The atmosphere is relaxed on this Saturday afternoon in downtown Val-d’Or. A few homeless natives drink beer in Albert-Dumais Park. Others, seated on a bench near the IGA, eat a piece of pizza, looking haggard. Suddenly, a few voices rise and tempers flare. A dispute arises, exacerbated by the problems of alcohol and drug consumption. Then, the tension goes down, as quickly as it rose.
Since the pandemic broke out and housing prices reached all-time highs, the community of Indigenous people living on the streets of Val-d’Or has grown, making cohabitation with some merchants and residents more difficult.
Jeremiah Trapper, from the Cree Nation of Mistissini, chats with two friends on a bench on the main street. At night, the man, in his early twenties, sleeps in the basement of the Saint-Sauveur church, converted into a refuge by the organization La Piaule. During the day, he spends his time in the streets of Val-d’Or.
“The rents are too expensive,” he said. There’s nothing below $600 a month. The young Cree says he wants to return to Mistissini one day. “But I’d rather look stupid here than in my community,” he blurts out in a heartbreaking retort. That’s why I’m in Val-d’Or. »
In his community, the sale of beer is limited to one case per person, he explains. “Here, it’s unlimited. That’s why we come here. » Is there drug use too? “Yes, it’s Val-d’Or. »
Effect of the pandemic
When the pandemic hit and the city center of the municipality was deserted, the homeless population took up residence along the 3e Avenue (the main street), especially in Albert-Dumais Park. A community whose members have increased over the months, due to the housing crisis and overcrowding on Aboriginal reserves, in particular.
The street also often becomes a trap, notes Jeremiah. “There are people who get stuck here. Taken in drugs, in alcohol and in this lifestyle “to which one gets used”, he says, in spite of the violence and the misery. “You see everything here. There are terrible things happening. »
Battles sometimes occur, robberies too. Episodes of vandalism, toileting and needs made on the public highway as well as sexual acts spread out in broad daylight have also been deplored.
A situation that creates exasperation among some traders. “People are now afraid to come to the city center”, maintains an employee of a store in 3e Avenue who wishes to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals.
She now keeps the door of her business locked at all times after homeless people entered and stole merchandise from her store in front of her eyes. “I’m scared,” she said. They are so unpredictable. It’s nothing against the people, it’s the state of consumption that disturbs. »
Another employee of a business on the main street, who also wishes to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals, reports customers who do not feel safe. “They tell me they don’t like walking downtown anymore,” she says. We have to call the police regularly. But it’s an eternal restart: they get caught up [les itinérants], then they come back. »
Not the Wild West
In an interview, the mayor of Val-d’Or, Céline Brindamour, agrees that the problem of homelessness has a huge impact on the population. It ensures that it is hard at work to respond to the concerns of citizens and ensure harmonious cohabitation. “But the 3e Avenue isn’t the Wild West either,” she says.
Social peace is not in danger, adds Paul-Antoine Martel, who manages social files at the City of Val-d’Or. “But there is impatience, incomprehension and risks of intolerance. The situation is delicate,” he said.
On an annual basis, 150 to 215 homeless people pass through Val-d’Or, a municipality of 33,000 inhabitants. “It’s disproportionate to the size of our population,” said Mr. Martel.
The majority, but not all, are Aboriginal. “It can have repercussions on the prejudices that are maintained against the First Nations, he points out. There are all kinds of weak points [comme celui-là] that concern us, to the City. »
According to the mayor, about 25 individuals, some of whom suffer from mental health problems, have inappropriate behaviors. “But it paints a picture of all the people who need help here,” laments Mr. Martel.
Social housing
John Ross Wabanonik, who found himself on the street two months ago after a separation, says he wants to act as a model for his compatriots. “I had substance abuse issues. I got through it and I’m proud of it now,” he said, sitting on a bench along the 3e Avenue where he consoled one of his friends in tears.
Aboriginal people with reprehensible behavior “have all had problems in their lives that affect their way of life,” explains the 39-year-old Algonquin from Lac-Simon, appealing to the sensitivity of the people of Val-d’Or. “Me, I grew up in violence and drink. I wanted to get out of there [de la communauté] with my daughters. That’s why I’m in town. »
To stem the problem of homelessness, John believes that more social housing and housing specifically intended for Indigenous people, such as the 24 housing units of the Kijaté project (inaugurated in Val-d’Or in 2018 by the Native Friendship Center) , are necessary.
Another such project is already on the way. In the coming months, the organization La Piaule will open the Château de Marie-Ève on the 3e Avenue, where 41 low-rent housing units will help people who are homeless get off the street.
Already, the organization La Piaule manages two shelters in Val-d’Or for homeless people in a situation of social breakdown. Dozens of beds were reserved for them in a house on Sullivan Road and in the basement of Saint-Sauveur Church. Opposite the church, the Chez Willie respite centre, overseen by the Native Friendship Centre, provides vulnerable people with mattresses so that they can rest in peace during the day. Stakeholders are present in all these drop-off points.
Seated in the cafeteria of La Piaule – which also offers meals to the itinerant population – Sony Ruperthouse finishes his egg sandwich. “I’ve been in Val-d’Or for seven years and have been homeless for seven months,” explains the 49-year-old man from the Algonquin First Nation of Pikogan.
“My mother was 14 when she gave birth to me. I was placed in a white foster family in Senneterre,” he says. Today, the man says he cut ties with his siblings because of their substance abuse issues. “Me, my only thing is cigarettes. »
“Here, I’m good,” he says, finishing his bite. Interveners had found him an apartment, which he has since lost. “With my health, it’s difficult,” he says. I do dialysis three times a week. But my girlfriend will soon be coming to live in Val-d’Or and she’s going to buy us a house,” he slips into a beguiling smile.
Downtown vitality
This summer, Mayor Brindamour is determined to bring residents back to downtown Val-d’Or. A program dotted with activities has been developed. “We have put in the effort and the money to animate the city center, so that people realize that, sometimes, what they hear [sur les itinérants], this may be overstated. »
To ensure the cleanliness of the premises, five chemical toilets have been installed in the places frequented by the itinerant community. Four police cadets roam the streets, in addition to police officers from the mixed Aboriginal community police station in Val-d’Or.
The Petapan project, of the CISSS de l’Abitibi-Témiscamingue — through which workers trained in cultural safety meet Aboriginal people to offer them a gateway to health services — has taken off. And downtown convenience stores and grocery stores have agreed to no longer sell beer containing more than 10% alcohol.
“What we want is cohabitation, summarizes Paul-Antoine Martel. We think there is a way to design our urban spaces to discourage harmful and anti-social behavior, but without trying to chase away the homeless. We want everyone to have their place. »
A place that Wayne Polson, an Algonquin artist from Winneway, would nevertheless like to give up. “Life is too hard here,” he says, sitting in Albert-Dumais park. “Houses are being built in my community and there is one that will be for me,” he says. I can not wait to return to. »
In his youth, the 51-year-old man says he was almost stared at in the forest by a wolverine which jumped on his neck. “That’s why I have claws tattooed on my face,” he says, his gaze charming.
“Today, I draw every day, even on sad days. Pass me your notebook and your pencil, I’ll make you a sketch, “he offers to the journalist of the To have to. Using skilful pencil strokes, the former student of a boarding school for Aboriginal people deftly traces a magnificent eagle with a defiant eye. “You know, I received compensation for my stay in boarding school. But that doesn’t solve the problem, ”he breathes. An eagle damaged by life, just waiting to take flight towards more peaceful lands.