Heat, a killer so close

In this particularly stifling month of July, the Quebec Observatory of Inequalities published a report on the effects of climate change on people experiencing homelessness. The conclusions of this document are not surprising: these people are more affected by climate change, and public policies on climate adaptation and resilience do not take their reality into account.

It is obvious that people experiencing homelessness are at the forefront of climate hazards. They must constantly adapt to weather fluctuations and extreme temperatures even though they have few means to do so. The harmful effects on their physical and mental health, and on their general well-being, are numerous: their daily lives are destabilized, they are more at risk of becoming disorganized, they find themselves even more isolated, they are more at risk of lethal complications linked to extreme temperatures.

It’s a vicious cycle: the more socially marginalized a person is, the fewer resources they have to adapt to the changing and hostile climate — which makes their situation even more fragile. Unsurprisingly, it’s even worse for women, indigenous people and migrants, who have more difficulty accessing resources dedicated to homelessness.

Interviews conducted for the Observatory of Inequalities report also reveal that while summer was previously considered a season of “respite” for people experiencing homelessness, this is no longer true. Summer is now so hot, the urban space so unforgiving with its heat islands, its spaces hostile to loitering and the police presence everywhere, that the summer season is just as trying as winter.

It’s grueling, but also dangerous. Heat isn’t just a nuisance: it kills. And because people who experience homelessness are more likely to have chronic health conditions that make them more vulnerable, the risk of death is increased. It’s even worse for people living with a psychiatric disorder. In this regard, the report cites a study conducted in Toronto indicating that living with a psychiatric diagnosis triples the risk of death during a heat wave.

Heat kills, but unlike storms, floods and fires, its ravages are often invisible, hidden. During major heat waves, we do not see in the media the elderly who die in their poorly air-conditioned apartments. Nor do we see the daily lives experienced by the heat of people who live with chronic illnesses, with a psychiatric disorder, who take medication or who consume drugs that make them more vulnerable to the effects of heat.

This is why extreme heat is often referred to as the “silent killer.” Among the range of climate disasters, heat is often the least talked about. This is ironic, considering that climate disruptions are the result of global warming.

As hurricanes are given names and images of torrential rain and trees bent double by gusts are replayed in the media, there seems to be less interest in documenting the effects of heat on individuals and communities. It’s hot, what more is there to say?

First, it could be noted that this is the leading cause of death linked to climate change. Data is difficult to compile, particularly because heat-related deaths are not always recorded as such, and its ravages are often underestimated. However, in the United States, for example, according to data from the National Weather Service, heat is now the leading cause of death linked to climate change, surpassing deaths caused by hurricanes, floods and tornadoes combined. In Canada, we are starting to look more seriously at mortality linked to extreme heat, particularly in the long term.

But more than that, heat is above all a social issue; an aspect of the climate crisis that takes us back to its most immediately human dimension. First and foremost, the effects of heat perfectly match the social fault lines, and they aggravate them. By looking at the effects of heat on individuals, especially the most precarious, we can see the holes in our social policies on all fronts.

The case of homelessness is compelling. First, the increase in homelessness is directly linked to the housing crisis — low-income people can no longer afford housing. In the absence of a social option to replace private housing, they end up on the street. Shelter resources are overflowing. Makeshift camps are being dismantled. And in response to the more visible presence of people deemed undesirable in public spaces, we have chosen, in Montreal at least, to increase police surveillance.

So the most vulnerable people in society are being pushed out of many public spaces, where they are not welcome. There is, literally, nowhere to go. How are we supposed to talk about climate resilience and adaptation when we barely let the most vulnerable people in society sit quietly in the shade when the oppressive heat sets in?

This is not insignificant; it shows us to what extent the ecological transition, to date, neglects to take into account social inequalities. Climate change adaptation policies could be an opportunity to fight poverty and social exclusion; to put forward a vision of the future that is not only more sustainable, but fairer. Are we missing the boat?

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