When the System Drifts: Law, Homelessness, and the Gap We Can No Longer Ignore

I’ve walked the streets.

Not just recently, but throughout my life.

I’ve been homeless more times than I can count. 

As a child, it was normal. My mother, a residential school survivor, was raising me alone at 16. We moved from place to place, shelters, churches, motels, trailers, tents. Sometimes kindness held us up. Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it came with conditions. Sometimes with harm.

So when I walk through downtown today and see homelessness getting worse, I don’t see something distant.

I see something familiar.

I see patterns.

And I want to be clear about something before anything else:

I am not against law.

I am not against business.

I am not here to divide people.

There’s an old legal principle that has carried through centuries of law:

Abusus non tollit usum; abuse does not take away use.

Just because something can be misused does not mean it shouldn’t exist.

Law matters. Structure matters. Businesses matter. Communities matter.

But that same tradition also gives us another principle:

Actus legis nemini facit injuriam; the act of the law injures no one.

In other words, when the law is working as it should, it should not be creating harm.

So what do we do with what we’re seeing now?

Because harm is visible.

People are living outside.

People are struggling with addiction and trauma.

People are working and still cannot afford housing.

People are falling through.

This isn’t just about individual choices.

And it isn’t just about mental illness or addiction.

Those are part of the picture, but not the whole picture.

What we are seeing is a system that has drifted.

Not one law failing.

Not one group to blame.

A misalignment.

Housing costs rising faster than income.

Limited pathways between shelters and independence.

Fragmented supports that don’t meet people where they are.

And systems that expect stability from people who have never been given it.

I understand something from experience that isn’t often talked about:

-When you grow up in chaos, chaos feels normal.

-Calm can feel uncomfortable.

-Stability can feel unfamiliar.

And sometimes people return to what they know, not because they want to suffer, but because it’s what their mind recognizes.

That’s not weakness.

That’s conditioning.

And if we don’t understand that, we will keep designing systems that fail the very people they are meant to help.

At the same time, I also believe in responsibility.

I’ve worked. I’ve built skills. I’ve taken courses. I’ve learned trades.

 I’ve pushed myself to understand systems so I could navigate them.

And along the way, there were people, here and there, who stopped, who cared, who helped guide me.

That matters.

Because no one does this alone.

But no one can do it for you either.

That’s the balance.

And that’s where I believe the real gap is.

We don’t just need emergency support.

We need pathways.

A safe place to sleep.

Food security.

Time to heal.

Structure.

Guidance.

Skill-building.

And a way forward.

That’s why I believe in building recovery housing and sober living communities, not just as charity, but as structured environments where people can stabilize and rebuild.

This is not about choosing sides.

Businesses deserve safety and stability.

Communities deserve to feel secure.

People deserve dignity and a place to live.

These are not opposing values.

They are connected.

If people fall far enough, it affects everyone.

If systems fail, the cost is shared across the entire community.

So the question is not:

“Who is the problem?”

The question is:

“Where has the system drifted from its purpose, and how do we bring it back?”

Because the law, at its core, is meant to serve.

And if it is not serving the people it was meant to protect, then it is not being applied in the way it was intended.

That’s not an attack.

That’s accountability.

And that’s where I stand.

Not in blame.

Not in division.

But in truth, and in the belief that we can do better.