The lead players in the Woodwynn Farms controversy doubled down this week, while the farm's fate continues to hang in the balance.
Central Saanich council has ordered the nascent therapeutic community to cease operations as the property is zoned for agriculture, not housing. The Agricultural Land Commission recently rejected the Creating Homefulness Society's plea to have one hectare of the 78-hectare property rezoned in order to house over 90 people suffering from homelessness, drug addiction or mental illness.
Despite this setback, Richard LeBlanc, the society's executive director, has no plans to abandon the farm.
Meanwhile, my conversations with friends and neighbours about the controversy have fallen into a particular rhythm. If the first beat of the conversation is to praise the society's attempt to find a constructive solution to homelessness, the second beat is always: "but what about their neighbours?"
Because it's true that Woodwynn Farms is operating in conscious contravention of the ALC's zoning regulations. Neighbours have complained about noise, as well as double-standards: If I can't build on my land, then why should the society?
This reaction seems fair at first glance, but I think it's worthwhile to take a closer look at the way the farm's opponents are voicing their displeasure.
It's not surprising that people identify more easily with the farm's neighbours than its potential future inhabitants. We still tend to view homelessness as an individual failure, a kind of punishment-by-fate, rather than as a systemic problem that overwhelmingly affects vulnerable populations. We feel bad for people who are homeless, of course, but we can envision ourselves in the place of the farm's beleaguered neighbours far more readily than we can identify with its inhabitants.
We sympathize rather than empathize, and if we think about "solving" homelessness, we do so in terms of individual acts of charity (such as giving loose change or donating to food banks at Christmas), rather than, say, voting in new governments or supporting policies for systemic change.
But now the Creating Homefulness Society is asking for more than just our spare change - it is seeking exemption from zoning bylaws. This seems, at the outset, unfair. The society knew the rules before buying the land, opponents argue. If they'd only worked with the government, instead of acting pre-emptively, it would have turned out fine.
Well, maybe - but maybe not.
I'm generally a pro-rules kind of a person. Rules are there for a reason. And a community like this needs full support from all levels of government if it's going to be viable. It needs to be integrated into pre-existing health systems. It needs roads and pipes and medical access. Forging ahead without this support threatens not only its survival but the inhabitants' wellbeing; one overdose and the place is doomed.
And yet -
Choosing between (1) pushing ahead with the farm, laying some groundwork and raising some publicity without waiting for the rezoning, or (2) awaiting the ALC's permission and risking the project's death by red tape, conflicting interests, rejection or mere disinterest, was always an equation with two awful answers.
People who live in financial security have trouble conceptualizing the superfluity of ways in which our society is always working against people in poverty. It's geared against them.
And it's only the people who are privileged, the people for whom the system works, who have the luxury of declaring that the Creating Homefulness Society should have followed the rules - because they are the only people whom the rules are designed to benefit.
All things being equal, we should of course all obey the same laws and standards, but things are not equal. Is it fair that the society should have permission to rezone? Nope. But neither is it fair that people of marginalized populations or people who have mental health problems are far, far more likely to become homeless than people born into financial security.
And one of these injustices is greater than the other.
Recognizing one's own privilege in situations like this is arduous, even painful. To quote sociologist Lisa Wade: "It isn't just a matter of being thoughtful or empathetic, it usually involves sacrificing something - like the belief that your success is due entirely to your talents and hard work."
Of course, our rules are working. But for whom? And whom do we hurt when we cling uncritically to the mantra: "Just follow the rules like the rest of us"?
