It belonged to Stewart Poirier, 53, a mentally disturbed man who admitted to setting fire to the historic Empress Hotel. According to information introduced in court at his sentencing hearing, he had been sexually abused by both his father and the staff at the mental hospital where he was sent at the age of 7. Three years ago, he was beginning to get a handle on his addictions, take care of his physical health and settle into an apartment. But he got into a fight with his landlord, became homeless and snapped.
He appeared in court dishevelled and toothless with long, stringy hair. The judge who sentenced him called him “an impulse-ridden man with the brain of a boy.”
Poirier at least had a name. Many of those on the memorial are listed only as “John Doe” or “Jane Doe” — unidentified people who died on the streets, in a ravine, under a highway bypass or in a homeless shelter. Homeless activists check the death records of city hostels, the coroner’s office and their own grapevine regularly to keep the memorial up to date.
It was established 27 years ago by the Toronto Disaster Relief Committee to acknowledge the humanity of people who died as a result of homelessness and ensure they would be remembered. Doug Johnson Hatlem of Sanctuary, a Mennonite street ministry, is the current keeper of the list.
Vigils are held most Tuesdays, sometimes followed by a meal inside Holy Trinity. The one marking the city’s 700th homeless death took place at noon on Feb. 12.
Passersby probably thought the huddle of people in Trinity Square were retail workers out for a smoke or the regulars lining up for lunch at the church. They walked by with scarcely a glance.
Eight homeless people have died on the street since New Year’s. At this rate, the death count could exceed its all-time high of 72, set in 2005.
The city and non-profit agencies are doing they what can with extreme cold weather alerts, extra shelter beds, emergency patrols and a “Streets to Homes” program that helps get people who sleep outside into stable housing where their addictions and mental health problems can be dealt with.
The federal government provides sporadic funding to organizations that serve the homeless, leaving them on tenterhooks each time a grant is due to expire. The province has been missing-in-action for the past 18 years.
But homeless activists refuse to give up hope. While his friends and colleagues engaged in their solemn ritual, Michael Shapcott, an original member of the Toronto Disaster Relief Committee (now director of Housing and Innovation at the Wellesley Institute) was busy drumming up support for Bill C-400, a private member’s bill calling on the federal government to work with the provinces, territories and municipalities as well as aboriginal, community and faith groups to create a national housing strategy. It is scheduled for a vote in the House of Commons on Feb. 27.
Private member’s bills rarely become law and Bill C-400’s chances don’t look promising. A similar piece of legislation, Bill C-304, died on the order paper in 2011. And public pressure has waned since then. Canadians have gotten used to sleeping bags on the sidewalks and panhandlers begging for spare change. Downtown workers, condo residents and shoppers avert their eyes and keep walking.
Hatlem fears it will take a crisis — a severe cold spell coupled with a spike in the death count — to put homelessness on the public agenda. It will come, he says, if not this winter, then next.
In the meantime, he makes it his mission to provide those who die on Toronto’s streets with a shred of the dignity that life ripped away from them.
Original Article
Source: thestar.com
Author: Carol Goar
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