Visions Journal

Hidden homelessness in Northern BC

Lydia Howard

Reprinted from the Out of Sight, Out of Mind: The unseen reality of hidden homelessness issue of Visions Journal, 2024, 20 (2), pp. 13-15

I first got involved with housing and homelessness advocacy a decade ago. I volunteered with a local action group and advocated for supportive housing in Smithers, a small community in northwest BC located on traditional unceded Wet’suwet’en territory. Initially, I had little understanding of the nuances of the experience. Like most people, my knowledge of homelessness was limited to what I could see in my community. However, working closely with people facing housing insecurity has dramatically changed this perspective.

Since 2018 I have worked at our community’s local friendship centre. My role focuses on developing affordable, culturally safe housing and low-barrier homeless-support programming for the urban Indigenous community members we serve.¹ I’ve come to understand that homelessness is an incredibly complex phenomenon that goes far beyond a lack of housing.

Homelessness is grounded in deep-rooted trauma and loss, and is compounded by mental health issues, addictions, poverty, racism and victimization. I now recognize that visible homelessness is just the tip of the iceberg. The most pervasive form of homelessness in our communities is, in fact, the homelessness we cannot see.

Just out of view

Hidden homelessness is a term used to describe a range of precarious living situations in which individuals lack security of tenure (a stable right to stay). Many people bounce between temporary shelters, staying on the couches and floors of family and friends, in sheds or vehicles.

In 2022 our organization conducted our community’s first urban Indigenous housing study.² We wanted to fill a knowledge gap about the unique housing experiences of urban Indigenous peoples. The study was innovative. We created a low-barrier and culturally safe space for community members to share stories and lived expertise. We also expanded our study beyond a single municipality because we recognized the fluidity of movement of Indigenous people living off-reserve in our region.

We found that market rental housing is increasingly out of reach for Indigenous community members due not only to unaffordability, but also high levels of discrimination and anti-Indigenous racism. We learned that overcrowding is the norm, with many families reporting that the size of their homes can’t accommodate their cultural, intergenerational living arrangements.

Most participants reported that rentals are badly in need of repairs, unsafe and inadequate due to issues like black mold. Young mothers shared that they and their toddlers were living in homes with holes in the flooring. With scarce rental options, many community members felt they couldn’t ask for repairs for fear that they’d be unfairly evicted. In our women’s and elders’ sharing circles, we heard that their homes, campers and backyard sheds often become temporary shelters for extended family members.

Many study participants spoke of the financial strain and ripple effects on physical and mental health resulting from sheltering extra family members and friends for long periods. For example, matriarchs invested in strong kinship relationships and responsibilities often care for grandchildren. They spoke about the difficulty of turning away family members during winter months to ensure that children in their care were not impacted by the presence of substance use in the home.

Without Indigenous-led and culturally safe shelter and housing options in Northern communities, Indigenous families take on a heavy social burden that many of us are unaware even exists. The mothers, aunts and grandmothers who shared their stories are, in my eyes, the unsung heroes of the housing crisis in our region.

A crisis rooted in cycles of trauma

The constant instability of living without a permanent home perpetuates cycles of vulnerability and trauma. Equity-deserving groups, including Indigenous people, women, seniors, 2SLGBTQ+ people and those with disabilities, are particularly vulnerable to victimization when they live precariously. It isn’t uncommon for women to choose to endure unsafe and violent situations to stay housed, especially when children are involved.

Due to the legacy of systemically racist Indigenous child removals, many Indigenous families also experience mistrust for government systems. Indigenous women living precariously with their children express fear that looking for outside help will result in their children being taken away. These experiences show the complex links between hidden homelessness, lack of affordable housing, gender-based violence and legacies of colonization.

The overrepresentation of Indigenous people within hidden and visible homelessness in BC is a result of over 100 years of intentional marginalization of Indigenous communities through the Indian Act, the residential school system and the 60s scoop. In one of our sharing circles, one individual articulated the need for equity within the existing housing system, saying, “Odds are against us... We need the odds to be for us.”²

Indigenous-led solutions for the North

More affordable social housing is desperately needed in northern BC. However, simply adding more shelter beds and housing units isn’t enough. In my role within an Indigenous-led organization, I’ve come to recognize the transformative nature of Indigenous-driven housing solutions.

In July 2024, we broke ground on our community's first by-Indigenous-for-Indigenous affordable housing project. Our goal was to carefully design a building that would foster healing and resilience. We started with community-based dialogues. Through countless sharing circles and community housing booths at local events, like Indigenous Peoples Day celebrations, we engaged in a learning process with our future tenants.

Together, we defined what culturally safe housing means for our community. For example, social connection and healing from intergenerational trauma emerged as a key theme. One participant shared that, “I really like the idea of having a common room, because that way the residents can have little get togethers that will feel more like home.”²

These conversations resulted in unique design features for our 37-unit building, including:

• a large cultural amenity space with commercial kitchen for gatherings, workshops and celebrations
• a healing room with confidential space for supervised visitations, on-site counselling services and family meetings
• cedar carvings and mural art, plus lighting and security measures to foster physical and cultural safety

It is my firm belief that housing solutions must focus on ensuring high levels of targeted investment for equity-deserving groups. Funding should support not-for-profits to ensure homes are developed by, and with, affected communities. We need sustainable operational funding to ensure well-staffed, holistic wraparound services. These services should support healing through cultural (re-)connection, address trauma, mental health and addictions, and be grounded in values of respect and dignity.