Encampments and personal responsibilities
Some parts of Winnipeg have a noxious problem on their hands.
Among behaviours by the residents of homeless encampments causing consternation among other Winnipeggers near the sites, the act of burning cable and wires in order to cash in on the metallic components is, literally, a toxic one.
It's a problem firefighters have had to contend with, and one local authorities seem ill-equipped to address. Wire burning poses serious short-term and long-term health risks; the burning wires release carcinogens into the atmosphere and those exposed are at a higher risk of developing cancer.
BROOK JONES/FREE PRESS
An encampment on the bank of the Red River along the North Winnipeg Parkway
Winnipegger Howard Warren told the Free Press he has asked residents of an encampment near his home to cease burning wires, but says his requests have been rebuffed. Warren pointed out that, were he to do the same in his own yard, his neighbours would likely complain and he may face penalties under the law.
He's right, and the double-standard reveals a major problem, one with which those sympathetic to the encampments will have to contend.
In late June, this paper shed light on an element of encampment life which put to the test the common stereotype that residents of homeless encampments are there because they have no other choice. Some residents, the June 25 story revealed, prefer to live in encampments.
'These are the people I trust, instead of somebody I don't trust or don't know,' one encampment resident, identified as Joseph, told the Free Press. He was unimpressed by provincial plans to end homelessness by 2031. 'And why? We don't have to pay rent. Why would I pay $600 for someone to tell me how to live when I could pay nothing and live how I want to live?'
It's a whimsical notion, and one easy to be sympathetic to. Modern life is fraught with high costs and irritating obligations. And some people are not well-equipped or inclined to take part in the 21st-century rat-race.
So let's indulge that thought for just a moment, that encampments in the city could be treated as permanent settlements for those who are not calibrated to the 'ordinary,' way of living. And let's narrow the focus to those who do have the choice, and not those who live in encampments because mental health issues or addictions leave them little choice. What does this idealized arrangement demand of everybody involved?
Wednesdays
A weekly dispatch from the head of the Free Press newsroom.
Without wanting to besmirch the character of the aforementioned Joseph, let's zoom in on one comment he made: why should he want to pay rent 'for someone to tell me how to live…?'
That's the sticking point, here: for all the talk among some encampment residents and their advocates about how the encampments provide protective, tight-knit communities for their residents, there is a distinct antisocial streak within them, one which makes the encampments dangerous and antagonistic to the rest of the city around them.
Even in a world without all of the expectations which come with modern living, there is still such a thing as the social contract — a set of expectations placed on the individual which, while varying between cultures, is a fact of life across human civilization. In the distant past, one might have been free to pitch one's tent wherever worked, but there remained a social requirement to behave in a way that was not burdensome or dangerous to everyone else.
While encampments may be a preferred way of life for some, they cannot and should not be a way to opt out entirely from the social contract. Encampments are not going to be a sustainable reality for the people living in them if their establishment is followed by trash littering the area, unsafe and toxic fires burning through the night, and other disruptive or criminal activities.
Some people may be willing to look at those choosing the encampment life and say 'live and let live,' — but it's not going to happen if encampment residents can't figure out how to be better neighbours.
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Winnipeg Free Press
17 hours ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Encampments and personal responsibilities
Opinion Some parts of Winnipeg have a noxious problem on their hands. Among behaviours by the residents of homeless encampments causing consternation among other Winnipeggers near the sites, the act of burning cable and wires in order to cash in on the metallic components is, literally, a toxic one. It's a problem firefighters have had to contend with, and one local authorities seem ill-equipped to address. Wire burning poses serious short-term and long-term health risks; the burning wires release carcinogens into the atmosphere and those exposed are at a higher risk of developing cancer. BROOK JONES/FREE PRESS An encampment on the bank of the Red River along the North Winnipeg Parkway Winnipegger Howard Warren told the Free Press he has asked residents of an encampment near his home to cease burning wires, but says his requests have been rebuffed. Warren pointed out that, were he to do the same in his own yard, his neighbours would likely complain and he may face penalties under the law. He's right, and the double-standard reveals a major problem, one with which those sympathetic to the encampments will have to contend. In late June, this paper shed light on an element of encampment life which put to the test the common stereotype that residents of homeless encampments are there because they have no other choice. Some residents, the June 25 story revealed, prefer to live in encampments. 'These are the people I trust, instead of somebody I don't trust or don't know,' one encampment resident, identified as Joseph, told the Free Press. He was unimpressed by provincial plans to end homelessness by 2031. 'And why? We don't have to pay rent. Why would I pay $600 for someone to tell me how to live when I could pay nothing and live how I want to live?' It's a whimsical notion, and one easy to be sympathetic to. Modern life is fraught with high costs and irritating obligations. And some people are not well-equipped or inclined to take part in the 21st-century rat-race. So let's indulge that thought for just a moment, that encampments in the city could be treated as permanent settlements for those who are not calibrated to the 'ordinary,' way of living. And let's narrow the focus to those who do have the choice, and not those who live in encampments because mental health issues or addictions leave them little choice. What does this idealized arrangement demand of everybody involved? Wednesdays A weekly dispatch from the head of the Free Press newsroom. Without wanting to besmirch the character of the aforementioned Joseph, let's zoom in on one comment he made: why should he want to pay rent 'for someone to tell me how to live…?' That's the sticking point, here: for all the talk among some encampment residents and their advocates about how the encampments provide protective, tight-knit communities for their residents, there is a distinct antisocial streak within them, one which makes the encampments dangerous and antagonistic to the rest of the city around them. Even in a world without all of the expectations which come with modern living, there is still such a thing as the social contract — a set of expectations placed on the individual which, while varying between cultures, is a fact of life across human civilization. In the distant past, one might have been free to pitch one's tent wherever worked, but there remained a social requirement to behave in a way that was not burdensome or dangerous to everyone else. While encampments may be a preferred way of life for some, they cannot and should not be a way to opt out entirely from the social contract. Encampments are not going to be a sustainable reality for the people living in them if their establishment is followed by trash littering the area, unsafe and toxic fires burning through the night, and other disruptive or criminal activities. Some people may be willing to look at those choosing the encampment life and say 'live and let live,' — but it's not going to happen if encampment residents can't figure out how to be better neighbours.
Winnipeg Free Press
3 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
‘He really walked the talk'
Harold Dyck wasn't a rich man, but if there was any one quality that defined who he was it was his tireless devotion to enriching the lives of Winnipeggers who experienced poverty. He died in February at the age of 72, surrounded by friends and family. In 1998, Dyck founded what came to be known as the Low Income Intermediary Project. The program advocated for the better treatment of recipients of Employment and Income Assistance, also known as provincial welfare, and helped them receive the benefits to which they were entitled. It was essentially a one-man crusade led by Dyck that helped people access benefits they likely would have been denied. In many cases, he would represent the individuals he worked with all the way to the Social Services Appeal Board, which had the final say on such matters. During its nearly 25-year history, the project represented hundreds of people and Dyck's deep-rooted understanding of the welfare system was responsible for helping them collect tens of thousands of dollars in benefits the system would have otherwise denied them. What's remarkable about his efforts is that Dyck never collected a single dime from any of the people he represented. The work was all done pro bono and the project received no government grants or private funding. His passion for fighting the system didn't come as much of a surprise to those who knew Dyck. He had experienced poverty first-hand and knew how inhumane it could be. 'That was what I found so inspirational about him,' says his daughter, Jen Dyck-Sprout. 'He really walked the talk in a way where he really believed this stuff and he wasn't going to give up his beliefs to go get a job, even though it would have obviously been more comfortable and he was in really deep poverty himself struggling to make ends meet.' Like many of the people he represented, Dyck never expected he would have to contend with poverty. He had a solid career as an inspector with Manitoba Workplace Safety and Health and later at Boeing Winnipeg. But he eventually found himself out of work; his situation was compounded by bouts of depression and a subsequent divorce. Journalist and former city councillor Donald Benham first became acquainted with Dyck in the late 1990s when he was a host and producer of the CBC Radio program Questionnaire. Dyck was asked to appear on the show as a guest to talk about what it was like to live in poverty. Benham was blown away by his guest's knowledge and insight. Harold Dyck's passion project was the Low Income Intermediary Project, which helped people on social assistance get the benefits they were entitled to. 'He had this amazing capacity for information and he had a great way of putting things so that people who weren't in the system could understand it,' he recalls. The two men became reacquainted several years later when they were both working at Winnipeg Harvest. At one point they shared a cubicle while the food bank was undergoing renovations and forged an enduring friendship that lasted until Dyck's death. The irony of that friendship didn't escape either man. Benham is a Progressive Conservative, while Dyck was a proud Marxist who ran unsuccessfully in several provincial elections for the Communist Party of Canada's Manitoba chapter. 'That was no problem and was no barrier to any communication between us at all,' he says. 'We both agreed on all the important stuff, which is poverty is wrong and unjust and we need to change it. Those were things we could agree on completely … although we were coming at them from different ends of the political spectrum. 'I guess the basis of our friendship was that we enjoyed a sense of humour together,' Benham adds. 'He was great at poking fun at all kinds of things and especially people in power. Even more important than that was what I learned from him. He was always reading.' Ah, yes, reading: maybe the one thing Dyck was even more passionate about than his anti-poverty work. Growing up on the family farm in Birds Hill with his younger siblings, Marlene and Leonard, the shy young man could often be found in his room with his nose stuck in a book. 'He was so well read,' Marlene recalls of her brother. 'Honestly, you could bring up any kind of topic and he would know something about it. He was very knowledgeable and absorbed everything. 'Even though he had his strong beliefs, he never pushed them on you. He was a great debater. He really liked to talk to people and get their view on things.' From left: Shelley Burns, Uri Maxima, Jen Dyck-Sprout, Teo Maxima, Dyck and Nelson Sprout in 2024. Although he was generally reluctant to discuss his upbringing with Jen or her brother Nelson, Dyck's daughter believes those early years played a huge role in developing her dad's political views. As a young man, he studied briefly in Cuba and Russia, where he learned about Marxism and came to see capitalism as oppressive. That sojourn cemented many of the beliefs he developed working on the family farm, where they raised minks. 'He didn't like that,' she says. 'He really empathized with the animals and talked about how cruel he felt it was that they were being killed to make coats and hats for wealthy people. I think that was some of his early … radicalizing around class.' Dyck's efforts to help others weren't restricted to those dealing with poverty. In the early 1980s at Boeing, he helped spearhead efforts to organize the first union at the company's Winnipeg plant. Several years later, while working at Harvest, Dyck was instrumental in changing the way the faculty of medicine at the University of Manitoba accepts students. Prospective doctors are required to spend one day each year at Harvest to sort potatoes and other food items. Dyck was asked to speak with them one day and immediately asked how many of them had experiences with poverty or the welfare system. Of course, no one raised a hand, something that was duly noted by one of their professors, Dr. Joe Kaufert. Kaufert went back to his colleagues, told them the story and a discussion ensued about how the gap Dyck had exposed could be corrected. Harold Dyck, seen here in 2011, died in February at the age of 72. Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. As a result, the faculty now anonymously asks each applicant if they grew up in a family that experienced welfare, hunger, poverty or homelessness. Eight seats that had previously been reserved for out-of-province students are now filled by students who answer yes, something Benham says likely wouldn't have happened without his good friend's insight. Dyck had been ill for some time prior to his death, suffering from both diabetes and liver disease. While she mourned his demise, his sister Marlene says she will never forget his fighting spirit or desire to make the world a better place. 'He wanted to change the world. He helped a lot of people and he thought if everybody else could say the same, it would be a lot better of a world.' fpcity@
Winnipeg Free Press
5 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Winnipeg Transit redesign leaves the North End behind
Opinion I have fond memories of my first bus pass. The sense of freedom was unparalleled, and I'm sure my mother appreciated not having to drive me to work anymore. Here in Winnipeg, we pride ourselves on raising hardy kids. It's the kind of grit you need to survive. But even the hardiest among us shouldn't have to walk six blocks to a bus stop in the pitch dark while the wind cuts through like a knife. If the people who designed the new Winnipeg Transit system had ever waited for a bus at Redwood and Main in January, they might have thought twice. The new Primary Transit Network has been framed as an efficiency upgrade. For those of us living in the North End, it feels like something else entirely, something more akin to abandonment. JOHN WOODS / FREE PRESS Transit changes that were put in place on June 29 seem to have left some neighbourhoods behind. Transit service has been cut or reduced in many of the areas where it is most needed. The 17, 38, and 71 routes, among others, were either eliminated or significantly rerouted. Dozens of stops were removed from Main Street alone, with the FX2 and FX3 replacing frequent local service with limited-stop express buses that often bypass residential pockets entirely. Transfers are now unavoidable. For those with options, this might be inconvenient. For many of us, it's disruptive. For some, it's disabling. In some North End neighbourhoods, over 30 per cent of households don't own a vehicle. Walking long distances to transfer points, especially in winter, isn't just difficult, it can be dangerous. The city removed approximately 1,700 bus stops during the redesign, and while officials have not released a public breakdown by neighbourhood, riders in the North End have reported a disproportionate loss of coverage. Main Street alone lost numerous stops, and key transfer points like Redwood and Main were eliminated without alternatives nearby. Riders have noted having to walk multiple blocks further, often in areas without sidewalks or shelters. Meanwhile, the new network prioritizes high-frequency routes along major corridors, many of which run through the south and southwest. The Blue Line, Winnipeg's flagship rapid transit spine, cuts through Fort Garry and south Pembina, areas with stronger economic growth and higher rates of car ownership. The network now extends all the way to St. Norbert. The expansion of service into new suburban areas raises a serious and uncomfortable question: how many stops were eliminated in the inner city and North End to make that possible? What did we sacrifice to serve sprawl? City officials point out that the network redesign was service-hour neutral, meaning the total hours of service citywide remain roughly the same. But equity isn't measured in aggregate hours. It's not about giving everyone the same thing. It's about giving people what they need. Equality would give every neighbourhood a bus. Equity recognizes that some neighbourhoods need more buses because they have fewer cars, fewer alternatives, and more people depending on public transit to survive. Winnipeg Transit's weekday ridership reached an average of 225,400 in early 2025, and the system recorded 47.8 million rides in 2024, nearly back to pre-pandemic levels. But that 'recovery' hides real disparity. While Rapid Transit routes in the south grow and thrive, riders in the North End are watching their service evaporate. And when ridership drops in these communities, as it inevitably does when stops vanish and routes are broken, they'll be blamed for it. We also need to talk about the role of political leadership in all this. Mayor Scott Gillingham, during his time as chair of the finance committee under then-mayor Brian Bowman, supported multi-year budgets that effectively froze or reduced transit funding when adjusted for inflation. These budget decisions constrained Winnipeg Transit's ability to hire operators, replace aging buses, or expand service. Fast forward a few years, and Gillingham now expresses concern over declining ridership and system gaps, as if he hadn't played a central role in underfunding the system in the first place. You can't gut a service and then act surprised when it fails to meet public need. I keep coming back to the question, why did our city councillors allow this to move forward? Especially those representing wards like Point Douglas, Mynarski, and Elmwood-East Kildonan. Did they not see what this would do to their constituents? The Winnipeg Transit Master Plan was approved in 2021, and revised in early 2025 after feedback. Yet many residents say they were never informed or consulted meaningfully. Public meetings were held, but largely online, and mostly attended by more affluent users. Those most affected had the least opportunity to shape the outcome. There is currently no publicly available data showing how stop removals were distributed across neighbourhoods. If the city is confident this plan serves all of Winnipeg fairly, they should release stop-level data and let the public see for themselves. Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. Until then, it falls to community members and advocates to track what was lost. A simple overlay of the old and new network maps, if allowed through GIS data, would quickly reveal where access was cut, and ultimately, who paid the price. This isn't about nostalgia for an older system. It's about whether a public service still serves the public. The Transit Master Plan talks about building a 'resilient and equitable' system. But in execution, the city has privileged efficiency over access, and growth corridors over existing communities. If equity was ever on the table, it didn't survive implementation. Transit can be modern. It can be fast and efficient. But if it isn't fair, it isn't working. And right now, it's not working for the North End. MJ Jonasson is a Winnipeg-based thinker and advocate for community-driven change. With a background in advocacy, Indigenous social innovation, and social entrepreneurship, she collaborates with communities to develop meaningful solutions that challenge systemic inequities.
