This week, we heard two Victoria city councillors speak publicly about the need for public washroom access at the 900-block of Pandora.
There is washroom access at Our Place and SOLID Outreach Society until 9 p.m. each night, but nothing after that until morning.
There are other porta-potties in the downtown core that require people at the Pandora encampment to leave their belongings behind and walk several blocks.
I wrote about this last year when I was at the Coldest Night of the Year event at Our Place, and a young man asked me to watch his belongings so he could use the washroom, just a few steps away.
As soon as he got up, many people came to scout out his items. I had to politely let each of them know I was watching his belongings and that he’d be back.
In one instance, I couldn’t stop someone from taking his cigarettes and sports drink. I saw first-hand why people are nervous to leave their belongings, and he was only going inside Our Place, not travelling blocks away.
If I go to the washroom, I don’t fear losing all of my belongings. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with that kind of uncertainty.
Ultimately, the issue is bigger than washroom access — it’s about people living in encampments. Housing is a huge factor, but it’s more than housing. We often forget to factor in trauma, health and wellbeing, and the complexity of each individual’s circumstance and needs.
In my early 20s, I dated a man whose brother had been homeless for many years. He did have an apartment in 91原创, funded through social assistance, but he chose to sleep on the streets.
When he came to Victoria to visit, he had a hard time staying in our apartment because he said it felt “claustrophobic.” Many times, he opted to sleep outside and return in the morning.
That was when I first learned that homelessness couldn’t only be solved by providing homes.
I don’t share this part of the story often, but for context I will. Years later, that ex-boyfriend ended up living on the street with his brother, and they both passed away last year. When I knew him, he was a hard-working man who cared about his family and was clean and sober.
It’s a reminder that homelessness can happen to anyone. Things happen, and it is really sad.
The article in the Times 91原创 last week mentioned that nearby businesses and organizations are cleaning up human waste in the mornings in the 900-block of Pandora, where the encampment is.
If I was a business owner cleaning up excrement and urine each morning, there is no doubt I would be frustrated, upset, and worried about my own health and safety.
But as the article noted, if there were other options, people’s first choice for relieving themselves wouldn’t be a doorway.
I was pleased to see that the article focused more on the human dignity of access to a washroom.
It also revealed that previous porta-potties had been vandalized. I know it’s easy to hear that and think that the logical consequence is to lose the service. I get how frustrating it would be to offer something, spend time, funds and resources to maintain it and and then have it defaced.
It reminded me of a porta-potty at a park in the District of Highlands that kept being pushed into the lake. This was probably about 15 years ago, so I don’t remember all of the details, but what ended up happening was the district installed a small cob bathroom with a composting toilet and it solved the issue.
I share this to note that not all vandalism of porta-potties comes from people who are living in encampments.
I am also not suggesting a cob composting toilet is the answer for Pandora.
I know a porta-potty isn’t going to solve all the problems in the world, and some individuals may not show their gratitude, but at the end of the day, they are people, and a porta-potty is a small token to demonstrate that all people deserve dignity.
Charla Huber is an Indigenous communications consultant based in the capital region. Her family is from Beausoleil First Nation and Fort Chipewyan.
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