great, but no alcohol, no drugs, and you have to do chores.

Once admitted, new arrivals had to sleep on a cot in a communal tent for a month to demonstrate good behaviour. If all went well, he or she could then set up a tent of their own.

The tent cities had porta-potties, and a big, central trailer held a water tank, one or two shower stalls, and a washing machine. Tents with folding chairs were used for watching movies (old ones collected from video stores), holding meetings, or simply socializing. Library tents were stocked with used books. Wardrobe tents with mirrors had rows of used but still decent office wear for job interviews.

Everyone did chores: staff the office, keep the washroom and laundry area clean and functioning, work in the kitchen tent. The members paid for the rental of the porta-potties,  electricity, and water. If a member could not pay, he or she could make up by doing extra chores.

The solicitation teams were an elite squad, proud of their jobs. They went to wealthy areas of town to try to collect clothes; they found barbers and hairdressers who would volunteer time to make sure everyone looked presentable for job interviews or daytime jobs; they cultivated good relations with supermarkets so they could get food past its best-before date.

The kitchen tents had hot coffee and soup on the stove all day long. In the morning, hearty breakfast fixings were available. And lunch and supper, cooked in big containers, were tasty. In one kitchen, I saw a large tray of French cheeses a little past the best-before date.

Usually about 30 per cent of the people in tent cities had daytime jobs. They were trying to get their lives back on track, saving for a car or a deposit on an apartment. The others were busy trying to find work. Meanwhile they volunteered in the greater community by fixing bicycles, cutting grass, painting fences, or helping in gardens.

The tent cities I visited were hosted by churches that offered the use of their grounds or parking lots for three months at a time. Every three months, the cities would move to a new location.

Invariably, the neighbours would not be happy with the prospect of a camp of homeless people moving into their backyard. But invariably, three months later, they were sad to see them go because they were such good citizens.

I witnessed a great deal of camaraderie and a feeling of community.

Could the tent cities concept be a model for communities of tiny houses on the Sunshine Coast? 

From research, we know that it costs less to have people live in tiny houses than on the street or in shelters. Housing people is also much more humane. It affords happiness and feelings of security, dignity, pride, and hope. It has also been shown beyond a doubt to lead to better health.

On the Sunshine Coast, why not use clearcuts for these communities? After logging, trees take 60 to 90 years to regrow. Will we still be cutting trees in 80 years? Assuming we will be, why not use clearcuts for the first five years after logging to allow people to build temporary homes? They could be asked to help plant new trees. After five years, they could move to a fresh clearcut and do the same.

The tiny houses would have to be movable. Toilets could be porta-potties or compost toilets. Water can be trucked in. Electricity can come from solar panels. Wifi can be installed.

Of course this lifestyle is not for everyone. But it would be a solution for people who currently have no place to live or are on the brink of homelessness, forced to spend more than 50 per cent of their income on rent. If they don’t already have them, they can develop building skills. They can live in a pleasant, self-governing community. Those with a daytime job can save for the down payment on a more permanent home. Young people in particular would benefit.

Crown land belongs to all of us. And we can use it to benefit all of us. What are we waiting for? Let’s get the ball rolling. Here is a first step: ask local candidates in the upcoming provincial election if they will support this idea.