Category Archives: Social Commentary

Home(less) is Toronto

According to a recent news release from the Toronto Real Estate Board (TREB), sales are down. They suggest the decline is likely due to the federal mortgage stress test. The stress test means that a home costing between $500,000 and $999,999 requires a minimum 5% down payment on that first $500,000, plus a 10% down payment on the value between $500,000 and $999,999. In other words, home buyers are required to put down a larger down payment than previously.

Toronto Real Estate Trends’ March Housing Market Report quotes Toronto MLS statistics that the average price for a Toronto house is $838,046, with detached homes still averaging over a million dollars.  This means that buying an average home in Toronto requires a hefty down payment, as it falls into this $500,000 to $999,999 range. It also means that new home owners are struggling to make the down payment, and taking on hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, with low interest rates predicted to rise soon.

For now, both mortgage and Ontario’s unemployment rates are relatively low, but minimum wage is currently stagnating at $14 an hour. So someone working a 40-hour week at minimum wage is grossing less than $30,000 a year. By some estimates, the cost of living in Toronto rose from $28,200 a year in 2017, to $32,885 in 2018, and is predicted to go up to $38,572.68 a year for 2019 with no decline on the horizon. So the cost of living in Toronto is already beyond what many people make, and rising far faster than most people’s incomes. Most of this increase is due to housing costs. People don’t just want to survive—they want to thrive! They want to save money towards that hefty down payment. Clearly that can’t happen.

Like it or not, nearly 50% of people in Toronto live in rental housing. But even that’s not simple. According to the Canada Housing and Mortgage Corporation (CMHC), Toronto’s rental market only has a 1.1% vacancy rate, one of the lowest in the country.  Toronto has very limited rental accommodation, and renters are hanging onto their units as they watch the cost of rental housing rapidly skyrocketing. TREB estimates the average one-bedroom apartment is now $2,145, with a two-bedroom at $2,810. Even if you can find an apartment in this competitive market, you still have to come up with first and last, and reliably pay over two-thousand dollars rent a month.

It’s difficult to accurately estimate the homeless population of Toronto, but it’s grown noticeably in the last year. In 2018, a Toronto City needs assessment report estimated 8,715 homeless, with 533 people living outdoors. Although the 2019 figures have yet to be released (we’re still in winter), Toronto’s homeless population averages about 100 deaths per year. If a society is judged by how it treats its weakest members, we’re doing a lousy job.

How do we fix this? It’s a complicated problem, and I haven’t even scratched the surface. But what I do see is that the cost of housing in Toronto is spinning out of control. Few are able to live comfortably in this market, many are taking on debt that they’ll never be able to pay off, many are scraping by month-to-month renting sometimes sub-standard housing, and an increasing number are falling between the cracks and living on the street. Some cities have had good success with housing-first initiatives, wherein homeless people are provided with housing first and then supported in getting back on their feet. It’s also worth investing in more rental units, rather than condos, and keeping rents in a more affordable price range, while also ensuring that they’re maintained.

An awful lot of money is flowing through the hands of realtors and banks. While I have no issue with people making a decent income, I take exception at a very few making a great deal of money from the labour or others who are struggling.  

© Catherine Jenkins 2019 all rights reserved

Winter in Canada

Although temperatures were slow to cool last fall, and have yoyoed up and down the last couple of months, we’ve had a number of Extreme Cold Warnings with temperatures in the -15 to -21C range this January. These kinds of temperatures can cause irreversible harm or death to humans and other animals, especially when accompanied by windchills into the -30C range.

We’ve also recently had the first real snowfall of the season, receiving about 25 centimetres in one storm. Over January, Toronto has accumulated 63.4 centimetres, the most we’ve had in years.  In January 1999, then-mayor Mel Lastman called in the army when Toronto received 38 centimetres in one storm, and a further 27 centimetres ten days later. Toronto became the laughing stock of Canada for this profound overreaction.

This is winter in Canada. We get hit by some version of this every year, yet it still seems to come as a surprise with the shock of an ambush.

This is the time of year when I argue that we should revert to Fahrenheit temperatures for purely psychological reasons. +5F sounds much warmer than -15C, and there is profound comfort in that. I remember going to school when temperatures were in the minus teens and twenties Fahrenheit. I survived. But we’ve become such a risk-averse society. Everything’s become a crisis. As the Norwegians say, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes.” If you dress for it, you’ll be fine.

Granted, I have a home to come home to, and although some people in my building haven’t had adequate heat, I’m doing okay. Although the legal minimum in Toronto is 21C, apparently if the building is working on bringing it up, the city won’t intervene.

Toronto’s homeless population has grown noticeably in the last year or so, and these people aren’t as fortunate. Toronto’s shelters are overburdened, so many stay on the street even in these temperatures. According to Toronto city data, about two people died per week between January 1 and March 31, 2018. With the current polar vortex, I expect the numbers for 2019 will be higher. If the measure of a civilization is how it treats its most vulnerable members, then we’re failing.

I hope you and yours have someplace warm to retreat to, and the right clothing for this weather. Me? I’m hibernating as much as possible. Because even though my rent just went up, and ice is forming on the inside of my double-glazed windows, I’m one the the fortunate ones.

© Catherine Jenkins 2019 all rights reserved

Teddy

Dedicated to the memory of Jakelin Caal and Felipe Gómez Alonzo, two children who died in immigration custody after crossing the American border from Guatemala.

Granny gave him Teddy when he was four. She’d patched him together from scraps lovingly sewn with tiny stitches in the dim evening light. He and Teddy became inseparable. But by the time he was five, his life and his world were very different.

Granny became thinner and thinner. The old woman wasted, slowly fading into quiet uninterrupted by breathe. His mother cried, and his father clamped his jaw tight against emotion. The little boy clutched Teddy closer. He always had food, but only years later did he understand that the extra bread Granny had given him wasn’t extra, but her own share of the family’s meager portion. His parents shared whispers in the dark, mouthing thoughts beyond his comprehension.

His mother woke him suddenly in full disorienting blackness, urging him to get up and dress quickly. Fumbling, he did his best, presenting himself to his mother and father with Teddy clutched tight under his arm.

His father took one last look before closing the door of their shack behind them. Outside, the boy became aware of shouting and gunfire and flashing lights in the distance. His parents had packed food and their few precious things into their two sheets. Each carried one. His father, looking wary, took the lead. His mother took the boy’s hand. He could feel her trembling, which scared him.

They walked, blinded by blackness. Quickly at first. Slowing as tiredness approached. They followed a narrow dirt road. Sometimes he tripped, righted by his mother’s hand. When he became too tired, his father lifted him up, cradling him against his strong back. His father smelled of sweat, and something unfamiliar. He clutched Teddy tight to his little chest, sandwiching him safely against his father.

Sometimes, others joined them. Strangers. Sometimes words were spoken. There seemed a quiet reverence in this march. A fear. A dim hope.

Then they came to the fence. They stopped. His father put him down. He looked up and saw his father’s tension. He could feel his mother’s hand shaking again as it gripped his little hand. The fence was taller than his father. It had spiky metal bits on top. All three of them looked up, daunted and fearful. He knew what was going to happen next, and was frightened, although he wasn’t sure why. He clutched Teddy even tighter.

Dawn was approaching. After urgent whispered discussion, and seeking in the dark for hidden dangers, his father quietly climbed, carefully lifting himself between and over the spiky metal bits. At the top, he stopped briefly, again checking the dark around them. He started to climb down, then dropped to the other side. A few shrubs broke under his weight. They waited in tense silence, seeing each other through the separating fence.

His father signaled that it was safe. His mother lifted him and Teddy as high as she could. He clutched the fence fiercely with both hands, feet finding toeholds, keeping Teddy wedged under his arm. Both parents urged him to climb. He was terrified, but knew he had to do what his parents asked. He climbed carefully, trying to be quiet. The fence was so high, his little arms and legs so tired. His mother started climbing too, her presence urging him onward. Eventually, he made the top of the fence. The metal spikes looked even more lethal close up.

His father urged him under the wire. His mother held the wire to make it easier for him. His little body was just small enough to get through, although he felt the sharp scratch though his thin shirt. His father motioned for him to drop. His father would catch him. He took a breath and dropped, landing in his father’s strong arms. His mother was suddenly beside them. His parents ran, his father still carrying him.

Loss. Teddy? Granny? Teddy? The little boy started crying the loud uncontrolled sobs of grief. His parents slowed but could not stop. They couldn’t understand what was wrong. Was their only child somehow injured?

Finding a dense thicket some distance from the fence, they stopped in the shelter of trees. As the boy sobbed and screamed, his father urgently checked limbs and body, finding the bloody slash across his tiny back where the razor wire had assaulted him. Watching in still silence, his mother looked scared. Then she noticed Teddy was missing and told his father what was wrong. Looking back, they could see the tiny shaped rags twisting from the razor wire on the fence top.

His father, aware of the risk of noise, urged for quiet. The exhausted boy was inconsolable. Hurried discussion between his parents. Then his father was gone, vanished into the nearing dawn. The boy, suddenly quiet, peered through the early light to see his father’s furtive glance, before swinging himself back onto the fence. He swiftly scuttled up the vertical metal, then raised one arm to rip Teddy down, before dropping back to earth and running quickly back to his family.

Overcome, the little boy jumped up to greet Teddy and hugged his father. His mother assured him that she would mend Teddy’s arm. But now, right now, they had to keep running silently through the coming day, and for many days to come.

Teddy now sat on his bookshelf. Whenever he glanced at his childhood toy, the events and emotions of that terrifying night flooded him. His mother had repaired Teddy’s torn arm with love and patience, but no access to materials. Since that night, the arm had looked a little thin, wasted like he remembered his Grandmother towards the end. But his mother and father had made it. He’d made it. And his precious Teddy had made it too.

UNICEF estimates that 30 million children are currently displaced by conflict, more than at any time since WWII. Let’s try for a better world in 2019.  

© Catherine Jenkins 2018 all rights reserved

Boats of the Kawarthas

The lakes north of Toronto are home to a panoply of wild boats. This handy field guide will help identify a few of the more common species.

Kayaks and canoes often travel in pairs, or sometimes flocks. They tend to stay near shore, preferring calm waters, and are most commonly sighted mornings and evenings. These quiet boats can seemingly appear out of nowhere; however, when occupied by youthful campers, can be readily heard across the lake. It is heartening to see that their numbers have noticeably increased in the last few years. Their unmotorized cousins, rowboats and sailboats, continue to be rare on these lakes.

Fishing boats also tend to stay inshore, believing that this is their prey’s preferred habitat. Unlike kayaks and canoes, fishing boats usually travel alone; however, like their cousins, they are also more commonly sighted in the mornings and evenings. Their occupants have a propensity for standing, often talking loudly, and are prone to alcoholic-induced behaviour. Because of their fondness for the shallows, they are frequently snagged on rocks, sometimes emitting loud swearing when this happens. Fish are wary of these boats, having witnessed or experienced release back into the water via a long overhand lob.

Moving through deeper water, majestic houseboats traverse these waterways at a slow, steady pace. These are often rented boats, piloted by less experienced drivers. They are most common on weekends, especially long weekends, when they can be quite raucous with loud music, alcohol, and fireworks. Although usually seen solo, they are sometimes observed docking together in small groups. Such clusters of houseboats often emit loud partying noises

Jets skis are increasingly common, usually travelling at speed, in pairs or sometimes threes. Although designed for a single rider, they can be observed with as many as three. As with houseboats, they are most frequently observed on weekends. These gregarious vehicles are noisy, and like showing off. Occasionally, one will stall in the middle of the lake, while another circles around, seemingly teasing or anxious. Rarely, two will stop for a conversation before speeding off again.

Another common weekend species is the jet boat. These excessively loud boats are recognizable by the high plume of water extending from their rear. Although jet skis share this behaviour, because of their heavier, more powerful motors, jet boat rooster tails are taller. They move at uncommonly fast speeds, and while sometimes seen solo, jet boats often race in pairs, or with a jet ski companion. These are competitive boats, that clearly enjoy showing off.

Common for decades on these lakes, motorboats, with either inboard or outboard motors, ply the waters, usually at moderate speed and volume. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and can be seen at any time of day. In comparison to some other motorized boats, like jet skis and jet boats, these boats are sturdier, take more passengers, and are usually quieter. In the past, these boats sometimes towed water-skiers; however, now they more commonly tow inflatables, frequently filled with screeching children.

 

 

 

 

 

Increasingly, oversized inboards, such as cigar boats, can be seen—and heard—roaring up the lake. These new hybrids are clearly an indication of the increasing affluence of weekend boaters, as they usually have only a single occupant, and like jet boats, can often be seen in racing competition. (It was upon witnessing one of these deafening races that this researcher had the fleeting thought that the male pilot should, “grow a penis.” This thought was not blurted aloud, as it would have been very unprofessional, as well as unheard over the din.)

Finally, spacious cabin cruisers are also increasing in number. The presence of these boats is another clear indication of the increasing affluence of weekend boaters, as they can take multiple passengers in comfort, allowing for sunbathing on the deck, and sleeping or other activities in the berths below-deck. They include cooking facilities, enabling occupants to eat while drinking, usually reducing their raucousness. Because of their self-contained luxury, cabin cruisers can travel greater distances than many other species, lending their stately appearance to numerous lakes on a given weekend.

 

©Catherine Jenkins 2017 all rights reserved

My Less-tech Experiment

I’ve been doing this (very informal) social experiment for the last six months. My cell phone died—again—except this time I couldn’t find a replacement battery. So I decided to go without for a while, just to see what that was like. Overall, it’s been very liberating. I feel lighter. I still have a landline (old school, I know), as well as e-mail and limited social media, so it’s not like I’ve vapourized completely. It’s just that for some periods each day, I’m less readily available. Given that I’m teaching some part of most days, I can’t have my cell phone on anyway.

I hate the sound of it ringing, and I hate vibrate mode even more, so most of the time I’ve carried a phone, it’s been completely muted. I check it when I think of it, and that’s been a much better way for me to relate to a cell phone. In the last six months, there’ve only been three times when having a cell phone would’ve been convenient. I’ve also noticed, however, that some of my friends, especially some of my younger friends, are less inclined to get in touch now that they can’t text me. Texting has clearly superseded phone conversation, although verbal communication is often more efficient. I find tech services in Canada outrageously priced for the use I get out of them, so I’ve also enjoyed the savings.

This less-tech experiment also caused me to ponder my relationship with cell phones, as well as when and why that relationship started. After about three months without, I remembered that I got my first cell phone when my Dad was dying. I was freelancing and often out of reach of my home phone, but I knew that at some point I’d get a call and that I’d need to get somewhere. A cell phone made a lot of sense for the kind of urgency I was experiencing. I kept it through my Mum’s similar fate. And then I had it, so I kept it. But now I’ve realized that because my introduction to cell phones was surrounded by anxiety and hypervigilance, these emotions have impacted my relationship with this technology.

I think it’s good to have taken a break, and to have figured out why I have tended to relate cell phones with anxiety. I have some travel coming up, and it’s now assumed that everybody travels with a phone, in part so airlines can inform you of delays, you can change or make last-minute bookings, and so you can show e-Tickets. (I once saw a woman arrive late at her boarding gate suddenly discover that she didn’t have her e-Ticket because she’d left her phone at security. I wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who could run that fast, but she made it, thanks to a short flight delay.) So I’m beginning to move in the direction of reinstating my cell phone, but with a shifted awareness that will hopefully make my new experience a little less stressful.

©Catherine Jenkins 2017 all rights reserved