One thing travelling has taught me is that while homelessness is universal, so too are the flawed strategies implemented by failing systems established to address housing inequality.
Leaving KuGompo City in 2016, travelling and ending up in a little dorp in the frozen Canadian north, I never imagined that the very same system of colonisation that impoverished so many African countries would be responsible for the impoverishment of indigenous people of Canada.
Yet there I was, working in a homeless shelter, catering predominantly to indigenous people, realising how damaging colonisation was, its legacy living on far beyond the emancipation of indigenous Canadians — well, on paper anyway.
You see, the indigenous inhabitants and rightful owners of this land — First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples — were also forcibly removed from their land, stripped of their culture and governance, forced to adopt Christianity and delegated to secondary status.
They were resettled in reservations — or as we know them, townships and homelands.
An untold number of indigenous Canadians died as a result, and the resulting trauma is intergenerational — passed down to children and grandchildren through no fault of their own, addiction and mental health challenges common among many families.
Canada also had a truth and reconciliation commission which exposed many of the injustices experienced by the indigenous inhabitants of the land as a result of colonisation.
While reports were produced, commitments made to address the impacts of colonisation, little has been done to dismantle the system which still works against indigenous people in many ways, none more apparent than housing.
While there is housing on the reservations, it is in short supply, often overcrowded and in poor condition — nearly one in five homes need major repairs.
These communities are also faced with bad infrastructure and maintenance — there are still indigenous communities that don’t have access to clean drinking water. Sound familiar?
Their only other option is to move off the reservations, to neighbouring towns and cities, where access to home ownership is near impossible, forcing them into expensive rental housing.
The relocation, together with isolation and the disconnection from their communities, their culture and language, inevitably leads to mental health challenges, and often, addiction.
So indigenous people are over-represented in the shelter system, a system that still treats homelessness as a social problem that “needs solving” by throwing lots of money at establishing temporary or second-stage housing, without addressing the underlying issues that led to the homelessness initially — a lack of identity documents, unemployment, limited access to a tertiary education, poor mental health support, and of course, addiction.
So it came as a great surprise to move to a dorp where homelessness is not considered a problem, rather an opportunity for change.
Yes, there are homeless people in the community, but significantly fewer than the neighbouring community 60km down the highway.
You see, the whole community, including the municipality, the cops, social workers, home affairs, businesses and NGOs all work together to provide opportunities to homeless people to become employed, permanently housed, and most importantly, taxpaying citizens, contributing to the local economy.
So it was with interest that I read about informal settlers moving into the Nahoon Point Nature Reserve and Nahoon residents concerned about the destruction of an ecologically significant resource, a potential increase in crime and dropping property values.
I’m guessing you think that the municipality, as well as the provincial and national governments, should be stepping in to “fix the problem”, remove and relocate the settlers.
It’s not going to happen, because where those nameless people came from is worse than living in the bush, with no services, far from the city, with no prospect of permanent housing.
They’re there to stay, and as communities it’s up to you how that development is managed, implementing radical, innovative, creative housing and social services solutions while inculcating a shared passion for protecting that ecologically-sensitive area.
Leibel was a journalist working for community media before joining the then-Border Technikon, now Walter Sisulu University, in the late ’90s where he lectured journalism for 15 years. He left SA in 2016.
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.