At some point in history, we as a society subconsciously decided it was acceptable to look down on those who have less.
This attitude applies to the way we view homelessness today. It’s a fixture in every major city, and the economic downturns of the past decades have shown that even small towns aren’t immune. In fact, more than 200 people are experiencing homelessness in Kingston, according to an April 2021 point-in-time count by United Way.
Per capita, that’s greater than the rate in Ottawa, a much larger city.
Despite this, our collective response has been to cast blame rather than comion. The prevailing narrative paints those experiencing homelessness as failures of their own making. This is most notably seen through how poorly pedestrians and our peers treat the vulnerably housed community in Kingston.
We walk past people on the streets without acknowledgment, avoid eye , and feel discomfort. In doing so, we reinforce the dehumanizing attitudes and dangerous belief that poverty is a moral failing rather than a consequence of economic structures, mental health struggles, and unpredictable life circumstances.
This reality became clear to me when I began volunteering as a barber at a local homeless shelter. In my few years of experience with cutting hair, I often found myself in the role of a confidant, privy to stress, relationship struggles, and life’s uncertainties. But the individuals who sat in my chair carried burdens heavier than words could convey, and many had learned, through years of hardship, to guard their stories from the world.
So, I stopped searching for the perfect question and instead met them where they were—sometimes with a lighthearted joke, others by simply respecting their silence.
Slowly, I became more aware of their stories: I met teachers, engineers, and government employees, but they were also mothers, fathers, and grandparents. We bonded over our love for skiing, cats, and Harry Potter. They confided in me their struggles with familial histories of substance use, unfortunate life events, and their burning desire to recover and see their loved ones again. From their experiences, I learned many valuable lessons.
Their stories taught me that, to unlearn ingrained attitudes and preconceived notions about unhoused communities, sympathy is insufficient. Unlearning requires empathy and a genuine conversation to truly understand one’s hardships. People don’t want pity—they want to be heard. Whether it’s a smile, a greeting, or a few minutes of undivided attention, we should give everyone the dignity of being recognized and being treated with equal respect.
When it comes to society’s current response to homelessness, many people often create comforting illusions to avoid confronting the harsh realities around them. One such illusion is, as students, we’re unable to make a difference.
But this illusion couldn’t be further from the truth. While we may not have the power to reform housing policy or tackle systemic inequities alone, we’re privileged enough to donate our time, skill sets, and company to local organizations and shelters. We should continuously educate ourselves and challenge stigmatizing narratives in our conversations.
In a society that’s normalized looking away, we can do the opposite by giving our comion.
Nelson is a fourth-year Health Sciences student and The Journal’s Senior Photo Editor.
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