DON'T TAKE HUMAN DIGNITY FOR GRANTED

This column is usually filled with worthless yet amusing observations
about pop culture and its inhabitants. However, lately I have been
ruminating on an issue of, let's say, a higher social importance.

I recently made a move from kind of downtown to directly downtown. I
have always been able to make the detachment when it comes to the most
glaring problems facing the downtown core--homelessness, mental
illness and addiction. It's really easy to look straight ahead and
say, "Nope, sorry," when asked for spare change, but my new place is
making a serious effort to change that.

Located within a block of the needle exchange, the view from my deck
overlooks a well-known haven for addicts: the steps of a rundown
church. On these steps I witness a nightly parade of the ill-fated as
they search for a place to get high and hide until the sun comes up.

I've taken a few sociology classes, but this certainly isn't described
in any textbook. What I assumed would be an occasional hangout for
those on the lowest end of the social ladder has revealed itself as a
must-see on the Victoria tour of destitution.

In the last two months I have had my eyes reopened. Defecating in
plain sight. Sharing needles. Mental breakdowns and outbursts on a
scale that make my own personal collapses seem like a fucking pony
ride in comparison.

"Congratulations--you've pointed out that Victoria has a problem with
street life. So observant!" I can hear this being said as you read,
and I get it. We do an excellent job of identifying the problem, and a
horrible job of solving it. But I'm not here to offer a solution, or
even to insinuate that I think one is possible. I just want to point
out what's struck me most during my nightly observations--the
disconnect of basic human dignity that takes place when one lives on
the street.

This may be glaringly obvious to some, but I always assumed that some
things were sacred. Like finding a bush when one has to relieve
oneself. The last two months have taught me that nothing remains taboo
when people are thrown back to their basic mammalian instinct to eat,
drink, sleep and survive. Watching a prostitute apply her makeup in
the side mirror of a car doesn't hold a candle to the convulsions of
an addict on the sidewalk, and up until now I placed those in the same
category of tragic.

It takes more than a shopping trip downtown interrupted by panhandlers
to open one's eyes to the root of the problem. People can't be
expected to give a damn about their health or about getting a job when
they don't even care about their dignity.

This is a big, big problem.

Until we figure out how to return people's dignity, we may as well not
worry about affordable housing or a balanced diet--those things follow
naturally from the first.