We are the women of the Downtown Eastside Power of Women group. Our aim is to empower ourselves through our experiences, and to raise awareness from our own perspectives about the issues affecting the neighbourhood.

We believe that the cycles of violence, discrimination, substance use, poor health conditions, child apprehension and social isolation that we experience are the direct result of various government policies and the structural conditions of patriarchy, capitalism, racism and colonization that perpetuate the marginalization ofwomen living in poverty.

We are pleased to share with you our stories, our ideas and our experiences. They have been part of our healing journey, and we hope they will inspire yours as well.

Joan’s Story
Living in poverty can erode one’s feelings of adequacy and sense of self-worth. It is a struggle to maintain dignity when one has to tolerate sneers and jeers from the public, and in many cases from people who should know better.

The stereotype of poverty is that of an addicted person who lives in the Downtown Eastside. But the faces of poverty are diverse, especially in B.C., which has the highest child poverty rate, the highest cost of housing and the lowest minimum wage. With the restrictions in the new June 2002 Employment and Assistance Act and its companion act for people with disabilities, approximately 16,000 women have been removed from the social assistance rolls in B.C.

In particular, single parents endure crushing levels of poverty. Here in B.C., families headed solely by women are five times more likely to be poor than in households headed by men. One-third of B.C. welfare recipients are single- parent families, 88 per cent of thoseare headed by women. Sixty-five per cent of all child apprehensions are from single parents on welfare.

I myself am a single parent of two children. As single parents, we do our best to provide a good home for our children. If we are forced to accept housing that we do not find adequate for our needs, there is a tendency in many cases to blame ourselves and feel guilty. However, we are usually the last ones who should be blamed, because no matter how hard we work we do not qualify for a mortgage. Meanwhile, the lack of decent and affordable rental housing leaves us at the mercy of what- ever the market will bear.

The lack of real opportunities and choices is bad enough, but added to that are the barriers to self-determination that are severe impediments to pursuing a fulfilling life for ourselves and our families. People of restricted means are attempting to keep their dignity.

We take the high road and fight nobly, which should be recognized. Instead, the system holds us back, makes us feel like all our freedoms are being whittled away, and the right to make decisions about our own lives has been infringed upon. Often, we are treated as though we are liars when we report our robberies to the police. Most government employees, such as welfare workers and social workers, treat us in a similar manner. Some professional offices, including lawyers and doctors, do the same.

In the face of all this, we remind ourselves that our oppressors cannot take our power away. Our power can only be taken if we give it away. And we will fight to the end to hold onto it.

No, our earning capacity might not be up to many others’ in society, but we are not ruthless—we do not worship money, we keep our values and we have a rich spirit. Those who have poverty of spirit number many, and among them you will find politicians, police officers and big businesses. They think they are strong, but we believe we are stronger.

Joan Morelli has resided in Canada for over 30 years and has raised her children on limited wages. She has been a tireless activist, actor and writer in the Downtown Eastside for two decades. Shakespeare’s ‘This above all, to thine own self be true’ has been one of her guideline’s to live by.

Elaine’s Story

Common stereotypes about homeless people are that they are lazy and living off tax-payers money; that they are good-for-nothing welfare-bums whom the government enables. People think it is one great party to be on social assistance, but what do they know?

I was homeless not so long ago, for about six months. I only had what little I owned in my station wagon. I would put the back seats down to make a bed, hang towels in the window for curtains and sleep outside Oppenheimer Park. I drove to gas stations to wash up and brush my teeth. I would often drive around feeling lost, worthless and heavy-spirited. Where did I belong in this supposedly rich country? Nobody called or wanted to listen. I began to matter less because I was homeless. But all the people who are homeless, on the streets and in that park, became my family. We banded together to help one another, shared coffee and food and created relationships. I always shared what little I had, and I never feared anyone because we respected one another.

I couldn’t find help because I was not a high enough priority or in absolute crisis. Some associations turned me away because I had previously lived in Port Coquitlam for eight years. I used to feel guilty for owning a car and having a part-time job. Some people would say, “What are you whining about? You have a car and you don’t look homeless!” But what does poverty look like? Are there criteria other than not having a home? We do not wear T-shirts that advertise “I am living in poverty’ or ‘I am homeless”.

Today I am a more humble person because of my experience. I help people on the street by telling them not to give up, and referring them to service providers. I help cook and feed people in Oppenheimer Park.

I see so many more people on the street. The government should build enough affordable and safe housing for the poor. The right to be housed is a basic human right, according to international and national laws and regulations.

Women are amongst the “invisible homeless”, over-represented in shelters and transitional housing. Homelessness, for many women, is an initial solution to unsafe housing. These women leave their homes because of physical and sexual violence and exploitation. As women without homes, they are extremely susceptible to revictimization on the street and in their relationships with men.

I did not just wake up one day and decide that I wanted to be homeless. I did not choose to have spinal problems at 40 years of age and have to live on disability. It just happens. This is what people need to understand.

Elaine Durocher is 52 years old and has been fighting the government to eradicate child poverty since 1989. She resides in a co-op in the Downtown Eastside, where she often takes care of her three-year-old granddaughter, Serenity, who she is teaching to become an activist.

Anne-Marie’s Story

The impact of the upcoming Olympics has already pushed an ominous cloud over the Downtown Eastside. Single Room Occupancy hotels (SROs) are raising their rents or giving notices to vacate under the guise of renovations. There are not enough places available for rent in the first place, let alone places that are affordable for poor people. So where will all the poor people go?

If you go to the Ministry of Human Resources for help, you might face what I did. I complained to a health inspector about my uninvited visitors – the mice, cockroaches and bedbugs. I was then kicked out onto the street and had all my belongings impounded. They blamed me for the infestation, claiming that I was unsanitary.

This is how I became homeless, shuffling between shelters, limited to two bags of belongings and forced to abide by curfews. And when I find myself un- able to access a shelter because of the increasing numbers of homeless, I sleep on the street, in a park or am forced to wander around until morning. I have even been robbed, sometimes multiple times in a night.

When morning comes, I make my way to the First United Church for coffee. And so another long day begins: going from one place to another for food and shelter, as I try to survive. Being homeless is hard for anyone, but especially for me as I am a senior with disabilities and chronic health problems. At my age, such worries should not be part of my daily diet, right?

With the Olympics coming, things are only getting worse. We are already experiencing the increased tide of policing in the Downtown Eastside. Police violence, arbitrary arrests and crimi- nalization have always been a reality, but lately I have witnessed harsher police treatment of so-called suspects.

One day I was told that I could get a fine and ticket for crossing the road too slowly. When I told the officer that he must be joking, he informed me in no uncertain terms that he had the power to arrest me. I shrunk back like an obedient servant, said my “sorry”, which I did not mean, and walked away as fast as I could with my two canes. Do tax payers pay for the police to harass an old woman?

I have heard that during the Olympic Games the travel around the down- town core of Vancouver will be severely restricted and the streets will be kept clear of loiterers. What will they do with people like me who are forced to live and wander on the streets? I have already spent some sleepless nights worrying about that and pray that I find a place before February 2010.

I wonder who believes that these Games are worth it? I just wish the Games could be enjoyed by more than the fortunate few who can afford them. This might sound sinister, but I have come to realize that the Olympic organizers are aware of all these negative impacts. They have no problem forcing more poverty and heartache on the poor for the sake of their own profits.

Anne Marie Monks is almost 63 years old. She came to Canada in 1967. She was married to a British Canadian for almost 20 years, but left because of abuse. She has lived in the Downtown Eastside for six years and has been homeless for five.

Karen’s Story

There are so many stories of police brutality in the Downtown Eastside. This is just one of those many stories.

I have been living in supportive housing for about nine years. As opposed to private SRO housing, one of the benefits of supportive housing run by non-profits is that it maintains the confidentiality of the tenants, especially women, who live there. Unless it is an emergency or a tenant has called 911, the police can only enter with a warrant.

One day this month the police arrived at my building looking for a woman. They did not have a warrant and no one had called 911. Our staff refused the police access and entry into the tenant’s room. I was sitting in the lobby of our building and witnessed the whole incident. At first the female officer got agitated and was demanding that they be allowed into the tenant’s room. The staff did not give in, which just made the police officers angrier, stating that they had a right to go there and that they would exercise their power. I saw one officer go towards the staff member to grab her arm. I ran out to try to inform people about what was taking place and to get some help.

When I returned, the staff was in handcuffs and had been taken outside. I heard them saying over and over that they had arrested her and would charge her with ‘obstruction of justice’. By that time a crowd had gathered and staff from next door at the Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre had also arrived. Eventually, the staff member was let go.

This whole incident made me very angry. As I wrote earlier, there are so many other stories of police arrogance and violence, and most are worse than what happened to this staff member. But in this situation they were not even following their own protocol. I was scared that if this could happen to a staff person who was just doing her job, what could happen to someone like me who has less authority? It made me feel very powerless and vulnerable, especially as the incident occurred in my building.

I have found that over the years, I have lost faith in the police. If I ever needed them to help me, I would fear that they would turn on me instead. They do little to protect against actual violence, like all the murdered and missing women. Instead, they are violent towards us, frequently arrest people for minor things like jaywalking or harass people on street. All this has gotten worse in the years leading up to the Olympics.

It so deeply frustrates and angers me that we let the police use their power and badges in such negative ways, and that society allows them to power-trip and do what they want. Instead, police should be more accountable and actually serve and protect the residents from issues we identify – like sexual predators.

Karen Lahay grew up in South Burnaby. She moved to the Downtown Eastside nine years ago after leaving an abusive relationship. She loves the Downtown Eastside, the longest place she has resided, and calls it home. She also loves the Downtown Eastside Power of Women group for giving her a voice and family.

Beatrice’s Story

Like so many other women, I have endured domestic violence and abuse. It is no shocking revelation that women are primarily the victims, while men are the perpetrators.

For over ten years I was beaten up and abused by my children’s father. He even beat me up for over seven months during my first pregnancy. I went into labour early, battered with bruises all over my legs. My baby girl, Angela Michelle, was a Mother Day’s baby, born underweight at five lbs. and with her heart on the right side of her chest instead of the left. She died in 1990, at the age of 16. I was heartbroken and continue to feel hurt and guilt. It is for her and in her memory that I am sharing this story.

I became an alcoholic after 10 years in the relationship because I needed to numb the pain when he beat me. He would accuse me of cheating on him when in fact I caught him with other women in our bed. During those 10 years, I had two sons and one more daughter. I felt horrible that my children grew up around all that violence and abuse. My daughter used to sit on my lap to protect me from her father. Once I started drinking, I lost my children to the Ministry of Children and Family Development. The day I decided to leave him, my self-esteem was on the ground. I thought about killing myself constantly. My feelings for him were dead, but I feared leaving him. He would say that if I ever left him he did not care how much money it would take, he would find me and cripple me so no other man would want me. But I made the decision to leave and better my life.

When my children were apprehended, I thought I had no chance of getting them back since the court had declared them permanent wards of the state. But I remained motivated to keep fighting for my children because of my love for them. I did not want anyone else raising my children. I quit drinking cold-turkey, enrolled in school through the Native Education Centre, got my GED and received alcohol counseling through the Native Courtworkers. It was through the courtworkers that I learned that I could appeal the permanent ward decision, which I did.

It took me over four years in B.C. Supreme Court, during which time I could only see my children every six to eight weeks in supervised visits. I endured an unbelievable amount of stress, often lost hope and had many sleepless nights. But I remained committed because in my heart I knew that my children were worth it. I won my case in 1986 and finally my children were returned to me!

I even gave my children’s father a chance to get to know the children afterwards, but, as my son says, he was too much into his drinking and other women.

Now, I always tell women in abusive relationships to get out- it will never change. I tell my sons to never hit a woman because it is like hitting your mom. I am proud of them because they have never hit a woman. I am now 27 years sober, with a loving family, including three beautiful grandchildren. I am no longer afraid of my children’s father, even though I see him frequently in this neighourhood. In fact, I feel sorry for him—he is alone and doesn’t have the gift of love that I do.

Beatrice Starr has lived in the Downtown Eastside for approximately 30 years. She is originally from Bella Bella, B.C. She enjoys the Downtown Eastside Power of Women Group because it empowers her and other women to tackle issues like homelessness and violence against women.

Agatha’s Story

It was a nice day, that one summer morning in August 2003. My children and I woke up and had started our day when we heard a buzz on the door. It was their father, from whom I was separated. At the time I thought, “Even though we are no longer together it is nice of him to come and visit when he has time.” The children were happy to see him too, and I asked him if he wanted coffee.

As we visited, I realized it was the day of respite. Respite is a service the Ministry of Children and Family Development (MCFD) provides to families to cope and to get rest. The children go to a respite home with two caregivers, while I get some rest or run errands like shopping and attending meetings.

As I got my children’s clothes ready, I foolishly had a beer with my ex. I went into my room and my ex followed me, saying something. I asked him to talk when the children were gone. He then hit me. I walked away because I did not want things to escalate, especially in front of the children. I thought that none of my children had seen it. In the bathroom, I noticed that he had left a red mark and I worried that I would not be able to hide it.

When the caregivers arrived I buzzed them in, hugged and kissed my children and they left. After one hour, I received a call from an MCFD after-hours social worker. My daughter had told a caregiver that she had witnessed her father hit me. They informed me that they would apprehend my children for witnessing violence in the home.

My heart dropped when my children were taken from me. I felt empty and alone. No one from MCFD asked how I was doing or if I needed any resources to support myself. No one offered counseling or victim services for having suffered an act of violence. I kept thinking that I had been through this as a child, and I did not want the same abuse and violations to happen to my children.

Instead, I educated myself as much as I could about my children’s rights in care and my rights as a parent. I had to research to learn to put my children’s name on the list of children who witness violence, so they could access counseling services. I secured a legal advocate from the Downtown Eastside Women's Centre and we worked together to make sure I had my children back within four weeks. I was very happy to be reunited with them; however, I was still under supervision for six months.

I feel that MCFD is supposed to be there for families and children. That is what their title says. Instead, we are puppets on their strings, and have to act and behave exactly as they determine in order to get our own children back. Even today, when I request services for my children I am told that there is no money; yet the homemaker they fund travels in a taxi. Another time, MCFD tried to force a psychological test on my daughter and myself, claiming that she was withdrawn and that I had anger issues. I fought this in family court and finally won when I explained to the judge that my daughter was withdrawn due to abuse and neglect from a foster parent when she was apprehended, and that this profoundly angered me.

All I really wish for is that they would do their jobs, and keep children and their families together.

Agatha Reid is a single mother of five children. She is grateful to have a loving family, and thankful to those who have helped her and supported her through the years.

Debbie’s Story

I was born in 1957. We used to live in a cabin with my mother and six children in Qusenel B.C. When I was eight years old, our mom left us. The neighbour called the Ministry of Children and Family Development because we had been left alone for 3 days. My younger twin siblings had no diapers and we were eating dry oatmeal. When the Ministry took us, we were mostly separated, but one of my brothers and I remained together.

I was brought up in 15 foster homes. Two were reasonably okay, while in the others I suffered neglect, starvation and physical and verbal abuse. For example, foster parents get money for clothing for foster children, yet only in two homes was I given clothes.

In one home, the worst foster home I was in, the foster dad would touch me. When I was doing dishes, he would come up behind me and touch my breasts and my genitals. I would tell him not to and move his hand away, but he would just keep doing it. To this day I still get scared when people come up behind me.

The foster dad would also sexually abuse my brother and me at night. We used to sleep in the basement on hard cots with just a sheet separating the two of us; we could hear everything that was happening. When I was 12, one of the times when I was raped I became pregnant. When the foster father found out that I was pregnant because of him, he forced my brother and me to have sex. He then told the Ministry social worker that I was pregnant because of my brother. I was forced to have an abortion.

Although that was the worst foster experience, it was not unique. In another foster home, I was beaten with belts and wooden sticks to my head. Today, I have a learning disability and I think my head injuries are one of the causes of it.

My brother ran away. He stole food and clothes to survive, which landed him in jail frequently. When I got older, I would frequently run away as well. I started doing drugs and drank at an early age. I even tried to commit suicide by jumping over a bridge one day, but a passerby grabbed me and they put me back in the same foster home. I could never understand why the Ministry would take us out of a home when they knew something was wrong, but then just keep putting us back in.

Recently, my brother and I tried to take this issue to provincial court. The court said they couldn’t do anything because the Ministry wasn’t responsible. They said we would have to file criminal charges against each individual foster parent. But I believe it is the government’s responsibility for having apprehended us, and then not ensuring we were being placed in a caring environment.

My entire life has been affected by my foster home experience. I feel damaged. I also wasn’t taught a lot of things that normal children learn in a supportive family environment, like cooking, cleaning, reading and writing. I am upset that the courts never helped me. I am furious that social workers don’t believe children.

Today, I am happy that I am alive. I am a survivor. I have a good husband, two cats, a home and a life I am grateful for.

Debbie V. was born in Vanderhoof, B.C. She currently resides in the Downtown Eastside with her husband, who has taught her to cook and clean.

***

For more information, contact the Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre (302 Columbia, corner of Cordova), or email project@dewc.ca