'The life I'd worked hard for disappeared through my fingers': Homelessness in Dublin

A few weeks ago, the housing crisis was declared a national emergency by Dáil Éireann, following a motion brought forward by People Before Profit. At the ‘Raise The Roof’ march earlier in the day, which culminated in speeches, songs and scenes of anger outside the Dáil, it was made clear that people have had enough of the Government’s lack of action.

All of the opposition parties supported the bill, including Fianna Fáil. This was potentially a crucial step forward in forcing the government to recognise that – whatever the merits of their Rebuilding Ireland programme – faster and more urgent action is now required.

These are sobering times. There are moments when even those of us who are enraged by the crisis, and how it affects people – but are still lucky enough to have a roof over our heads – are guilty of viewing the situation in a relatively detached manner. There is a set idea of what being homeless means and the kind of people it affects: we tend to think of what the middle-class lexicon characterises as down ‘n’ outs. Well, as an increasing number of the stories that we are hearing now demonstrate, that image needs a radical rethink.

UNNECESSARILY OPPRESSIVE

Michelle Kathleen has been living in an emergency accommodation centre in the city centre.

“The best compliment you can get as a homeless person,” she tells Hot Press, “is, ‘Oh, I’d never think you were homeless.’” Michelle believes that the perception of homeless people is a kind of stereotype, even amongst those who are angry about the housing crisis.

“Most people have a notion of what a homeless person looks like,” she notes. “But plenty of people who work in jobs are homeless; plenty of people who go to college are homeless; and there lots of people who engage in community work who are homeless.”

At first, while she was accommodated in the shelter, Michelle herself held down a full-time job . However, the restrictive regulations, and the difficulty of being prepared for work each day in the conditions she was living in meant that, after a while, it took a huge toll on her physical health and she was no longer able to continue. She is currently on a waiting list for 24 hour access accommodation and hopes that, in time, this will allow her to resume work.

Michelle’s current bed is in an old banana warehouse, converted into an emergency accommodation centre, just north of the Liffey, in Dublin city. “Basically it’s open-plan,” she explains, “and we have several sections. There’s a ladies section, a men’s section, and then the couples. For example in the ladies section, there are four rooms, with three beds in each room. They have no ceiling and a curtain for a door.”

Michelle is required to leave each day by 10am and can only return at 6pm. The rules of the institution are unnecessarily oppressive. Once she comes in after 6pm, she cannot leave and come back; she either stays until morning, or goes out and spends the night on the streets.

SLEEPING BAG TONIGHT

It wasn’t always like this for Michelle. She went to school young and got her Leaving Cert at the age of 16. A musician, she emigrated to the UK where she worked in a variety of office jobs, while working as a musician at weekends.

“I worked in finance,” she reflects. “I worked in the city. Also, I worked in PR, marketing and retail. At one point, I took time out and worked voluntarily for the Terence Higgins trust. They work with people affected by HIV.”

On returning to Ireland, she went to Cork, where she studied music management and production in Coláiste Stiofán Náofa, whilst working a part-time job. She studied and qualified in Reiki Healing during this time also.

“Life was good,” she says. “I had my own little house, I rented it. I had my friends and family, and I went to the UK quite regularly and gigged in London and wherever. Then, everything went oopsie daisy, and I found myself in a position where the life I’d worked hard for disappeared through my fingers.”

Michelle moved back to London, and for a period divided her time between London and her hometown of Tralee, before settling in Tralee, where she continued to work and play music. However, as a result of personal safety issues, she was forced to leave Tralee. “I was advised to by the Gardaí,” she says.

She started a new life in Dublin, taking up a course, and stayed in backpackers hostels. However, the exorbitant rents meant she was unable to secure accommodation, and when her money ran out and she could no longer afford to stay in hostels, she had to declare herself officially homeless.

Michelle soon realised how minor things can become huge issues when you’re of no fixed abode.

“People don’t understand that,” she says. “When you become homeless, it’s about basic priorities. Where am I going to sleep? What will I eat? How am I going to keep warm, and will I get a sleeping bag tonight?”

SOLUTIONS NEEDED NOW

Michelle believes that we need to focus on long-term issues. They might start, however, with improving the conditions which she, and the people in her shelter, experience daily.

“There are plenty of buildings,” she says. “Why can’t we open them as day centres to teach people skills and to give them a warm place to go – with a café where we can sit and read the paper, or apply for jobs. There aren’t enough of those places, and that’s why people hang around aimlessly in the streets, or wherever. We want to see change. We don’t want any more promises that won’t be fulfilled, or more houses that are not built.

“We don’t want any more houses boarded up,” she adds. “We want to open them and get them tidy and get people in before Christmas. We can feel encouraged by the fact that it was declared a national emergency – and it’s about time. Now let’s see homes for individuals and families before Christmas.”

She concedes this is a bold request, but it echoes the feelings of all those who are without a roof over their head, as the weather gets colder. Note: Following this interview, Michelle Kathleen slept indoors, in a public place, over a full weekend, as she was unable to ensure her own safety in the shelter she had previously been staying at. At the time of going to print, she does not currently have a place to sleep.