Human beings are masters at the art of misconception. Our minds create assumptions based on second-hand knowledge and imagination, and we adore stories because the elements of struggle and confrontation give us a measuring stick upon which to place our own lives. Often our perception of where we exist in the hierarchy of social order is determined by our interpretation of the tales told to us. We relate with some characters, and despise others, because our interactions with those around us give us a framework upon which to build our own opinions, and we pay no heed to the validity of the stories told to us because the truth is of less importance than the emotion we glean from the information.
The Downtown Eastside (DTES) is represented as a region rife with poverty, crime, filth and substance abuse, and this is not an exaggeration. However, today I went with open eyes, leaving all of my previous assumptions at Cambie Street. I wandered the areas between Powell Street and Pender Street, and was amazed at what my open eyes saw.
Yes, I saw many instances of drug-abuse and homelessness. Figures huddled in the doorways, protected from the elements by moldy blankets. A woman filling her veins with heroin on the steps of an abandoned building. Young men with wrinkled faces trading packages for money, slipping them palm to palm to keep them from view. But other elements were visible to me that I had ignored before, and all around me there was evidence of a vibrant community existing within these boundaries. People greeted each other by first names, shouting boisterous hellos and sharing cigarettes and coffee. Small social gatherings clustered on street corners, oblivious to the traffic as their conversations became more and more animated. The steps of Carnegie Library were a treasure trove of relationships and interactions, not all of which were legal, but it reinforced the strong sense of kinship that I have not noticed in other Vancouver neighborhoods. With all people out enjoying the sun, sitting on the curb or under the willow trees of Victory Park, there was an ambiance of a market place or a festival. The sidewalk fulfilled the function of meeting place that, in other areas of this city, would be the purpose of a coffee shop or bar.
In fact, I felt pity for the shopkeepers, who stood in their doorways and watched the tide of residents ebb and flow, because their stores were empty of customers and they were, for the most part, alone. In the more affluent districts of Kerrisdale or Kitsilano, a sidewalk is a means of traveling from Shop A to Shop B, but in the DTES, the sidewalks of Hastings Street is more than simply an artery of consumers. Because a great amount of DTES residents loitered and congregated on the pavement, it was a more stationary region, like a room rather than a hallway. The area was not static, but it was not commercially based; people are more interested in conversation and visiting with one another. Stores have a mere decorative value, and became a backdrop to the theatre performed out-of-doors. In areas where commerce is the primary focus, such as Robson Street, people hurry and barely speak to one another, which often gives the impression of loneliness despite the large population. I did not find this to be the case with Hastings Street, and its personality was enjoyable, even refreshing.
I do not want to sound as if my walk through the DTES dissolved my previous apprehensions and cautions, because it did not. The social problems that exist on Hastings Street are vast and terrible, but there are positive elements to this area that must not be lost during the search for solutions. The residents of the DTES have been galvanized by their surroundings, and they truly love their neighborhood; they take initiatives to reclaim their streets and work hard to create a secure home, even when the rest of the city has turned its back to their problems. This is an area to be respected, and my discovery of its closely-knit sense of community gives me a clearer insight into the remarkable individuals who call it home.
The media, which in our society has become the Great Storyteller, puts forth viewpoints that are based in fact but quite often are not factual. Perpetuated by the general public through word of mouth and urban myth, these assumptions of truth can assume a mantle of power with which plain facts can not compete. We desire trauma, drama, and comedy to entertain us, and when reality can not compete with fiction for our focus, sometimes fiction is all that we remember. Still, if we allow ourselves to be led by the perpetuated half-truths of what we are told, we can not hope to understand our environment from a neutral standpoint.
By seeking my own interpretations of this region, rather than relying on the media or myths perpetuated by people who do not interact with the area, the DTES has been stripped of its horrific status. It is a community, just like any other Vancouver neighborhood. With first-hand interaction comes personal knowledge, and I now humbly recognize that the Downtown Eastside is more than a forgotten wasteland of disease and discarded needles, as we outsiders are told again and again. It’s a place where people gather, and work, and play. It is optimistic and enthusiastic; it strives to live, and it is richer for it.
K. Bannerman’s short stories and non-fiction articles have appeared in publications
across Canada, the US, and Europe, and she is the author of two novels, “The Tattooed
Wolf” and “The Wolf of Gilsbury Cross”. In 2006, her short story “The Mask & The Maze”
was nominated for a Hugo Award, Fountain Award and Aurora Award. In 2008, she received a
Canada Council Grant for Professional Writers, and she is now working on her third novel.
Kim lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and her daughter, as well as an extremely
large, soft-hearted dog named Loki.